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Now the world seems to have moved on. Everyone’s stopped whispering about the night of the murder. Nobody really wants to know what happened. Everyone stopped asking questions, and to be honest, it’s really kind of strange to me.
Kurlin isn’t the type of place that ever really forgets about anything, so why this?
Why has everyone seemingly forgotten about Sammy’s death?
Only, they haven’t forgotten about Neil and what people think he did. The death part is what people don’t talk about. They don’t feel sorry for Sammy’s daddy and they don’t feel upset that he passed away. What they hate is the idea that Neil Coleman did it, and they hate the idea that he’s still alive.
I shouldn’t be worried, though. As I sit at the front desk of the library flipping through some of the new books we just got in, I find myself daydreaming. That happens far too much. The truth is that it’s been five years since Neil was carted away. Five years and I still find my thoughts wandering to him.
I shouldn’t worry about him or think about him.
I definitely shouldn’t be writing him letters.
But I do.
Nobody knows – not even the postal carriers. I don’t put my return address on the letters and I never drop them in the mailbox when anyone else is around. There are no security cameras at our local post office, so I don’t have to worry about anyone finding them.
I need to start letting go of the past. It’s true, but I don’t know how to start.
“Excuse me, miss?” A tiny, squeaky voice draws me from my daydreams and I look up to see a girl standing in front of the librarian’s desk. There’s only one desk in the one-room library, and it’s mine. It’s not exactly an information desk and I can’t really call it the check-out desk even though that’s what it essentially is. It’s just labeled “LIBRARIAN.”
“How can I help you?” I ask. She’s got blonde pigtails and they’re bouncing as she jumps up and down in front of the desk.
“Can I use a computer?” She asks me. I look over at the row of five computers. Eleanor, our head librarian, purchased them last year, and they’ve been the most popular part of the library ever since. There’s an empty computer, right on the end, so I nod.
“Of course,” I say. I generate a password for her and hand it over. “It’s a one-hour time limit,” I tell her. “But if you need more time, just let me know.” I wink, letting her know she’s welcome to stay longer if she needs to. In a town like Kurlin, sometimes kids need a little extra time. I try not to judge the parents who live here. Most of them are very poor and many of them are unemployed. Sometimes going to the library is the safest activity for the kids here. If they weren’t here, they might be sitting at home alone or wandering around town on their own.
“Thank you,” the girl squeaks out, and she he
ads to one of the desks.
My daydreaming time has effectively come to an end, so I shove the letter I was working on in the bottom of my backpack and zip up the bag. Nobody needs to know what I do in my free time and nobody needs to know that I was working on a letter while on the job. I have a lot of down time at the library, and I spend way too much time thinking.
That’s always been one of my biggest problems.
Time passes, and soon it’s time to close up the library.
“Five minutes,” I tell the last remaining patrons, and I start turning off the lights. I make sure the backdoor is locked, pack up my stuff, and wait for everyone to file out of the library. The kids run ahead, anxious to hurry home for dinner, but one of the older guys who comes in, Charles, takes his time leaving.
“Busy day,” he tells me as we walk out together.
“Did you get a lot of good reading done?” I ask him. Charles loves to come work on genealogy at the library. Sometimes he just reads the news, though.
“A lot,” he says. “Lots of strange things happening today.”
“Anything worth mentioning?”
“The old Oak Creek Lumber Yard is opening back up,” he tells me. “At least, I think it is. Somebody just bought it.”
“That old place?”
“Yup.”
“I’m surprised. It’s been empty forever.” We reach the front door and I set the alarm. Then the two of us head outside and I lock the exterior doors. “Who bought it?”
“No clue,” he said. “Oh, and word on the street is that Coleman is back in town,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “And you know what that means.”
My blood runs cold.
