I’ll knock two birds out with one stone. I’ll go to the library. It’s practically free self-diagnosis, and Rhea loves being there. Something is seriously wrong with me, but if I go to a doctor for this, they’ll lock me up for sure. I’m sure I’ll be able to find something about my ‘condition’ there. I’m trying to zone out as much as possible to keep myself sane, but I don’t know how long that dam’s gonna hold up. I’m not sure if it’s placebo, but I’ve noticed it’s less intense when there are less people around.

I walk into the library, and I’m surprised to see not too many people around. Maybe they’re upstairs or in meeting rooms. I turn my head to look at the bulletin board; lots of missing person posters. I’m sure the people that put them up will eventually realize their loved one will only get swallowed up by all the others on the wall. They’ve posted the monthly calendar, but it looks like someone’s gone and scribbled most of the events out with a marker. I guess you can’t host an event without people, and we’re losing more and more every day. Ugh. This sucks. One of the few events that are still on is happening today; ‘Obituary Collective.’ Sounds like a band name, but I guess that’s where most of the visitors are… I really need to find Rhea. I know she’s out there. She has to be. I walk up to the librarian at the counter. I think he’s new; I’ve only seen him a couple of times in the past several weeks when I’d come with Rhea, but he was up and running around. I’ve never seen him at the desk. His eyebrows are furrowed as his eyes shift back and forth through a book. I’d love to know what he’s reading, but the title’s in Spanish, and my Spanish is pretty lousy. Still, he looks way into it, and I kind of feel guilty over interrupting him.

“Uh, hi,” I try to say as gently as possible so I don’t startle him.

His serious disposition totally melts away as he looks up from the book, and although he has sharp features, his smile is gentle. “Good afternoon,” he answers.

Whoah, chills. Ultramarine… An unpolished sapphire. No, lapis lazuli. Or, actually, he sounds like… that holographic shine on crows’ wings. Yeah, that could be it. Lapis seems right, though. Comfortingly severe, and… hushed, but his words are clear, even through his accent. He places a leathery looking bookmark between the pages, closes it, and sets it somewhere on the desk. He fully faces me, his hands now resting on the desk. I’m thinking English isn’t his first language, just judging by his vaguely Hispanic-ish accent and the way he flipped his ‘r’ in ‘afternoon.’ Oh, and the book in Spanish, I guess. “How may I assist you?”

From the side that was facing me just now, I couldn’t see it, but now that he’s turned toward me, I’m a bit distracted by his eyepatch. His hair covers most of it, but the strings that hold it across his face catch my eye. Eyes plural, I guess. Can’t be insensitive about that. I can’t help but start to wonder about what could have happened.

“Ah,” he slightly slides away from the desk, “has the reason escaped you? I will be here when it returns.” Crap, I’ve just been standing here. Embarrassing. I’m about to turn away when I’m suddenly conscious of the beating I hear again.

“Er, sorry, I actually have two questions. One, I’m looking for my sister, and she comes here a lot, so has a Rhea Belmonte come in to check anything out?”

Immediately, there’s an apologetic look on his face. “I am afraid not. Perhaps my associate has- please wait a moment.” I nod, and he leaves to the back. I hear some muffled speaking before he returns. “I cannot confirm that she has been here today, but I also cannot deny it.”

I feel my shoulders fall.

“I would encourage you to look around for her, but you said you had two questions.”

“Oh, right. Do you have any books on, like… weird medical conditions? Like, hearing disorders, maybe?”

The librarian looks away for a second before looking back at me. “Please follow me.” He pokes his head to the back again to ask the other librarian to cover the desk, then turns to me and nods. He talks as we walk, and while I’d usually wish for silence, I don’t mind getting to hear his voice some more. “We do not have many works specifically for hearing disorders, but we do have some research articles on microfilm. Many patrons have found those to be useful.”

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve used one of those…”

“Do not be worried, I will assist you with the machinery.”

I hope it won’t take too long. I really have to hurry up and find Rhea, but this thing is really debilitating. I can’t help her if I can’t even walk straight or remember where I am thanks to a sound… On the bright side, his cadence and manner of speech are really tickling me. I just wish I were in a better headspace to actually enjoy it.

“Perhaps I can help you narrow the diagnoses,” the librarian suggests. “What have you been experiencing?” Oh, no. He’s gonna think I’m insane.

“Er… I guess… There’s been a rhythm stuck in my head.”

“Ah…” He looks at me over his shoulder with the most subtle smile on his face. “Earworm.”

I scoff and shake my head, and he laughs as he pulls out a ring of keys from his pocket.

“I am only kidding with you. I am sorry to hear you are fighting with this.” He unlocks the door, opening it and stepping to the side to let me in.

“It’s fine,” I lie as I step in, “it only started this morning. Er, maybe it did last night, but I’m not sure.” It’s quiet in here; almost too quiet. I can’t hear anything but the click of the handle and one slow pulse. The pulse is just a little too easy to focus on for my comfort right now, so I try to ignore it.

“Many people have complained about a condition called ‘pulsatile tinnitus.’ ” The librarian glances at me from over his shoulder once again. “Are you familiar?”

It’s not anything I’ve ever heard of, so I shake my head. “Not really.”

“I see.” He turns his body and faces me. I’m not sure why, but I’m starting to get a little uneasy. I can’t read the expression on his once friendly face. His smile is gone, and his eyelids droop. “You said it is like a beating, no? Do you hear it now?” I nod. “Please tap on the wall every time you hear a beat.” What the…? What’s he doing? He tilts his head and holds two fingers up to the side of his neck. Is this really happening?

“Uhm… sure…” I get a feel for the beat, then lightly start tapping on the wall along it. The librarian’s eye widens. He says a word I think I’ve heard before, but I forgot what it meant. He reaches for something from underneath his shawl.

“That is what I feared.”

“Uh, what room are we in-?”

In an instant, something comes flying at me. I don’t even bother to look, I just grab something- a book off the table- and hold it up against my face. From the other side, a knife is buried. I look at the librarian, whose eye burns with an expression I’ve never been the victim of before. I can feel the prickling sensation pressing from the inside of my skin again, the same prickling I felt at Hidden Trove.

“Something is protecting you,” he says slowly, a snarl underneath his voice. “What is it?”

“Pro- What are you talking about? Protecting me from what? I don’t know anything about that!” He throws two more blades, and I flinch. One of the blades grazes against my left arm, and I throw my opposite hand over the wound. I don’t wanna know how deep it is. “Shit!!”

“There has been another like you. I will not let the answer escape me this time.”

I can’t speak. I can’t move. The prickling all over my skin feels like something is literally trying to push itself out of my flesh. My chest is burning. The beating is deafening. I’m going to die. Why is he doing this?

“I see; you truly do not have the answer.” He grabs three more thin blades from the inside of his shawl. “But I cannot let you leave. I will ensure that your death appears self-inflicted.” Him. It’s him. But… how can that be? “May you find the answers…” I shut my eyes. Goodbye, Loveview. Goodbye, Rhea. “...as you pass!”

Something blurry is formed in the distance of the darkness. I don’t know if it has the ability to speak or think, but I feel like it wants to tell me something. I hear Rhea. I hear myself. We’re laughing, I think. Or maybe crying over a shared feeling together. It’s everywhere. Gentle but powerful. Formless but present. Dangerous but healing. It holds both my hands and squeezes them, reminding me that I am real, that I have value. It presses its head against mine and tells me there is so much more of me than I know. It wakes me from a bad dream and knows how real the fear was. Every letter written, every song sung, every injury tended to. Small gestures. Big gestures. The feeling of being hugged tightly, but without the physical sensation of arms around me. The feeling of being understood, even if what I said didn’t make any sense. The feeling of the only smile I’ve seen all day. The feeling of singing the same misheard lyrics. The first joke uttered after a serious talk. The time you don’t realize is passing while playing a lighthearted game. Like a silky ribbon tied around every scar I’ve ever suffered, like a gentle hand wiping away every tear I’ve ever shed, like a hushed voice telling me things will be okay. Being reassured. Being listened to. Being loved.

It does not end here.

I’m too afraid to open my eyes. I don’t know if I’ll be awake or asleep, breathing or dead. Heaven, hell, or some horrible place in between. But I have to. I have to open my eyes eventually, or I’ll live in fear forever. It’s the first step. But I truly wish I didn’t have to.

I don’t think my eyes have ever been so open before. The librarian’s knives- three of them- are pointed directly at me, but they are frozen aside from seemingly nervous movement. They are suspended by threads. They’re pink, or maybe beige. Somewhere in between. There aren’t too many of them, only a couple per knife. Although, I look at the librarian, and he’s covering his mouth with both of his hands. No one’s ever looked at me that way before. I see several more of these disgusting, glimmering threads. I’m looking for where the strings are coming from. I trace along their slick surfaces, going, going, going… until it leads me to the throbbing in my left wrist. My right. I suck in a scream. They’re coming from me. They’re coming out of me. Fleshy, pulsing tendrils. Worms. From me. That’s what it looks like, but that can’t be it. Nothing could make that happen. I’m healthy. I’m fine. Lying feels good until the pain sets in. It stings. It stings so bad. I feel heaviness but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. This can’t be real. I want to throw up. While my eyes are down at my forearms, I notice something at the bottom of my periphery. The hilt of a knife. He got me. He really, actually got me.

But the hilt twitches.

It twitches with every beat. My heart.

The librarian takes a strained step back. He mutters something in Spanish, his voice unable to find its ground, keeping his eye on my heart as if that were more startling than the threads form inside my body swaying in the air. The heaviness reminds me of its own presence, and I realize that it was everywhere a moment ago, but all of it is now shrinking, collecting in the middle and gaining density like a dying star just before it becomes something so unforgiving that light doesn’t escape it. The floating strings from my forearms withdraw themselves back under my skin, and then…

The librarian shouts as he steps to the side, an eruption of glossy strings shooting from the wound in my chest, taking the knife with it but never detaching itself from my body. It bends the heavy metal door before thrashing wildly, flailing itself every which way, but favoring the librarian’s position no matter how quickly he dodges its strikes. I can’t move. I can’t stop it. The librarian finally reaches into his shawl and sinks three knives, each one between his fingers, into the tangled mass. As it retracts, I think I see it starting to take him with it and pulling him back to me, so he pulls his arm back with force and releases himself and his knives from it before it slithers back into my wound.

We both stare at each other. He turns around, frantically unlocks the door and looks over his shoulder one more time before running away. For the first time all day, there is no pulse. I have no idea what he’s thinking, so I have to get out of here too before he tells someone about this. Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t know why that happened. I shouldn’t be able to do this. I don’t want to know how to do this. I’m fucking scared.

I feel tears weighing my lower lids down, burning them. All of it felt awful, like I was being threaded through. I don’t even want the strings or the mass back inside of me. I want to cut them off the next time I see them. Are they even mine? I don’t want to see my wrists or my chest. I’ll never look at them again. I don’t know what any of this means, and I’m afraid to find out. This isn’t happening ‘just because.’ Better yet, this isn’t happening at all. The doorknob twitches, and I can only hold my breath.

An older woman opens the door, the psycho librarian heeling beside her and peering past her shoulder as if hiding from something. Hiding from me.

“Sir,” she starts, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. It is not permitted for patrons to be in our maintenance room.”

I just nod, but it takes a second to move my legs again; I’m all shaky. As I walk by, my eyes dart to the one-eyed librarian and I’m not lost at all on his expression. All the fragments of his face are coated in the facade of stern contempt, but his pupil is constricted by fear. Not only that, but the beating when I pass by him is quicker. Louder. It almost causes another headache on its own, but the farther away from him I am, the softer it gets. Him asking me to follow the rhythm, his hand on his neck…

I think I get it now.