The Library: Where Life Checks Out

by Carmen DeSousa

  “Hi, Mark.”

  He nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up. “Damn! I’d really hoped I wouldn’t have to commit myself after I solved your murder.”

  She smiled from her position on the balcony. Fiction, as she’d told him several times. He walked up the stairs slowly again, his heart nearly throbbing through his chest. She’d not done anything to scare him, and she didn’t look like a half-decayed corpse, so why did he feel so nervous?

  “You don’t need to be committed, Mark. I don’t know why, but you can see me. Just like you saw Edda.”

  “Edda. No, I never saw Edda.”

  “She said you knew she was there. You heard her when she tried to talk to you, and you felt her when she tried to connect, and then you saw her image when no one else could.”

  “How do you know about that? Do you ghosts get together?”

  She smiled. “No. We can only be where we once were. She’s been here, so she can materialize here if someone summons her by thinking about her. I saw her when I was investigating her murder, but she came in the form of a child, since that was one of the ages she was when she was here alive, I guess. I didn’t know she was the child I’d seen until I saw her in my current state. She explained to me that she’d watched me, hoped that I could solve her murder and set her free. I don’t think we’re really here, though. I think just a part of our psyche is here to help solve our murders. I’ve never seen another soul. Just Edda. But she told me if I ever saw you that you could help me.”

  Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. “I just can’t believe this is happening. Why me?”

  Jay shook her head. “I don’t know either. I’ve tried to attack the person who killed me, but all I can do is torment them by moving light objects.” She smiled again. “That was me the other day, with the microfilm. Someone was here looking again. They’d trashed the place the night before, but then came back the next day and started going through the files. It’s not there. I moved it before I died. But the cases were light enough and I was mad enough, that I was able to throw them at the murderer.”

  “Enough with the games, then, Jay. If you saw the murderer, just tell me.”

  “I don’t know. The person who comes here is always wearing a mask. But whoever it is knows my name, and said ‘sorry’ the last time.”

  “Was it male or female?”

  “It’s weird. As I said, I don’t think I’m really here. I think I’m in another dimension. I can see you and hear you, but your voice comes through as a garbled echo, as if it’s going through a chamber of some sort. And slow. I know you think you’re talking at regular speed, but in my dimension, your words come through individually, as if a tape recorder is on slow speed.”

  Mark laughed. “Tape recorder. You really are from the eighties.” A bit settled at their almost normal conversation, he worked his way closer to her. “I believe you hid some information here.”

  She nodded. “But I don’t remember where it is. This was my favorite spot, though, so it has to be here.”

  “Yes, that’s what I figured too.” Mark made his way down the aisle where Jay had sat the other day. If she’d hidden it here, how was it possible that no one had ever found it? He touched the different bindings, looking for anything that she might have chosen. The film was thin, so she could have placed it in the back of any book. Certainly, she’d hidden the microfilm inside the thick cover of an old fairy tale. “Tell me,” he said as he pored over the titles, “why didn’t you tell your father?”

  “He couldn’t hear me.”

  “But I thought you played chess.”

  “We did. I’d motion which piece I wanted to move, and he could feel my urging I guess, but he could never hear me speak. But he would talk to me. Somehow, he knew I was here. I think that’s why he came back.”

  “Came back?”

  “Yes. He’d hidden out here the first few nights, but then he ran. He came back six months ago. He wanted to tell me that Gregory’s son had died.”

  Mark looked up from the books he was inspecting. “Why do you think he would do that?”

  “He’d said it didn’t make sense. He liked Gregory. He didn’t think he’d ever hurt me, but for the life of him—his exact words—he couldn’t figure out why anyone would kill us. Unlike the rest of the town, who’d immediately pinned our murders on my father, he knew the truth, and so did I. He’d come home that night and found my mother tied up. It had to have been a man. He’d knocked on the door, and like an idiot, I answered without looking. He had a mask on, so I couldn’t see his face. But he was tall. He grabbed me as soon as I opened the door, tied my hands behind my back, and then did the same to my mother.”

  Mark stood up. “You don’t have to continue; I don’t really want to hear the details. The idea that someone could kill anyone, let alone two innocent women—” He shook his head. “I think I know who did it. I just need the evidence.”

  “He was scared, Mark. When my father came home, he was startled. I don’t think he planned to murder us. He just wanted to know where I’d hidden the information. But my father came home…he’d had us both in my mother’s room…and when my father saw us strapped to the bed, he ran toward the bed, and the man hit him with a long rod of some sort. My mother wouldn’t stop screaming. She thought he’d killed him, and next thing I knew he had a gun aimed at her head, shouting at her to stop screaming, but she wouldn’t.” Jay dropped her head, as if she were crying. “She wouldn’t stop screaming, so he shot her. I didn’t even breathe when he turned the gun on me. I just shook my head and said, ‘please’, and he pulled the trigger.” She shook her head again. “I didn’t want to die. I was so happy. I was living the dream, engaged to the prince. I was going to win the Game of Life, as my father always called it. My father told me how hard he’d struggled, but he didn’t want me to want for anything.”

  Mark stepped toward her. “I’m sorry, Jay. I only know one way to help you now. I want to make them pay. Where did you put the information? I think I know why they want it. How can you remember all those details and not this one thing?”

  She glided past him like a cool breeze. She said she couldn’t be any place where she hadn’t been alive, so why had he felt her in his apartment? The idea was disturbing, as he realized he was attracted to her because she reminded him of Ashlyn. He knew immediately something was odd about her, the reason her breath had felt cool, even in his dreams.

  Jay climbed the steps to the top of the ladder.

  Of course, he realized. She would have chosen something out of the way. He climbed up behind her. The moment he reached her step, her body dematerialized into mist as he moved through her. All he felt was a cool breeze as if her presence had brushed his skin.

  “Which one?” Mark read off the titles, looking for anything that was popular when Jay was a college student.

  A vision flashed in his head. It was Jay, climbing up the ladder. He saw her shove a book back onto the shelf as she looked around her, but once again, he couldn’t see the title.

  Mark ran his fingers along the spines of the books, grazing over the titles. There were just too many of them. What would a twenty-two-year-old girl have read in the eighties? “Wait!” he said to no one in particular, since Jay had disappeared again.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed the person who would know.

  His mother answered on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “Hi, Mom. Not to be abrupt, but I need something from you.”

  “Okay.”

  “What books were you reading in the eighties?”

  She laughed.

  “Mom…” he tried not to whine, but for some reason, his mother was the one woman he could whine to until he got his way. “This is serious. I’m in a situation, and I need to know what was popular around the mid-eighties.”

  “Hmm…okay. Let me think. Well, my favorite will always be Sidney Sheldon. I think he was the first to blend romance with suspense. And he always had a great female heroine.
”

  Mark thrilled to see he was in the S’s. He read off the titles until one jumped out at him: Master of the Game.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Master of the Game,” he repeated aloud. The Game of Life, Jay had said. He was sure he had the correct book.

  “That was a great one,” his mother said over the phone. “Epic. The story swept through several generations. About greed, betrayal, family. Loved it!”

  “Thanks, Mom. I think this is it. I’ll call you later.” He hung up without explanation, knowing she’d understand, and made his way back down the ladder. Once at the bottom, he sat in the same chair where Jay had sat the other day.

  Ignoring the urge to jump to the back of the book, knowing he had the correct one, Mark traced the white letters on the faded-blue spine. The cover was a plain off-white. No image. The dust jacket had been thrown away years ago, he assumed. He opened the book and looked at the date on the copyright page. 1982. Perfect! It was an enormous book. As his mother had said, epic. Probably close to five hundred pages.

  Unable to wait a second longer, Mark flipped to the back of the book. Tracing the endpaper pasted to the back cover, running his index finger over the slight edge beneath the cream-colored paper, he thrilled at the fact that he was correct. Something was beneath the paperboard.

  Mark tore at the glued border at the top, carefully lifting the edges along the header. His fingers were too big to pull it open just a little, and he fretted over the fact that he was destroying a book. He loved books. Well, at least it wasn’t a first-edition book that he couldn’t replace.

  He turned the book upside down, attempting to get the thin sheets of film to slide out.

  “Did you find—”

  “Gah!” he screamed, dropping the book. “Stop sneaking up on me.”

  Jay stepped closer. “I loved that novel. I should have remembered.”

  Willing his heart to slow, Mark went back to work on the book. “I don’t suppose you could will these out, so I don’t destroy this book any more than I already have.”

  As if she didn’t find what he’d said funny, she just shook her head.

  Giving up, Mark pulled the thick paper backing down completely, freeing several transparent brown pieces of microfilm and a white sheet of notepad paper with handwritten notes.

  “Ahh…” he said. “The missing piece. Why.” He sighed, not wanting to believe his speculation; though he knew he had enough evidence now to put the pieces together.

  “I’ll take that.” He heard the voice, hating that he recognized it.

  Mark looked up to see a gun pointed at his head, her hand held out.

  “You know I didn’t hurt her, right?” Mrs. Davis said.

  Mark nodded and then shook his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Who would have believed me, Markey? Not without the evidence. If I’d mentioned that I thought Jessica had taken evidence that would have saved my library, then I would have looked guilty. I needed you and your team to find them before anyone else did. If he didn’t think I had proof that would convict him, he would have killed me too.”

  Mark shook his head.

  “Markey, I might not be able to shoot you, but my friend can.”

  “You can come out now, Bill. I know you’re beside her. You put on a good show, but I knew you weren’t homeless,” Mark said.

  Bill stepped around the aisle of books and smiled. “You’re a nice kid, Mark. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Blackmail?” Mark smiled. “All comes down to money, huh?”

  Bill stepped forward and grabbed the film and scrap of paper from Mark.

  And then Mark heard a hammer of a gun locking into place. The second wave of the party had arrived. He hoped the third wave wouldn’t take too long.

  “Drop the gun, Margaret. Let’s go. All of you,” the older man said. He snatched the papers out of Bill’s hand and motioned the three of them out of the aisle.

  Margaret dropped the gun and backed away with Bill shielding her.

  “Dammit!” the man shouted. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? All of you!”

  “She came to you, didn’t she?” Mark asked the man. He didn’t know why, but a heavy weight filled his chest. As mad as he was, even though he’d never known Jay personally, he felt tears threaten. He never cried. But knowing that this man had betrayed so many people. That so many people had suffered and died because of him caused his insides to battle within him. And the hurt wasn’t over. The man had left a legacy that he would now be a part of forever. Someday, Mark would have to explain to his son—Ashlyn’s son—the family’s horrible secret.

  Mark stepped toward the man. “It can stop now. Devin has an unborn son. You can make a difference in his life.”

  The man’s eyes watered up for a brief second. “Ashlyn? The girl at the bar?”

  Mark nodded.

  “He told me he broke up with her. I don’t believe you. More lies.” The man raised the gun, but then stopped. “Where did you come from?” he asked, waving the gun at the little girl to move out of the way.

  Mark smiled as he saw the young girl in a long dress. She had long braided hair tied back with a bright blue ribbon that matched her vintage dress. She turned and smiled at Mark and then turned back to Mr. Burke.

  Obviously confused, Burke narrowed his eyes at the little girl and then jerked his head up as Jay walked toward him. “No. It can’t be. You’re dead.” He aimed the gun and shot, but Jay continued toward him.

  Mark motioned Mrs. Davis and Bill back toward the stairs as Burke concentrated on the two women closing in on him.

  “I…killed…you. You…you…can’t be here,” Burke stuttered. “And who the hell are you?” he shouted at the little girl again.

  “Oh, that’s right, you never met Edda. Did you? Because she was murdered…just like you murdered me,” Jay said. “But you knew all about her. Wasn’t she beautiful? Just like her granddaughter, Laura, and great granddaughter, Ashlyn. Heirs to your fortune. I tried to protect you from Mrs. Davis smearing your good Burke name and that cop you hired who turned on you. I overheard them and came to you, and you betrayed me.” Jay moved closer and Burke instinctively stepped back. “You killed my mother, you killed me, and then you came back and killed my father.”

  Burke shot again and again, but Jay and Edda continued to back him up against the railing. Then he stopped and turned the gun toward Mark. “I’ll kill them,” he warned.

  A shot rang out and Mark dropped, along with Bill who pulled Margaret down beside him.

  Not hearing anything, Mark patted down his body, looking for gunshot wounds. He’d heard stories how most officers didn’t even know they’d been shot until they were bleeding out. He released a breath of relief when his hands were dry. He checked Bill and Margaret, who were prone beside him. Bill nodded, the ex-cop in him comprehending what Mark needed to know without words.

  Gun drawn now, Mark glanced around the half-wall connected to the steps. Burke was on the ground. The ghosts were gone. Had Burke shot himself instead? Or had Jay killed him somehow? Her revenge had been powerful enough that Burke had been able to see her. But had she actually been able to pull the trigger?

  “You okay, Mark?” Townsend shouted from below.

  Townsend. The third wave had made it right in time. “Yeah…” Mark slowly stood and inched his way toward Burke’s lifeless body. He kicked the gun out of the way and knelt over Mr. Burke, checking his pulse. “I’m fine. Burke’s dead, though.” Mark inspected the wound. Tim had made a clean CNS shot. Townsend had always been one of the best at the target range.

  Mark dropped his head, realizing he was going to have to deliver the news to Ashlyn. First, that Burke was dead. And second, that she was, in fact, heir to one of the wealthiest families in Pennsylvania. He didn’t know how he felt about that. He hoped that she wouldn’t want any of it.

  Mark pulled himself upright again and walked back over to a crying Mrs. Davis and
Bill comforting her. “Do you want to wait until your husband gets here?”

  Margaret whipped her gaze up to him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re both under arrest for conspiracy, blackmail, and obstruction of justice.”

  She bolted to her feet. “What?”

  “Give it a rest, Margaret,” Captain Davis ordered as he climbed the steps.

  “How long have you been here?” Mrs. Davis asked in a whisper.

  “Long enough.” Davis turned her around and proceeded to handcuff his wife, while Mark handcuffed Wild Bill. Davis assisted his wife down the stairs as tears—real tears this time—streamed down her pale cheeks. Davis stepped in front of her at the bottom of the steps. “By the way, I’ll be filing for divorce first thing in the morning.” He looked up at Wild Bill, who was a tall man, taller than all of them. He sneered his distaste for the both of them. “For the library? For him? Of all the people you could have hooked up with. What a piece of work you are, Margaret.”

  “We’re just friends, Andrew,” Mrs. Davis said.

  Captain Davis pushed Wild Bill forward and the man obeyed; though, he turned around and glared at him. “We’ve been friends longer than you’ve been married, Davis.”

  Davis said nothing as he followed the two of them toward the exit.

  Townsend passed them and worked his way up the stairs toward Mark. “I called the meat wagon.”

  Mark just nodded as he looked down at the man. “Sad. He wouldn’t have gone to jail if he’d come clean twenty-five years ago. Yeah, the Burke name would have been smeared, and he’d lose half his assets, but murder? For money? She was so beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” Townsend agreed and then nudged Mark in the arm. “Hey, who was he talking to?”

  Mark exhaled a deep breath. “Jessica Buchanan.”

  “The dead girl?”

  Mark glanced around the library. Jay was gone and so was Edda. He’d solved both of their murders, so they didn’t need to hang around anymore, he guessed. “The dead girl has a name, Tim. He was talking to Jay.”

  “You say that as if you’d actually seen her too.”