I frown. “It would probably only take a few seconds I’d guess, dependin’ on where you were callin’,” I reply, not really understandin’ what she is sayin’.
“Yes,” she agrees with a sad smile, walkin’ over to me and handin’ me her phone. “Take this, please.”
“I got a phone, Red, and y’all need it so I can call ya if somethin’ happens,” I say, frownin’ and tryin’ to give her the phone back.
“Just keep it for today for me. Don’t give it back to me until tomorrow. Okay?” she pleads and won’t let me put the phone back in her hand.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because right now, in this moment, I can’t have that phone,” she says and when I look at her funny she tries to explain. “You said a few seconds—like three or four seconds—can you imagine what a temptation that is? To know that if I dialed the number, in three or four seconds I could ease, for just a moment, this ache that I have in my chest? To know that, in three or four seconds, I would be able to take a full breath, and for just a second, not feel like I’m drowning?” Her voice hitches as she holds her hand to her chest like she is tryin’ to soothe a pain there. “So please, just keep my phone for me for now, so I can’t use it.”
My lips flatten in a grim line. “I’ll keep it for ya as long as it takes. Y’all just let me know when ya can have it back,” I reply, seein’ pain deep in her eyes. I had thought she was gettin’ better, but maybe not. Maybe she is gettin’ worse.
CHAPTER 10
Lost and Found
“Excuse me, Lillian…I was wondering…well, Lynnette and me were wondering that, if it’s alright with ya, since it’s Thursday night, ya know, ‘thirsty Thursday,’ and we’re kinda invited to this party, well we thought that maybe ya could close the library without us tonight, eh?” Autumn asks, standing in front of the circulation desk where I sit with a worn copy of poetry. She can’t help playing with her long brown hair, nervously pulling strands from the back while straightening it out. At the same time, she is casting glances at Lynette who is watching us from the racks of current journals.
I don’t glance up at Autumn because I don’t need to, since I have already processed the entire scenario and know the outcome within seconds. I have gone over all of the options, and even though I don’t want to do any favors for either one of the mean girls in front of me, I’ll gladly do this one so that I won’t be subjected to Lynnette’s sulky stares for the rest of the evening. In fact, I won’t have to hear either one of them speak and that’s worth any price I have to pay. Normally, Fran works the late shift with me at the circulation desk, but her husband has been sick so she is not here tonight.
“Sure, Autumn,” I agree without preamble. Autumn breathes in loudly and then gives a giant exhale as she turns toward Lynette, clapping her hands excitedly. Looking over at Lynnette, I notice that she glances away quickly. She doesn’t want to acknowledge that I’m doing her a favor. Lynnette is funny like that; she instantly hated me when I met her for reasons I think I will never know for sure. It doesn’t bother me quite as much as it probably would have before, since I’m now very used to being hated upon first sight. Maybe she has a better reason than the angels, doubtful, but maybe. At first I was suspicious of her and thought that she was perhaps a Reaper, even though there is nothing about her that says angel. After watching her for a while and doing some recon, I have come to the conclusion that she is just mean.
Anyway, I can get everything done faster if they’re not here. I can run through the library, putting things back at angel speed if I’m alone, so it will work out for me as well. “Thanks, eh. We’re gonna go buy a case and drink out by the river before we go to the party,” Autumn informs me in a rare moment of camaraderie.
She must have forgotten for a second that she doesn’t like me, or my ‘troll accent,’ but I smile a little anyway and say, “That sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, well…we thought we’d take off then, so we can get ready, eh?” Autumn says, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder.
“Okay,” I answer with relief that they are leaving. She smiles and hurries over to tell Lynnette the good news. I see right away by the smirk on Lynnette’s face that this favor I’m doing for her will not make us friends. It seems to have the opposite affect. She looks smug, like she thinks I’m doing this because I’m trying to get her to like me, which is laughable because in reality, I’m terrified of making any real friends. Being my friend is hazardous to your health, just ask Russell… or Reed.
A stabbing pain twists through my chest at the mere thought of Reed. I have to take shallow breaths. I know better than to let my thoughts stray to Reed unless I’m alone. Searching for a distraction that will keep me from thinking of him, I pick up the copy of the works of Edgar Allen Poe that I had been reading before annoying Autumn interrupted me. I flip the book open to the creased pages of the poem entitled, The Raven. Reading the first few stanzas rapidly, I slow when I come to the verses that shock me with their insight.
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he has sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
I reread the stanza of Poe’s poem over and over again while memorizing every word. Just like the man in the poem, I crave a nepenthe, some ancient drug that can induce forgetfulness, so that just for one moment I will be free of the painful memories of Reed. I close the book and gently place it on the mobile bookshelf so that I can re-shelve it later.
Looking up from my position seated at the circulation desk, I watch the young woman who has been researching theories on black holes get up and begin packing up her materials, putting her notes in her bag. She had told me that her name is Erin when I was helping her find books on the subject. She’s working on a summer research project for one of her professors and she seems a little frazzled about the assignment. Her anxiety makes me want to help her out somehow, but I don’t know very much on that particular subject.
As Erin cleans up her space at the mahogany table lined with reading lamps, the thought crosses my mind that I could tell her what it is like to be near an ascending soul: the unbelievable pull and ache when I was left behind to exist without Paradise. I wonder briefly if that’s comparable to facing a black hole. Probably not, since I was repelled instead of stretched out and pulled into its vortex, but still, there was significant pain in the rejection. But I know I can’t really talk to anyone about that experience, since the best-case scenario after revealing something like that to a human would be that she would think I am insane, so maybe it’s better to keep my mouth shut.
When Erin finishes, she gathers up the books she was reading and brings them over towards the front desk. Standing up as she approaches, I reach for the heavy stack of books, taking them easily from her arms. “Careful, they’re heavy!” she warns, laughing as I set the books down on the counter.
“Do you want to check out all of these?” I ask, picking up the scanner and straightening the stack on the counter.
“Um, I don’t know—let me see. I want this one and this one,” she says, picking the top two books off the stack and placing them in another pile next to the one we already had on the counter. “Ugh, this one is so boring. I don’t want that one, eh,” she says, smiling at me and making a third pile for the rejects.
After she sorts through everything, she hands me her library card with the name of Erin Adams on it. I begin scanning the ones she wants and when I finish I place the ones she doesn’t want on my bookshelf cart to return to the shelves later. “Your books are due back in two weeks. If you need more time with them, you can go on-line and recheck them out,” I explain, handing her a printout with the list of the books she i
s taking along with her card.
“I want to thank you for all your help,” she says, smiling at me.
“You’re welcome,” I reply but can’t quite manage a smile. I don’t know if it is something in my face or what, but Erin pauses before she picks up the books.
“Hey, I’m new here, but my roommate knows everybody. We’re supposed to go out to the bar tonight. Do you want to come with us?” she asks as she puts her library card back in her wallet. She doesn’t have the accent of a true Yooper, so she must be from somewhere else.
“I can’t,” I say quickly. “I’m only eighteen and I don’t have an ID. But thanks for the invite.”
“Oh,” she says, looking at me disappointedly. “Well, maybe we don’t have to go to the bar. We could just hang out. There’s not a lot to do here, but like I said, my roommate knows everyone and we could invite some people over,” she adds hopefully. She seems really nice and I miss having a friend who is not involved in the supernatural, someone I can talk to about the movie I saw, or the book I read, or the shoes I bought, and not about what I will do if someone tries to kill me with a chakram.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. I have to lock up, and then I promised to be home right after work. Maybe some other time?” I say, because it’s stupid and selfish for me to make a human friend. There has been too much collateral damage without adding an innocent human into the mix.
“I understand,” she says with a sigh. “Well, if you ever feel like grabbing some coffee or something, let me know. I’m going to be around the library a lot because of this article. Thanks again for your help.” She takes her stack of books and leaves through the front door of the library.
With Erin gone, I realize that I’m alone here for the first time here. No, I think I’m alone for the first time since coming to the U.P., I think as I move around the end of the circulation desk.
I walk over the tiled floor of the reception area, looking out the giant windows to the walkway in front of the library. The library is dead tonight. I guess the locals really take thirsty Thursday seriously, since it’s only eleven thirty and the place is deserted. I listen quietly, searching for any sounds of breathing or movement from the floors above. After several minutes, I’m certain that I’m alone in the building.
Deciding to begin closing down the library, I wheel the bookshelf cart to the carrels, picking up the randomly discarded books and adding them to my cart as I go. When I reach one of the far carrels, I find a cell phone lying on the ground partially hidden under the desk. Crouching down, I pick it up, noticing that it’s not turned on. I place the phone on my cart and continue my sweep of the library, looking for books to put back. When I finish collecting the books on the first floor, I ride the elevator up to the second floor and collect all of the discarded books, putting back the atlases and maps that belong on this floor. I also check the study rooms, but they are all empty.
Pushing the cart back to the elevator, I press the button for the third floor while I study the cell phone sitting on the top shelf of my cart. I wonder whose it is, I think as I wait for the doors of the elevator to open. A soft ding indicates that I have reached the third floor of the library. I push the cart forward, bumping over the lip of the elevator. It makes a loud clunking sound as it rattles forward. I immediately go to work re-shelving books, using angel speed to get it done in less than a minute. Returning to my cart, I still as I look at the cell phone.
I pick it up and press the power button. The phone comes to life in an instant. Searching impatiently for the phone number, I find that it begins with a 289 area code. I run to the stairs and I’m on the ground floor in a half of a second. Sprinting to the bank of computers, I log onto the Internet and search for the 289 area code. This cell phone is from someone from Ontario or Toronto, Canada.
Could this phone be traced here? I wonder. Probably. If Reed is monitoring my old cell phone account, he could possibly get the phone log of numbers that call my voicemail account. He would either have to hack into the cell phone company or have paid someone on the inside to get him information, though. If I use this cell phone to contact my old voicemail, he might be able to get this number, but since it’s a Canadian number, would he then assume I’m in Canada? Could he figure out what tower I used to make the call and know that I’m in the U.P.?
I tug on my lip anxiously, seeing the risks associated with doing what I so badly want to do. I want to use this phone to call my voicemail. I want to see if I can hear Reed’s voice for just a second, to pretend for one moment that he is here with me. I want to pretend that I can reach out and feel his soft hair and his perfectly smooth skin. It’s such a tempting fantasy. My hands are beginning to tremble. It has been three months. He might have given up by now, I tell myself, and a crushing weight that I can barely hold up anymore threatens to bury me in grief. This grief is impossible to control and I’m growing so tired trying to survive it.
I could ruin everything that I set out to do in seconds if I make this call…but if I make this call, I could save myself from drowning. Making this call might be the worst thing I can do at this point. Can I handle it, or will it kill me to hear his voice again? Unconsciously, I dial the first three digits of the voicemail number then I slam the phone down on the desk near the computer I’m using. Backing away slowly from the phone, I turn and run to the front doors of the library, locking them all, and then I run back to the desk. I check the time; the cleaning crew won’t be here for at least another hour.
I feel like my life is already over; that everything I ever was is twisted out of place. I didn’t calculate the cost when I made my plan to leave Reed. I thought that I would have the strength to do this for him, but it turns out that I’m even weaker than I knew. All I can think about every single minute of every single day is him. With my new ability to think, I can process things differently than I could before. If I had thought I had overcome the kiosk in my mind devoted to Reed, I was deluded. One part of me doesn’t want to acknowledge that there was ever any danger to him and sees what I’m doing as being cruel. If Reed had left me, for any reason, could I have survived it? I am beginning to realize that things aren’t ever going to get better. If they were, wouldn’t I already know it?
Picking up the phone, I dial my voicemail number and wait for the phone to connect. I enter my password and the automated voice message service informs me that my mailbox is full. A second elapses in the space of an eternity, and then I hear the most beautiful and most gut wrenching sound I have ever heard in my life. It’s Reed’s voice. This must have been the first call that he made to me just after I left Crestwood. He doesn’t sound anxious, just concerned when he says, “Evie, where are you? Brownie said you weren’t feeling well after I left, and when she came back to class, you weren’t here. Are you okay? I found your necklace. It was in your bed. The clasp must have opened while you were sleeping. You didn’t lose it—so don’t worry. Call me back, I’m in the hallway outside of class.”
I cringe, remembering the lie I had told Reed that morning. It was after we had taken our seats in the classroom. I had pretended to notice that the necklace he had given me for my birthday was missing. It wasn’t hard to pretend to panic over it, since I was panicky and ill over the lie I was telling him. He offered to go and look for my necklace at home, his smile casual, as if it were no big deal that the priceless necklace was missing. He was more concerned about how I was reacting to losing it than the fact that it was missing.
As he had gotten up from his seat next to me, I reached out and grasped his hand. Pulling him back into his seat, I had leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips, breathing against his mouth, “I love you.”
“You’re worried?” he had asked me with a sexy smile.
“Yes,” I had replied honestly with my heart retracting tightly in my chest.
He had smiled at me, his green eyes staring into mine as he had leaned forward and allowed his forehead to rest against mine. “Don’t worry. I’ll find it,” he had sa
id, before getting up from his seat once again. I held on to his hand. He looked at my hand in his—my fingers were holding on too tight. His eyebrow had quirked in question when he again glanced at me.
“Bye,” I had uttered, making myself let go of him.
Once Reed had left, it was easy to convince Brownie I was sick. I was sick. I had had to put my head down on my desk for a few minutes while my head spun. Brownie had left quickly to get me water and as soon as I knew she was gone, I left, too.
My legs are shaking now. I listen to the automated voice come back on the line to ask me if I want to save the message. Numbly, I press the save button. The automated voice says, “Next message.”
“EVIE, where are you?” Reed demands, and this time he sounds upset. There is a pause as if he anticipated a response, but his next words dispel that thought. “Russell is missing. Is he with you?” Reed asks. He sounds worried about upsetting me with the news that Russell was gone, too. “Call me as soon as you get this message.”
I have to sit down, I tell myself, walking feebly to the lounge chairs positioned by the newspaper and magazine shelves nearby that face the window. I lower myself into a seat, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I save the message when it prompts me.
“Next message,” the automated voice says without emotion.
“GENEVIEVE AVA CLAREMONT!” Reed’s voice yells into the phone, making me sit up straighter in my seat. “Whatever you have planned you need to stop right now! Turn around and come home. It’s too dangerous for you to be out there on your own. Think about Russell. He’s totally helpless—you both need protection,” he says in a stern tone, like I’m a child who has done something naughty. Then, his tone changes drastically, and he sounds desperate in his next breath. “I can’t feel you—are you okay—don’t do this, Evie! Please… don’t do this.”
Intuition: The Premonition Series Page 24
