Ever since my dad abandoned me, I'd depended on libraries for solace and safety. They were free and open to everybody, no questions asked. So I wandered around the neighborhood until I found one.
It was a small brick building with a statue of the Cheshire cat by the front doors. The cat was painted with bright psychedelic colors, and he grinned as if he knew all the deepest, darkest secrets of the world. I couldn't decide if it was whimsical or terrifying.
Once inside the building, the musty scent of old books wafted into my nostrils, and I felt immediately at ease. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the library seemed to have fallen on hard times. The old wood shelves were scarred by the carvings of generations of children. The carpet, a hideous green and mauve paisley affair, was stained and faded. Only three computers were provided for the patrons' use and only one printer that made sickly whirring and grinding sounds though no one was using it.
In practically every library, the philosophy section had always offered me a quiet, private space to rest in. Very few people want to distress themselves with existentialism and hypothetical trollies. A more affluent neighborhood would have had multiple shelves with all the Kant and Aristotle anyone could ever want, but this library had only one short shelf beneath a window. A utility cart filled with discarded books that were being sold for goodwill donations sat next to the philosophy section. I turned the donation box upside down and shook it. Three quarters fell out and rolled onto the floor. I picked them up and put them in my pocket, forgetting about the hole. They immediately fell through and back onto the floor. I returned them to the box; they weren't worth stealing anyway.
I sat with my back against the philosophy shelf and closed my eyes. The headache was finally fading, and I was drifting into sleep when a clatter woke me. The cart had been knocked over, scattering the books and donation box to the floor.
I got up and looked down each aisle. No one was there. It was probably just some kid's idea of a joke; knock it over and run. I didn't want the mess to draw attention to my hideout, so I picked the cart up and replaced the books and box. I was about to sit down again when one book inexplicably slid out of its place and fell to the floor.
After the hallucinations and Lucas' talk of ghosts, I was wary. I couldn't stop myself from wondering if something supernatural was going on. But that was ridiculous; I didn't believe in that stuff. I believed in the material, the tangible, the here and now, not the hereafter. And yet, I was afraid to pick up that book, afraid it was a clue to a mystery that couldn't be solved.
My heartbeat quickened, and I could barely breathe. I hadn't been this scared since I had found myself alone on the streets for the first time. I could leave the book. Small and slim, it was unlikely to be noticed. But I had to know. I had to prove to myself that it was nothing mysterious or supernatural. It was only a book, a plain, ordinary book.
Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I darted forward and picked it up. I sat down and examined the cover. The title: Speaking from the Other Side, was in large black letters in the style of an old typewriter. The author's name was underneath in red cursive letters: Geraldine Baxter- Bean
There was no way that name was a coincidence. She had to be related to Lucas. I turned to the back cover and looked at the author's photo. She was an older woman with long, snow-white hair. Her eyes were keen and blue and seemed to stare directly at me. With some trepidation, I read the bio underneath.
From 1985 through 2017 Geraldine Baxter-Bean has worked with law enforcement, helping them solve their most puzzling cases using her clairvoyant abilities. Now retired, she has compiled this collection of stories about the most fascinating crimes she helped to solve. She also includes valuable tips and tricks for aspiring mediums.
I knew the book hadn't fallen by chance. I knew it, but I could not accept it.
"What a load of BS," I said to whatever entity was listening. Flippantly, I tossed the book aside. The pills were really taking effect now. A sudden wave of fatigue washed over me, making it difficult to stay awake. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of thunder, flashes of lightning, and flickering lights. While I slept, I must have grabbed the book, as I now clutched it in my hand.
"Excuse me, Miss?"
A mousy woman with a messy bun and glasses, a walking stereotype of a librarian, peered around one of the taller shelves.
"The library is closing due to the weather. You need to exit immediately."
She waved me through the maze of bookshelves and watched me walk to the doors. I plucked an umbrella from the stand and reluctantly stepped into the rain.
I retraced my steps towards the diner. It was the sort of place that would have low security. Perhaps I could break in, have a meal, and wait out the storm. When I passed Lucas' house the lights were on, and I heard several people shouting over each other. A real row was going on in there, and I was glad to be left out of it.
Rain fell in torrents, pooling on streets and sidewalks. The wind crashed against me making it difficult to push forward. A strong gust blew the umbrella out of my grip and down the street. I opened the book and held it above my head, but this did little to shield me from the rain. Finally, I saw the diner just across the street, but as I began to cross the intersection, my legs felt weak. When I reached the alley dizziness and nausea hit me out of nowhere. I had to steady myself against the side of a building. Just as I pressed my hand against the cold, wet bricks, a searing, burning pain ripped through my stomach. I cried out and doubled over. I lifted my eyes, and through a flash of lightning, I saw a man walking towards me. He was tall and bulky with broad shoulders. Another flash and I saw that he wore a derby hat and a long black trenchcoat. Yet another flash revealed a scar on his forehead that ran from his hairline to his temple.
The wall, the man, the street, it was all spinning now. I could feel I was about to pass out again and that's also when I felt arms slip around me, and I heard a reassuring voice whisper, "Don't worry, I've got you. I've got you."
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