Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

He didn’t know.
He’d never felt more lost in his life.
Grief, Wallace knew, had the power to consume, to eat away until there was
nothing left but hollowed-out bones. Oh, the shape of the person remained as
it was, even if the cheeks turned sallow, and dark circles formed under the
eyes. Hollowed out and left raw, they were still recognizably human. It came
in stages, some smaller than others, but undeniable.
These were the stages of Wallace Price:
On the first of his remaining days, he was in denial.
The shop opened as it always did, bright and early. The scones and
muffins were placed in the display case, the scent of them warm and thick.
Tea was brewed and steeped, poured into cups and sipped slowly. People
laughed. People smiled. They hugged one another as if they hadn’t seen each
other in years, patting backs and gripping shoulders.
He watched them all through the portholes in the kitchen, burdened with
the knowledge that they could leave this place whenever they wished. The
bitterness he felt was surprising, tugging at the back of his mind. He kept it in
place, not allowing it to roar forward no matter how much he wanted it to.
“It’s not real,” he muttered to himself. “None of it is real.”
“What was that?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Mei stood next to the sink, a look of
concern on her face. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. “What’s wrong?”
He laughed wildly. “Nothing at all. I’m dead. What could possibly be
wrong?”
She hesitated. “Did something happen? With Alan, or…?”
“I told you already. He went through the door. I don’t know how. I don’t
know why. I don’t even know how he got there. But he’s gone.”
“So you said. I just…” She shook her head. “You know you can talk to us,
right? Whatever you need.”
He left her in the kitchen, heading out the back door.
He walked amongst the tea plants, fingers trailing along the leaves.