by Alexa Riley
“Sharp, I just faxed you.”
“I got it. Can you send me a mugshot?” I ask casually. “I want to run it with the story.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Our department didn’t handle her, it was higher up on the food chain than me. You’ll have to get with the Clean Up Crew on that.”
The Clean Up Crew is a euphemism for the group of men who swoop in and take jurisdiction over certain criminal cases. They make them all but disappear from the public eye.
“You know as well as I do that those guys aren’t going to say shit,” I reply. The detective isn’t a bad guy, but he’s playing dumb about this.
He huffs. “Look, it’s out of my hands, they just gave me the press release to give to you. There’s nothing else to do now but wait for the family to plan the funeral.”
I’m not sure if the detective meant to be flippant, but the comment makes me bristle either way. I ask a couple more questions, but he shuts me down and eventually hangs up on me.
I guess I’m just pissing people off left and right today.
My mind goes back to Naomi and how she’d been on a blind date with Brad just minutes before his death. I believed her when she said she didn’t have much to tell, but I want to talk to her in person. It’s harder for a source to lie to my face. I’m telling myself this to try and pretend that it’s not really an excuse to go see her. To hear that heavenly voice and watch it drip off her lips. I’ll have to be in control, though, and tread lightly. Especially considering who her father is.
I do some digging around and find out she’s an archivist in the public library. How does she sound so sexy on the phone and have the job of a book nerd? She must have been something special if The Leader had personally seen fit to try to match her up with Chalmers. The thought of someone else hearing her soft words and getting to enjoy her company makes me irritated. I look back at the two grainy photos I have, but I can’t make anything out.
I grab my phone and leave my office, but my editor pulls me into his office before I can make it more than two steps.
“Get in here and close the door,” he says, and I do as he asks. “I need you to stop digging around the Chalmers case.” His face is serious.
“Why?” I ask, but then I wave my hand. “I’ve got a feeling about this. I don’t think Brad is dead. I think something else happened,” I push. This story could be big and I want to know why a cover-up is happening.
“What exactly do you think they’re going to let us put in print? That The Leader’s Chief of Staff has gone missing? Or that they still don’t have his killer? Because either way, it makes law enforcement look bad. We’re printing the press release.”
“You saw that pile of shit?” I’m irritated that he’s even entertaining the idea of publishing that crap.
“Of course, I did. Nobody sends faxes anymore, so when one shows up we all go and read it. And another thing, even if this were a story, which it is not, you’re too close to it. I know Chalmers was a friend of yours.”
“Well, what else should I be doing? You want me to get back to writing fluff pieces about The Leader’s favorite hair gel?” I scoff. This is bullshit and he knows it. What’s the point of being a reporter if you can’t report the fucking truth?
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I have a proposal for you. Actually, the publisher has a proposal. You’re going to be promoted to editor. Then you can decide what’s news and what isn’t.”
So they want me to take his job? I know better than to jump on the offer because this sounds like I’m being paid off to back the fuck away from this story. They want me to get back in line and keep quiet. “What about you?”
“I’m costing them too much in health insurance, so they’re retiring me.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Still, I’m not buying. There’s something else.
“And you’re just fine with that?”
He looks incredulous. “This is how it works, Ryan. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you. I’m sixty and I take a lot of pills to even get around. You’re young and healthy. So, the job is yours.”
“What’s the catch? I know there’s one.”
“Get married and start a family.” He says it like you can do that with a flip of a switch.
“You guys are obsessed with our reproduction.” I run my hand through my hair, trying to understand this bullshit.
“It’s not me, it’s the Regime. You know we can’t keep up with the birth rates outside the district. Those people out there, beyond the wall, they reproduce like rabbits and we can’t keep up. The elites are going to be outnumbered in five years. Some say we’re already outnumbered. They’re going to try to take us down.”
“I’m not dating anyone.” I don't have plans for children anytime soon either. Not with how things have been going around here. Now I’m starting to think they want me to settle down so maybe I won’t kick up so much dirt. If I have a family to think about, then I won’t be as likely to cause trouble.
“You know that’s not an issue. The matchmakers already have their eye on someone for you.”
For a brief second, the sound of Naomi’s voice plays through my mind, but I shake my head. “I’m not interested,” I say as I walk out of my editor’s office.
I can hear him behind me as I make my way down the hall. “Weigh your options, son! We’ll talk about this later.”
The only woman I have any interest in right now is one whose voice I can’t get out of my head.
Chapter Three
Naomi
I sit at the front circulation desk waiting for the detective to drop off my handbag. The desk manager is there going through a box of paperwork while I scan documents to pass the time until I can get back to the archives. When the bell for the delivery door rings, I perk up.
“Those will probably be the children’s books back from the other side. You want to get it? I’m swamped up here,” she says, and I look at what she’s doing.
It looks like boxes and boxes of The Leader’s autobiography that they have to label and wrap in cellophane. I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t dare.
“Of course. You know I never mind going through books,” I say.
“Thanks, Naomi. I wash my hands enough times each day, and those books come back smelly and dirty from those street kids,” she says then shudders.
A streak of anger rolls down my spine at her words, but I nod silently and move towards the door. They’re children and just so happen to be on the other side of the wall that divides the elites from the working class. Her words are like so many others’ on this side of privilege, and I wish there was something I could do about it to change things.
I place my hand on my flat stomach as I walk, thinking that I’d love to have a baby someday. I’ve always had this silly dream of marrying for love and having children. But to raise them in a place where people speak hate makes me sick.
When I get to the door, I key in the code to unlock it. Each week the library loans children's books to the other side of the wall. It’s one of the charitable crumbs that the elite offer to the poor. It’s not enough, and we have so much more we could share, but I wouldn’t know how to go about doing it.
I open the door and grab the big laundry-sized bin the truck driver unloaded at the back door. I wheel it down the long hall and over to circulation desk then begin the process of scanning the books back into the system one by one.
As I look at the cover of each book, the titles stir something inside me, reminding me of my charmed childhood. I had a beloved nanny who read to me until I fell asleep every night. I wonder if one day I’ll be able to do the same for my child. I wouldn’t want a nanny to do the job for me, though. If it were my baby, I wouldn’t want to miss a moment.
I enjoy putting my hands on the children’s books, even if nobody else does. I think about the little children sounding out the words or being read to while they’re snuggled in their parents, laps.
As I pull out each book and sort them in where the
y’re supposed to go, I’m also keeping an eye out for one book in particular. I’ve checked in about thirteen books when I see the one I’m looking for. I pull it out and look around me, but no one else has me on their radar. I flip open the book and see a note tucked in between the pages. I glance back up again to make sure I’m in the clear, then I pull it out and read over it. It’s written in code, but I don’t need to consult the key hidden in my office to decipher it. It’s from a man I only know as O. I scan over it once, then read it again. It reads, Ten p.m. Need a ride to nursing dormitory and plans for the building.
Weird, but not the weirdest request O has ever sent. After everything that had happened over the weekend, however, I’m getting nervous. And this would put me alone with someone I don’t know.
“Naomi.”
The sound of my name causes me to look up in panic. When I see a man with a badge holding my bag, I crumple the note and let my stomach relax. I’m so jumpy these days, but that was close.
I walk up to him and take my purse before shoving the note deep inside of it. I thank the detective, shake his hand, and then watch him leave. Thankfully it’s a quick process.
I smile politely at the woman sitting at the circulation desk then go back to the small stack of books I have left to log in. I finish the rest of the work quickly, then I make my way to the library’s winding staircases and down to the dark bottom floor and then even farther down to the basement. I key in my code and walk into my private office, closing and bolting the door behind me. I’m the library’s sole archivist, and the floor above me is nothing but study rooms. Nobody ever comes down to use those, least of all a floor below it to where I’m at. It can be a little creepy down here, but I like the quiet.
After I put my bag down, I go over to one of my metal filing cabinets and look up where the city’s building plans might be archived. When I find it, I locate the numbers and scan the plans.
What does O want with the hospital staff dormitory? Surely, they aren’t planning to blow something up. It had been a crazy weekend with Brad being killed, and I’m probably just being paranoid. I decide to let O study the original building plans rather than print a copy because it would be impossible to explain away that much paper missing. The ladies upstairs are always really uptight about office supplies being used, and nobody ever comes to look at building plans. That’s either because nobody would ever think to find them at the library or they’re all the way down here in the basement.
Once I secure the building plans O asked for, I get back to work on my real job of archiving past issues of newspapers, magazine, and books that have gone out of circulation. I have a stack of news magazines from the previous year that need filing and a stack of magazines next to it.
On the top of the magazines is an issue from May of last year. I thumb through it, even though I read it at the time it was published. I read everything that comes through the doors of the library. Nothing comes in here without my knowing about it.
The cover story is a feature on one of the indigenous families who were relocated when the Regime built the city walls. The magazine had been following this family throughout the decades and the article describes how the family had pulled themselves up by their bootstraps to be successful. I know through my written contacts with O that the whole article is a lie.
The people outside the wall have been left to their own devices, more or less. The twice-monthly bags of flour, rice and bottled water rations cause more riots than they actually help. Some basic first-aid supplies for emergencies are sometimes dropped, but that’s really about it.
I know the truth though. That the real help comes through the tunnels. That’s where the Insurgence gets their information. I know because they call me The Librarian. I’m one of the people helping pass intel and anything else they might need. As much as I can without getting caught or risking their own safety.
As I go about my work preserving the binding and the pages, something bothers me. Every single one of these magazines is a hollow shell of misinformation. They’re all fabricated to make it seem like The Regime is the one saving us all. Our true history is being lost every year, and I can’t be the only person on the planet who might care about facts.
My anger grows so intense I can’t stand it any longer. I take out a red marker and write in the margins of the magazine that these stories aren’t real, and I cross out portions of an article that are outright lies. I correct the falsehoods that the Regime has used to brainwash us. A Regime that provided me with a posh and pampered life.
My family was able to send me through school to earn my library science degree. I never went hungry and never wore second-hand clothes. I never once worried about whether I should drink the water or if my family would be arrested for something they did. Part of the anger fueling my scribblings is anger at myself. My work with O is my way of giving back in some small way what the elites have stolen from those on the outside.
“You’ve got some serious red pen action going on here. Are you sure you’re not an editor?” The deep voice rolls over me, and I snap my head up.
I’m shocked when I see exactly what I pictured and so much more standing in front of me. He’s got dark hair, a dark shadow of a beard, with piercing blue eyes. They’re so light they’re almost clear blue, and I feel like they’re looking right through me.
He’s bigger than I imagined, with broad shoulders and a flat stomach his T-shirt clings to. He pushes away from the doorframe, and he somehow grows bigger the closer he comes. My mouth is dry and my palms are sweating as he smiles at me and flashes a dimple in his cheek.
“You must be Naomi,” he says, leaning down on my desk and staring straight into my soul.
“Shit,” I whisper as I lick my lips and try to remember to breathe.
Chapter Four
Ryan
Oh fuck, I’m in trouble. Her green eyes look up at me, and I watch as her tongue glides along her bottom lip and makes it wet. I wonder if she’s wet like that between her legs, and I have to lean over on her desk to hide my erection. The sight of her has knocked the wind out of me, and I’m being pulled closer and closer.
One look at her and I’m done for. She’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. Every thought I’ve ever had leaves my mind, and suddenly there is only her.
I make a show of looking her up and down, not hiding the fact that I’m appreciating every inch of her. Is she even real? Or has she been genetically created to drive me insane with need?
She’s wearing a dark red suit jacket that looks expensive. It hugs her body and shows off her breasts that are straining against the buttons. When I glance at her waist, I see her matching skirt has ridden up to reveal creamy thighs that are parted slightly. Her dress is short and against the dress code, but something inside me likes that she’s breaking the rules. What other rules would she be willing to break?
Her brown hair is pulled up in a loose bun with a pen, and a few strands have fallen around her face. She’s got on dark-rimmed glasses, and her mouth is parted as I lean closer to her. She’s every fantasy of a dirty librarian I’ve ever had, yet she looks so fucking innocent I bet she’s still got her cherry tight between her pussy lips.
I wonder what the hell she’s doing down here all alone in this god-awful basement of the public library. She should be upstairs, out front. Hell, she should be the face of the public library. I’d trip over my own feet running to be the first in line to get a library card if it came with the chance to be next to her.
When the image of her surrounded by other men crosses my mind, I think her being down here alone might not be so bad after all. She looks like a dirty little tease who would move her panties to the side and show me her kitty but not let me fuck it.
I curse as my cock throbs, and I feel the wet precum drip onto my thigh.
“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” I say when her breath catches. If she could read my mind right now she’d be terrified. “I just needed to see you, Naomi.”
&nbs
p; I watch her cheeks flush when I say her name and then wonder if she’s ever sat on a man’s face before. Jealousy spikes through me when I think about her sweet little ass riding a mouth that isn’t mine.
She looks relieved for a second, then swallows. She looks away and closes the book she was scribbling in and tucks away her marker.
“You must be Ryan,” she says, still not looking at me.
“Did you recognize my voice?” I have this need to hear her say yes. That even though we only spoke for a brief second, she liked the way I sounded. Maybe she even wanted to hear more. Just like I did with her.
She nods casually before she stands up from behind her desk. She’s not much taller even with her contraband heels on. Women aren’t supposed to wear those, but seeing another way she’s breaking the rules makes my cock harder.
“Why would you sneak up on a person like that?” She says it in an accusing voice, and I have to force myself not to smile.
She has a voice that flows like honey, even when she’s pissed at me for acting like a stalker. I decide to push her a little because she looks worked up, and I want to see if she’s got claws to go with that mouth of hers.
“I’m trying to get a library card.”
She glares at me over the top of her glasses. “You walked past the circulation desk, about half a dozen people, down the creepy stairs, and to the most secluded part of the building for a library card?” She cocks her head and raises an eyebrow.
She’s shaken off whatever initial surprise she may have had with me being in her office and now she’s questioning me being in her territory. She walks around her desk and I straighten up, trying to ignore the bulge in the front of my jeans. When she stops in front of me, the difference in our height is nearly comical, but she doesn’t let that stop her.
