David is waiting outside, and listening. Sophia comes out of the wardrobe holding the photograph.
They sit on the floor, facing each other, in the centre of the room.
“I entered the house on 7th November 1917,” he informs her.
“Are you dead?” she asks him, matter-of-factly.
“The dead aren’t hungry. The dead are cold. I buried many of them in the trenches.” He gently strokes her cheek. “Can you feel?” She nods her head.
“Maybe I’m dead,” she says.
“No, you’re not dead, Sophia. I told you, time is different here. What year is it for you?
"2019."
“2019...” he repeats.
“Who is that in the photograph?” she asks.
“It is Charles, my best friend.”
“You were in the war together?”
“He died at Gallipoli.”
“How?”
“We were in the trenches. They shelled us from all sides. Then there was a huge explosion. I thought I was dead but I was just buried under the trench. I broke free, and saw Charles’ hand. He still held his watch. So I started digging, with all my strength, to free him, but there was debris, shrapnel, so I grabbed his hand, and I squeezed it until nightfall, until I fell asleep, exhausted, telling him to hang on, help was coming.”
Sophia is listening to him, intently.
“At dawn I woke up. They started bombing again. I called for help. I tried to dig. My hands were all bloody. Then the bombs stopped. I left before they started again.”
“You have to talk to him.”
He shakes his head. “Charles is dead. There’s no life after death. Your sister isn’t behind the Secret Red Door.”
“Why?”
“Because the Red Door is the way out. The quote. What did it say?” he asks her.
She recites the quote. “The eyes of Christ say to us: I am the Door. Whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out and find pasture.”
“I think there is a Chapel up there. Further on. I avoid that area, but I’m pretty sure,” he says.
