Recognize this scene, now told from a whole different point of view? :) The windows were turning black with night so that when he pulled the chain on the reading lamp at the table, it reflected against the glossy glass, doubling the warm inviting glow cast by the stained-glass lampshade. In no time at all, he was deeply absorbed in a journal, reading a case study from a patient here in this world who’d exhibited similar symptoms as a couple of his own patients at home, although in this case, the child had experienced a severe allergic reaction to poison oak – a plant which didn’t exist in Eirentheos. And then, an unmistakably familiar voice shattered everything. “Anything I can help you find?” The words on the page in front of him blurred into undecipherable squiggles, and his heart tapped out a rhythm that rivaled the band at a coronation parade. What was she…? “No thank you.” He managed to force the words past his lips, praying that they didn’t sound as shaky as they felt. She was silent for what felt like far too long, and he felt the heat of her gaze on him and on the stack of books and journals on the table. “Well, let me know,” she finally said, and then she was gone. It took several minutes for William’s breathing to return to normal, for his pen to work the way it was supposed to, forming neat letters on the page in his binder. Once he regained some semblance of control over his thoughts he remembered that she worked here, the girl. She’d worked here for a while actually, at least a year and maybe longer. He’d seen her ducking in and out of the stacks meticulously re-shelving books, heard her pleasant voice asking if patrons needed assistance, always going just a little further than she probably needed to in order to help someone. Now that he was thinking clearly, he couldn’t understand how he’d forgotten that. He even knew when she usually worked – Tuesday and Thursday evenings, though every once in a while she’d been here at other times. Perhaps she worked Fridays, too, that might explain why she was driving down the road above the river. After processing the whole thing for at least a full five minutes, it occurred to him that he’d been quite rude to her. There was really no excuse for that; he was letting himself get carried away. She’d only been asking him if she needed help, giving him the same kind of courteous service she always offered to everyone, and he hadn’t even bothered to look at her and respond politely back. Guiltily, he looked up, wondering if she was anywhere nearby. Now might finally be the time to give her the apology he should have offered to her last week. But what he saw when he looked up made his heart almost stop. She was nearby, standing just at the edge of one of the bookshelves only a few feet away from him. And she was staring right at him. As soon as his eyes met hers, her whole face turned a violent shade of red and she disappeared back around the corner, pulling a cart of books behind her in a way that was obviously intended to look intentional, but instead had every hallmark of being an excuse. He’d seen that look. Often on Linnea’s face when she was very definitely up to something. Suddenly this was all terribly wrong. He’d gotten himself into a situation that was leading somewhere very bad. Somewhere that could easily cause his secret to be compromised, that could destroy every bit of privacy he’d built up for himself and his uncle here in this world. And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it. He tried to ignore it, to talk himself down. It wasn’t like the girl had said anything. And she wasn’t still hanging around. He kept glancing back over at the shelves where she’d been lurking, but she was gone now. After a while, he heard her voice way over on the other side of the library, asking someone else how she could help them. But when he tried to concentrate on his research again, he couldn’t. The words swam in front of his eyes, as incomprehensible as if they were written in a language he didn’t understand. Even his own thoughts were not on the questions he had, the notes he’d taken for himself. Every part of him was aware of only one thing: the girl. After a while he gave up, shoved all of the journals and his binder in his backpack, tidied the area, turned off the lamp, and left.
Posted on: Tue, 13 Jan 2015 20:23:50 +0000
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