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“Yes?” I answered. My voice sounded so far away. I heard what sounded like a relieved sigh on the other end. I was too disoriented to think that it should be strange that he sounded relieved. There was no way he could have known what had just happened… what I had just done.
“Yuh styll wanna meet at di library?” He asked, his normally relaxed tone uncharacteristically tight. Like he was worried.
I heard myself say “Of course.”
“Be der in twenty minutes.” He said, his accent still stronger than normal, his voice strained.
“Okay. See you then.” I said, feeling unnaturally calm. I hung up the phone and walked to the foyer. I had to concentrate to lace up my combat boots. My fingers were shaking so badly that I kept dropping the laces. I went through another breathing exercise. Once I felt a little better, I opened the front door and nearly threw up again. My knees buckled.
Dead birds. Dead birds littered my front yard. A line of dead ants had frozen where they stood on their way to their hill, like some sort of grotesque, dead, still-life. I didn’t have it in me to clean up the birds. I couldn’t even take a second look at those dead ants. I bolted. I ran from that house. I ran from the miniature graveyard and the, now pristine, office. I ran and wished I could leave my own body behind.
Conrad had said he would be at the library in twenty minutes. I made it there in fifteen. By some stroke of luck, I made it to the streetcar stop exactly as it was arriving.
It was nearly empty as it was one o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday. I curled up into one of the hard-backed seats and tried to ease my shaking while staring out the window. Rocking myself gently, I told myself It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. I refused to let myself think about those birds or the way the metal had bent itself back into shape before my very eyes. I had no idea what was going on. If I was insane or dreaming or had died and gone to hell. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to deal with it.
Once I got off the streetcar, I beheld the curved face of my sanctuary. The library was a blessing. I walked in and inhaled. It was one of my favorite buildings in the entire city. I felt safe here. I felt calm here. There were four stories of literature, all built in a cylindrical shape, towering above me, curving around the open center of the space.
The autumn-colored floors stood out against the soft cream panels that lined each level. When I looked up at the domed ceiling, I felt like I was inside a conch shell, gazing toward its spiral peak from the inside. I shook off the remaining dregs of panic and resolved to choose a book to lose myself into, instead of succumbing to the terror that still threatened to take over.
The thought of whatever had happened before happening again, here in this beautiful refuge, almost made me turn back. I had a sudden disturbing flash of dead people scattering the library the way the dead birds had peppered my lawn. But that fist around my heart was now a relaxed palm, and the beast in my chest was sleeping. I moved forward.
I took the elevator to the next floor where stacks upon stacks of reading material waited for me. The building was nearly empty, and I could almost hear the characters that lived between the pages as they called to me. The smell of paper filled the space as I stepped out of the elevator and wandered like a ghost to the stacks.
Making my way to the back rows, the quietness was like a gentle, peaceful caress. Nothing at all like that apocalyptic silence that had crushed my home only fifteen minutes earlier.
Running my fingers over the spines of the books as I walked, I listened to the tiny voices that always seemed to rise from the text whenever I passed. The written word had always spoken out loud to me, even as a child even before I had learned to read.
I stopped before one book that had a voice clearer than the rest. Usually, that meant it was something I would like. Picking up the small book of poems that had called to me, I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin.
There, leaning against the stacks I had just ambled past, was the most striking human being I had ever seen.
7
He was dressed in pressed black slacks and a deep green collared shirt. Much of his silver hair was pushed back along his head, as if he had run his hands through it one to many times, and it now just grew in that direction.
Some small pieces, however, tumbled into his eyes. The greenest eyes I had ever seen. How had I not noticed him as I had walked past? Had he even been there before?
Fear welled up inside me, egging on my already barely controlled panic as his eyes met mine. Given the day I was having, I couldn’t even be sure he was real. I bit down on my bottom lip, forcing myself not to back away.
His eyes slowly made their way down my face and paused at my mouth. I released my lip, suddenly self-conscious. Amusement curled the corners of his mouth as he allowed his gaze to travel lower, before settling on my ring of ravens.
“Don’t you just love it,” He said softly, his voice like velvet running down my bare arms, “when you find something interesting in the library?”
I nearly stuttered, trying to dig into the snap of anger that had always risen to defend me in the past. But it didn’t come. My anger, the one constant I’d had my whole life, wasn’t there to save me. As I reached deep, I suddenly registered the fact that this was the second time in less than twenty-four hours, that someone had spoken to me of their own accord.
This realization slammed into me with such earth-shattering speed and force that it snapped me out of whatever daze I had been in. This had already been one of the strangest days of my life. There was no way it was a coincidence that this stranger had suddenly appeared. Some basic instinct told me that he was dangerous and that I should be very, very afraid.
I relaxed my clutch on the book and forced myself to unwind. I fell back into the easy stance I had seen Conrad use the previous night when things had gotten tense with Jeremy. I would not let this man, this creature, this… invader of my library space intimidate me. The dead birds flashed in the back of my mind again, and I wondered if he was the one who should be afraid.
“Where did you come from?” I asked, and his smile widened. He chuckled, and again I had the sensation that someone was rubbing raw velour over my skin.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” He pushed up from the bookshelf and slid toward me. Even the way he moved screamed ‘other.’ As much as I wanted to flee, I forced myself to hold my ground. I had been so busy counting the inches as he closed the distance between us that I jumped when he reached forward to pluck the book from my hands.
“This is an interesting choice.” He drawled, examining the small book of poetry I had chosen from the shelf. “There’s a piece in this book that was written by someone who is considered a prophet.”
“Who are you?”
His eyes creased at the corners as he flipped open the book, and to my utter astonishment, he began to read it to me.
