Outbuilding

The Exeter County land office was housed in a four story building with a cement facade etched with elongated rectangles, pierced by narrow windows of frosted glass and surrounded by a low hedge, the leaves of which the hot, dry summer was slowly turning ocher. Simon Peck climbed the building's cement stairs, decorated at either end with large fish curled in half-circles, and passed through the double doors at the front of the building. The hallway behind held a featureless linoleum floor leading to a broad staircase on the right and a broken elevator on the left. The elevator door was open onto the empty shaft with no tape or barrier over it. Peck eyed it for a moment, feeling a flashing sense of vertigo, then climbed the stairs to the third floor.

The land office walls were light gray and decorated with two black and white photographs taken during the construction of the building 56 years prior. Opposite the door the wall was split by a wide counter behind which stood two desks, computers, and a slender bald man with a salt and pepper mustache wearing thick, round glasses. Peck approached the counter and greeted the man with what he hoped was a cheerful tone.

"I need a survey for my property," he said and gave the man his address.

"Parcel number?"

"I don't know it."

The man turned and sat down at one of the computers, his back to Peck.

"What year was the survey done?" he asked, raising his voice, Peck thought, unnecessarily.

"Nineteen-eighty-seven."

The man swiveled in his chair, removed his glasses, and looked at Peck.

"You don't look old enough to have owned property since then," he said.

"I just need the property lines," said Peck. "My neighbor put a fence up—"

"None of my business!" the man said, again, unnecessarily loudly. "But you should have your own survey done instead of relying on something from 40 years ago."

"The property lines haven't changed," said Peck. "It's still the same lot."

"Anyway, it's not here. You'll have to go to the ODDS. That's the off-site storage facility."

"Where is it?"

"Go out of the building, cross the street, and get on the J bus. Get off at the Lake Elizabeth stop, then you'll need to take the water taxi across the lake. Tell the pilot you want the Exeter County Off-site Designated Document Storage building."

"I don't suppose you'd write that down?" said Peck.

The man pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, but then he wrote the directions down on a small sheet of paper. Peck folded the paper and put it in the front pocket of his trousers, next to the note he'd found taped to his front door that morning. The note was from his neighbor:

Dear Simon:

You are being completely incalcitrant, and I cannot allow you to persecute me this way. What you're trying to do is no less than a land grab. I'm engaging a lawyer who will prove that the property line that forms the core of your petty grievance is a figment of your perverse imagination. What's more, I talked this over with everyone who lives on our block, and they all agree with me. I want you to know that any retaliation you may suffer, though definitely NOT instigated by me, will be your own goddamn fault.

—Todd

At the bus stop, a plexiglass shelter with a pair of old, high-top tri-color sneakers under the bench, Simon sat down to wait. The government buildings across the street cast long shadows over the grass and pavement. A stray dog eyed him from the corner but ran off when a taxi rolled down the street. A young man approached the shelter, looked at the schedule, then walked away muttering quietly. Peck took the paper with the directions the man had written out from his pocket and read through them three or four times. After about 45 minutes, the bus arrived and he boarded; he was the only passenger. He nodded to the driver, paid his fare, and sat down near the vehicle's center. As it rolled down the street, Peck was treated to a slowly rolling panorama of concrete buildings, shops, and four-unit apartments.

"Excuse me."

Peck turned, startled, to see three people sitting in the two seats opposite him. Two of them quickly moved to the seat in front of him, then turned around. The man who had spoken was tall with hair gathered into a loose ropy braid that fell almost to his waist. He had a long mustache circling his lip and extending to his jawline. The man sitting next to him was slight with a thick bush of gray hair and a narrowly trimmed, pointed goatee. The man sitting across from him had slicked-back hair and wore a flamboyant plaid jacket out of place in the warm summer air. He stared at Peck but did not say a word.

"Haven't seen you on the bus before," the tall man said.

"It's my first time," Peck answered.

Outside, a small group of young men ran down the street. The one in the lead did not look back, and Peck couldn't tell if he was being chased, or if the entire group had a common destination.

"This is my neighborhood," the man sitting in front of Peck said. "There are shops and restaurants, and a movie house, one of those big palaces from the '30s. You should get off and have a look around."

"I can't do that today," said Peck. "I'm going to the ODDS."

"You're going to Oz?" said the slight man.

"The Off-site Designated Document Storage place," said Peck.

"Never heard of it."

"The guy at the land office told me to get off at the Lake Elizabeth stop," said Peck.

"That's not my neighborhood," said the first man. "You're missing out."

"I'm sorry," said Peck.

"You're not sorry," the man said. "You just want me to leave you alone. On important business, going to a storage closet. Getting government documents. No time for anything else today, right?"

The man was leaning over the back of the seat speaking quietly, his face inches from Peck's.

"Not even time for one drink?"

"I'm—"

"Don't say it!" the man yelled.

The stop requested light flashed. The man shook his head slowly, and he and his companions exited through the door at the front of the bus.

At the Lake Elizabeth stop, Peck crossed the street and took a narrow path down a small hill to the water taxi's concrete platform. The sun had set, and a stiff wind was blowing. On the horizon, a band of pink and violet light shone through the ribbons of black clouds, and a night jar flew past with an abrupt whistle of its wing. He could barely see the hills and trees on the opposite shore, but lights from buildings shone overhead, reflected in broken pieces on the wind-chopped water's surface. About 20 minutes after arriving, he heard the motor hum and then saw the running lights of the boat as it approached the platform. The boat's pilot was the only person on board. He tied off quickly, opened a gate in the boat's railing, and ushered Peck through.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"Off-site Designated Document Storage, please," said Peck.

They were more than 15 minutes into the ride, following the ragged shoreline, when Peck enquired about the length of the passage.

"Wind," said the pilot. "Slows everything down."

Peck nodded.

"Maybe you'd like to do something to help pass the time."

"Such as?"

"You look like an educated man. I'll bet you have any number of talents, but since this boat is too small for a piano, why don't you sing us a song?"

"I'm not a very good singer."

"Our options are limited."

Peck looked around the boat. On a shelf, just above and behind the man's head, he saw a black plastic box with a silver antenna.

"Isn't that a radio?" Peck said.

"Radio's for official communication only."

"I'm not sure I know any songs all the way through."

"Pretend the boat runs on music. If you want to get where you're going, sing."

Peck rubbed his face with both hands, leaned against the back of his seat, and opened his mouth.

"Stand up!" the pilot said sharply.

"What?"

"Only way to get a decent tone. I'm a good pilot. You won't fall."

Peck stood, bracing the back of his legs against the row of seats, took a deep breath, and began.

I first went to sea with a kite at my post,
And my pockets all filled up with teeth.
I never came back, though I lost more than most
On the island of Moggonbulleath.

"Louder! Can barely hear over the engine noise!"

Peck took another breath and began again.

My companions danced waltzes, so tasty the lot.
Their bone flutes played over the heath,
And the days they did pass, and the moon was so hot
On the island of Moggonbulleath.

As Peck neared the end of the second verse, he saw a long, one-story building with a wide veranda. A set of stairs ran up a low hill from the taxi platform to the building. Most of the windows were dark, but two near what appeared to be the front door were glowing with a dull, bluish light. The water taxi dropped him off and drifted away, and as it did, he could swear he heard the strains of a bossa nova playing through a tinny speaker. He crossed the platform and climbed the stairs. The front door to the building was wooden with a window divided by frames into 16 small squares, each with a beveled edge, and he saw his own reflection in the glass refracted into 16 distorted portraits. He entered and passed through a short hallway to a large room with a circular counter. Sitting behind the counter was a slender older woman with a hooked, aquiline nose and frizzy gray hair. She peered at Peck over half-moon glasses as he approached. Peck smiled.

"Hi, I was sent here by the county land office. I'm looking for a survey of my property."

"They aren't supposed to do this. Who did you talk to? Was it Lyle?"

"I didn't get his name. What aren't they supposed to...?"

"Send members of the public here. They are not supposed to send members of the public here."

"I'm sorry," said Peck.

"Nothing to be done now, is there? What year was your survey done?"

"Nineteen eighty-seven."

"And what is the address of the property?"

"9820 Verloren Street."

The woman tapped a few keys on the computer then turned back to Peck.

"Documents from the late 20th century are in the basement. Room 1113B." She pointed down another hallway. "The stairs are down there."

"Wait, you're not going to...?"

"Serve you? Cater to your own personal wants? What kind of precedent would that be setting?"

"How will I find it?"

"Everything is labeled. It's all very self-explanatory. We keep excellent records here." She plucked a pen from a shiny can on the desk and bent close to the desktop, as if watching an ant crawl across it. Straightening a few moments later, she handed Peck a small piece of paper no bigger than a gum wrapper, "OIU-77-87-230" written on it in tiny block characters. "There's a large format copy machine in the hall outside the room."

"What would stop me from taking the original, or helping myself to other documents?" Peck asked.

"There would be consequences. Trust me."

Peck walked down the hallway the woman had indicated, pausing under an elaborate light fixture of wire mesh and tiny bulbs not much brighter than matches. The hallway led to a concrete stairwell marked 1D. He took the stairs down to the lower level where they ended at a steel door with a small glass window divided into small diamonds. Through it he could see a balcony with a railing supported by thick, black, square iron balusters festooned with Xs across their top third. Opposite was another balcony, an exact replica, with a row of doors behind, spaced approximately 20 feet apart.

Peck passed through the door and found himself in a two-story, rectangular room bisected by the balcony on which he stood. There was just one door on the wall at his back apart from the door through which he had passed. The balcony ran about 50 feet in either direction, then made right angles following the walls of the room. The floor below him had no balcony of course, but did contain a set of doors, each positioned exactly below the door on his level. Peck turned to his right, walked to the end of the room, and turned left. The first door was similar to the one through which he'd entered the balcony. Just to the right of it, bolted to the wall, was a plate that read 1-50. Peck went to the next door, the plate of which read 51-100. He followed the balcony around the room until he came to the door with a plate that read 1101-1150. Behind that door was a hallway with a raised floor of alternating glass and concrete squares, and through the glass, below him, he saw another level with more cabinets rising almost to his feet. From the hallway floor, on either side, steps led down to deeply recessed doors. Above the doorway immediately to his right was a steel plate reading 1101B. Peck followed the hallway to the doorway marked 1113B. Against the wall opposite the door stood a large photocopier, just as the woman had said.

Peck descended the stairs, went through the door, and stood in a long hallway with stacks of cabinets bearing very wide drawers, rising nearly to the height of the ceiling more than 20 feet above his head. The drawers were labeled with cards slipped into small metal frames. The first was OIU-11-39-230. Peck unfolded the piece of paper and looked at the letters and numbers, then walked down the row of cabinets, comparing the number on each drawer at eye level to the number on the paper until he saw a drawer labeled OIU-77-98-230. He looked up and tried counting the drawers to what might be the one holding his survey, but the drawers were narrow, and their lines converged only a few feet above his head.

About 20 feet down the row of cabinets, a folded step ladder leaned against them. Peck brought it over, opened it, secured the locks, and climbed. Near the ceiling, he found the drawer labeled OIU-77-87-230. He tried to pull it open, but it struck the ladder, leaving a gap of less than six inches; he had placed the ladder too close to the cabinet. He climbed down, moved the ladder back a yard or so, then went up again. He opened the drawer, leaning forward, feeling a slight vertigo as he did, and started rifling through the documents inside. They were laid flat and face up, a large stack of surveys, each a different size. Near the middle of the stack, he found one bearing his property's address. He gently took hold of either side with both hands, but as he was about to pull it free, five or six other surveys came out with it.

Peck was startled and let go of the papers with one hand to steady himself on the ladder. He kept ahold of his survey, but the others dropped, separated, and floated to the ground. Peck rolled his survey into a lose tube, climbed down the ladder, laid it on the floor, gathered the others up—six in addition to his own—and climbed back up the ladder. When he reached the drawer, it had closed, and he couldn't open it. He laid the surveys carefully across the step of the ladder at the level of his elbow, put both hands on the drawer, and gave it a hard pull. The ladder rocked a bit, and the surveys lying on it dislodged and floated again to the floor. Peck attempted this entire exercise again with the same result. The third time, he climbed to the ladder's full height and laid the errant papers on top of the cabinet.

After climbing down, Peck unrolled his survey on the floor and sat cross-legged to examine it. He had never seen the original document, only a reduced photocopy when he had signed the papers to buy the house, and that he barely remembered. Yet when he now looked at the survey, he noticed a small structure in the front yard, just a little unlabeled rectangle near the edge of the eastern property line that he hadn't remembered seeing on the copy at his closing. He carefully lifted the paper, holding it by the top edges, went to the photocopier outside the room, and made a copy. After climbing the ladder, he again tried unsuccessfully to open the file cabinet drawer. At that moment, he felt a strong suspicion the ODDS was a poor custodian of its papers. He climbed down the ladder, switched the original survey with the copy he had made, ascended the ladder again, and laid the copy on top of the cabinet with the other papers.

As Peck ascended the stairs to the main floor, he braced himself for a confrontation with the woman, but when he reached the circular desk, she was not there. Yet her absence did not abolish his anxiety. He turned and went down a hallway away from the main entrance and exited at the back of the building. Beyond a large cement patio was a path that led to a hill, and Peck realized his neighborhood was just on the other side.

The hill was steep with a high crest, but to the north was a smaller knob with a gentler slope and lower elevation. A path led from the road up through a copse of pine and maple trees. Once in the trees, the ambient light from the nearby road and town vanished, and Peck found himself in near total darkness. An owl's ghostly hooting followed him up the path, and more than once he stumbled on ropy roots protruding from the loose, dry soil. About 50 yards from the road, the path took a steeper course, and old railroad ties sunk into the ground served as stairs. The vegetation was dense there, and Peck could feel thorns scraping the backs of his hands, thorns that, in the stifling darkness, seemed impossible to avoid. Under a dead tree, bare branches spreading in every direction, the ground was soft, and Peck nearly lost a shoe as his foot sank in, the mud sucking it down. Past the dead tree was a bramble patch. The rise was less steep there, and the railroad ties gave way to limestone, then gravel pavings. Three coyotes rustled the vines, their liquid movement sending a jolt through Peck who stood still until the swish of undergrowth went quiet. Unseen insects brushed over his face, past his ears, even into his mouth, which he shut tight though he was breathing hard from the climb.

At the crest of the knob was a small clearing, and Peck could see the lights of the town stretched out across the rolling land. There was more light and fewer trees on the other side of the knob, and his descent was easier. At the bottom of the hill was a road at the side of which was a one story building of brick with a large window facing the gravel parking lot and a door propped open with an empty vodka bottle. A sign in the window read Red Hornet Coffee. Light poured from the window and open doorway. Peck entered.

Todd, his neighbor, was sitting at a table with four other people. He saw Peck, stood abruptly, and approached.

"You were at ODDS," he said. "Let's have a look."

Reluctantly, Peck unrolled the survey onto the nearest unoccupied table. Todd bent over and followed the demarcation lines with his eye, his upper body twisting back and forth. Straightening quick as a switchblade, he turned to Peck.

"Is that the original?" he said. For the first time that he could remember, Peck saw a crack in Todd's smug carapace. His confusion made him evasive.

"No," he said. "It's a copy."

"Right," said Todd, pointing to the lot's northwest corner, "your plot is trapezoidal, not triangular. But what's this?" he continued, pointing to the small rectangle at the eastern edge of the plot.

"Nothing," Peck said. "If it was there in 1987, it's been removed."

"Are you sure?" said Todd.

"That's a pretty stupid question," said Peck.

Todd's companions had gathered around the table. Two or three of them jostled Peck, spilling beer and coffee, and though Peck was sure it was accidental, he nevertheless felt a momentary panic, an intimation that he was in physical peril. They all brought their drinks, and two had placed them on top of the survey. Peck nudged the mugs off the paper and rolled it up again.

"You want a drink?" said Todd. "Beer or coffee?"

"No thanks," said Peck.

One of Todd's companions started to sing, and the others joined in immediately. Peck knew the song.

When all the pigs are in the garden
Hanging windmills from the trees
With fireflies all caught in their jars and
Windows open to the breeze
Best not peek inside the cauldron
Bubbling near the old trapeze

Peck felt an odd compulsion to join in but also did not want to. He fought the impulse for the first line but then began to sing, and he did so until the song was finished. He felt he had betrayed himself, but as Todd had little but animosity towards him, he feared there might be consequences for not joining in. When the song was over, he quickly left.

Peck's house was set back from the street on a large lot, and two poplar trees, spindly and tall, framed the walk leading to it. Yellow light from the corner streetlamp poorly illuminated the yard. A row of hawthorn bushes ran along the east property line, and behind them Peck saw an unfamiliar shape, little more than a black silhouette. He approached. It was a small building, barely bigger than an outhouse, with cedar siding and a steeply pointed roof. The hawthorns brushed against its walls, and the sills beneath its two windows were cracked. Two steps led up to a door maybe painted dark green, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. Peck felt a profound sense of disorientation. He could not understand how he could have lived in a house for eight years without noticing such a structure standing only 100 feet or so from it. He climbed the stairs and opened the door. Inside was a simple rectangular room with a chair, table, and cot. A hurricane lamp stood on the table along with a box of wooden matches and an old fashioned desk organizer with a dip pen and a bottle of ink. The floor was bare wood, and there were no decorations other than a tiny mannequin of the type used for figure drawing. He closed the door and walked back to his house.

The front door was locked. As was the back. His pockets were keyless. He tried the front door again, though he knew that effort was futile. He sat down on the porch steps and put his head in his hands, trying to reason a way out of his predicament.

"Hey Peck." It was Todd's voice. "You got something you want to talk about?"

"No," said Peck. He didn't want Todd to know he was locked out.

"What are you doing on my porch, then?" Todd asked.

Peck stood. "This is my house," he said.

"Maybe you'd better have another look at that survey," said Todd.

"I can't read it," Peck said. "Too dark."

"Here," Todd said, taking a small flashlight out of his pocket. "Unroll it on the porch floor." Peck did so.

"Look at the property lines," Todd said.

Peck took the flashlight from Todd and peered down at the thick black lines demarcating his lot. They formed a small trapezoid around the little building on what was once the east end of his property. The lines did not include his house or his garage. They did not reach the sidewalk or street nearest the house.

"This isn't right," said Peck.

"That's an issue for another day," said Todd. Then he walked up the porch stairs, unlocked the front door, and entered the house. Peck sat down on the steps again. He breathed deeply five times, then slowly rose and walked to the little building. He went up the two stairs and put his hand on the doorknob. At that moment, he remembered why he had taken the original survey from the ODDS, and the memory energized him. He entered the small building, sat at the table, lit the hurricane lamp, and unrolled the document. He removed the contents of the desk organizer, placed them on the table, uncapped the ink bottle and, using the edge of the desk organizer as a ruler, began to redraw the property lines.