Blades of light sliced through the dust particles floating in the air and struck the old wooden floor of the chamber. They illuminated the flimsy cobwebs that clung to the empty bookcases and threw wispy shadows on the weatherbeaten walls.
An oak desk stood near the window, chipped at the edges and looking as if it would turn to dust any minute, yet still standing resolute, like an old sentinel keeping watch 'till the end of the night.
Aleister crossed the dusty floor. As he approached the desk, he accessed his memory nodes, and in his mind’s eye, he conjured up a schematic of the desk. It floated on his field of vision like a ghost. Reaching up with his left hand, he grabbed and rotated the desk schematic; twisting it along the horizontal axis until he was looking at it from the bottom.
He knelt beside the real desk and reached under it with one hand, exploring along the side with his fingers until he found a series of small round knobs. He pressed and pulled these knobs, turning them this way and that according to the pattern shown on the visualized schematic. He heard three clicks followed by a series of whirring sounds, which he realized were coming from the large bookcase. He went over to it and putting his shoulder against it, he pushed it aside. On the floor beneath it lay a partly opened trapdoor.
He crouched beside the door and pulled it open, revealing a storage space with a leather briefcase inside it, covered by a net of cobwebs.
He wiped off the dust from the rustic leather and lay it on the desk. Carefully pulling on the leather straps, he opened the briefcase. When he saw the contents, a bittersweet smile spread across his lips.
“Will you teach me how to shoot the gun, grandpa?” said the boy.
The man stood facing a target in the distance. Closing his eyes, he said, “I will... but not today.”
“I want to learn, even though mama says guns are dangerous. Have you ever shot anyone?”
With his eyes still closed, the man raised the gun level and pulled the trigger repeatedly eight times in the span of two seconds. The boy covered his ears. When the final shot had been fired, the pistol’s toggle assembly bent at an angle and jammed.
“Sometimes,” he said. “All that stands between you and your enemy is a gun.”
“And you have to shoot them?”
“If you have no other choice.”
“Do you have many enemies?” said the boy.
"A few, but I also have many friends." The man inspected the target and saw that all shots had hit the center. Not too bad, old man.
"When I learn to use a gun, I will help you shoot your enemies."
The man laughed. “One day you might. Just don’t tell your mother I said that.”
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