Animosity

 

 

      Chapter One

 

 

 

 

“What is with this town?”

Jessica Mason wanted to scream. Already three days in Middleton Village, and nearly every person that saw them had glared with contempt. Most recently it was the grocery store clerk where they bought a heap load of food to fill their pantry.

“We left California for what?” Jessica asked.

Mrs. Mason walked further into their cozy little kitchen, ducking underneath the dangling copper pots-and-pans rack where she kept banging her head against the brass. Her bundled up brown hair tangled in an overlarge wire whisk. As soon as they got permission, that rack would be the first to go. After unhooking her hair, she shrugged at her daughter, unloading yet another box of groceries she had carried from the car. “A promotion. Remember?”

“Ugh!” The brown-haired, bespectacled fifteen-year-old thumped her full grocery bag onto the counter. “What was wrong with your job back West? Mr. Deacon paid you enough.”

Her mother smirked, tilting her head with affection. “Jess-baby, you know why. We had to make a clean break.”

Clean break indeed. Jessica knew what that really meant. A clean break from her father. The divorce was bad enough. But moving clear across the country to Middleton Village, Massachusetts was going overboard. They were literally in the gates of Hell. Even the locals called it the Bermuda Triangle of Massachusetts. Not that Middleton Village wasn’t lovely in a Thomas Kincaid sort of way. But it had this underlying superstitious thing going on, a throwback to the colonial era witch-hunts that happened there when the town was first established. Their landlady had warned them when they signed the contract that the town was cursed. Then she promptly moved to an Arizona retirement community with a bunch of other rich golfers.

It certainly was cursed. Three days, and the reception had been colder than cold. Jessica hated it. Their neighbor, Mrs. Larsen, had watched Jessica and her mother unload the moving truck from the right-side of their house while watering her begonias with her plastic yellow sprayer hose attachment. She was dressed in her green gardening smock and bright yellow dish gloves. Her eyes were as narrow as Mrs. Cravits’s from Bewitched. Mrs. Mortensen, their neighbor on the left-hand side, peered out of her kitchen window. She had closed her blinds with a snap the second she saw Jessica glance toward her house.

“Heaven’s what is wrong with these people? Hasn’t anyone ever moved in before?” Jessica moaned.

Her mother shook her head, putting all the canned goods into the shelves inside the narrow pantry. “Not according to my boss. He said his wife was the last outsider to come to this town.”

“And she’s now gone,” Jessica muttered with a roll of her eyes. “Because of—”

“The curse,” her mother finished with a giggle, nodding. “I know. So ridiculous.”

Leaning on the counter, Jessica shook her head. “I can’t believe they really believe in all that hocus pocus. I overheard in the grocery store some lady say the local library is haunted.”

Her mother shook her head, lifting up several cans of french-style green beans next. “Not haunted. Cursed to entrap little boys—”

“Teenaged boys,” Jessica corrected, handing over cans from her bag.

“Some preteens were taken,” her mother countered, smirking while claiming them. Then she shook her head. “They probably just ran away. So much nonsense about werewolves in the woods and witches in the town hall, it is no wonder they keep disappearing.”

“So why did you bring me here?” Jessica asked again, raising her eyebrows wryly. She held the last can out.

Chuckling, Mrs. Mason nodded, taking it. “It was either this or Ghana. And since Deacon Enterprises has its headquarters here, and Mr. Deacon swore that there was no way your father could find this place on a map, I figured here was best.”

“Middleton Village isn’t on any map.” Jessica snorted then turned to go back outside to get the rest of their food stuff.

She hurried, skipping down the steps toward their hatchback. She stopped half way. The back of the car was still open, but the bags were not where they were supposed to be.

Eggs shattered, the carton upended. The sweet-pickle jar also. All the cereal was dumped, box tops torn open with the bags, the contents blowing in the light breeze like fallen snow. Their remaining groceries splattered the sidewalk and curb as the echoes of feet running away sounded in her ears.

Jessica’s eyes widened at the mess. She looked left, saw no one, then right. Why would anyone do such a thing? Tears formed in her eyes. Three days, and this is the type of greeting they get?

Stomping the rest of the way down, she bent over and picked up the rest of the carton of eggs, salvaging the singular un-cracked egg. She also picked up the opened and dumped jug of milk, checking to see if any of it was left. Collecting the smashed bag of potato chips, she nudged the shattered jar of mayonnaise with her sneakered-foot.  Mayo goop spread around it in a four foot splatter.

Sharply whipping her eyes to the hedges on either side of their small yard, Jessica clenched her teeth.

Mrs. Larsen was currently adding mulch under her flowers in the beds, averting her gaze superiorly away. Mrs. Mortensen snapped her blinds closed again, still watching even after three days.

Jessica nodded to herself. There was something seriously wrong with these people. Sighing heavily, she shot the entire neighborhood of old colonial houses an extra severe look. Next time she would guard the car. It was clear these local yokels were not going to make their move-in an easy one.

“Ma!” Jessica yelled when she stepped back into the house with her salvaged groceries. “Are you sure their curse isn’t that they are all just a bunch of jerks? They sabotaged our groceries!”

Her mother was wrestling again with the wire whisk and her hair. Glancing down, she jerked on the metal wire utensil as it was still hooked to the overhanging rack. Mrs. Mason’s eyes flickered to the mostly empty carton of milk and the one egg Jessica held up. Moaning, she lifted the whisk off the rack and gently undid the knot, shaking her head. “He warned us…”

Casting her mother a dry look, Jessica said, “Mr. Deacon didn’t say they’d attack our groceries. I say we call the cops.”

Shaking her head, her mother merely sighed. “No. We just need to be more careful. It’s part of the deal we made in living here. Small town suspicion is just something we have to adjust to.”

“I hate this.” Jessica glowered, ramming the carton of milk down onto the counter, the meager contents sloshing. She put the egg down more gently. Shaking her head hard, clenching her teeth with a loud huff, she said, “What was so bad about being with Dad anyway? It wasn’t like he cheated on you or anything.”

Her mother sighed as sympathetically as she could. “Jess-baby, you know what kinds of things he was up to. And he was dragging you into it. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life bailing you both out of jail.”

Jessica went automatically quiet. Then in a tiny voice, she said, “It was only once.”

Shaking her head heavily, her mother replied, “Once is too much. Him using you in his magic acts with you wearing those skanky—”

“Hey!”

“—revealing outfits was bad enough. You are not even sixteen, and he had you parading around in fishnet tights and French-cut leotards like some kind of playboy bunny. No thank you.” Her mother set her hands onto her hips. “I want you to live life like a normal teenage girl. Go to college. Find a boyfriend your own age. Not one of those sleazy guys that hang around your father’s magic shows. You know the ones I am talking about.”

Jessica rolled her eyes, hanging her shoulders.

Her mother sighed more calmly, seeing her daughter understood. “Jess-baby. I love you. I want you to be healthy, and truly happy. And your dad was on his way to ruin. He was already ruining us.”

There was no argument to that. Jessica knew it to be so.

Her father wasn’t a bad man exactly. And Jessica knew her mother still loved him in a way. But he was a traveling magician that often performed in carnivals and in dirty stage shows.

Jessica had always thought he was a good magician. His optical illusions were keen, and he was a sweet talker with all the charm of Johnny Depp and all the skill of Harry Houdini. But recently she had found that his bag of tricks were not merely in the flaming pans or the white doves or even the rabbits he pulled out of hats. The tragedy was, he made more than women disappear in his magic acts. The Marvelous Mason was a master at sleight-of-hand.

Basically he was a thief. 

“You know,” Jessica murmured to her mother as she walked back to the front door to close it. “Dad asked me where we were moving to when we were packing.” She peered out into the road and realized she hadn’t shut the back of the car yet. The irony that no one had set fire to it surprised her.

Sighing once more, Jessica’s mother followed her to the door and looked out at the mess on the curb. Then she went out to clean up the rest.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jessica continued.

“Good,” her mother replied across the yard.

“It was hard.”

Her mother picked up what she could, then closed the back of the car firmly, checking to make sure the catch locked.

“Did you tell him anything? A P.O. box number or something? You know, in case I want a birthday card, or a Christmas card?” Jessica asked, angling her head to look into her mother’s face.

Chuckling, Mrs. Mason met her gaze, carrying back the remains of the cereal boxes. “Bermuda.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. Of course. Her mother did not like to lie, but she certainly wouldn’t give her father any way to contact them. “Ok…but what if we have an emergency.”

Marching back into the house, Mrs. Mason said, “Mr. Deacon promised to take care of us.”

Closing one eye, Jessica smirked, followed her in. She shut the door behind them. “You’re not crushing on Mr. Deacon, are you? You are barely divorced, Mom.”

Mrs. Mason shook her head with a laugh, dropping all three cereal boxes into the trash. “No. Nooo. I am not interested in my employer like that. He’s constantly traveling abroad. And Mr. Deacon is emotionally unavailable besides.”

Chuckling, Jessica was not so sure. Her mother always liked the mysterious types, and Mr. Deacon was chief among them.

 

*

 

Jessica decided to walk to school on her first day, which was ironically, a Friday. Nervous as anything, she still liked the adventure of it. She used to hike all over the Carbon Canyon Regional Park whenever she could. Middleton Village had to have plenty of places to explore. So far, all she found was Wolf’s Wood, a forest connected to the Deacon estate. Most of the trees were oaks and maples—deciduous trees, though there were a few pines in there also. It had no trails to speak of, but it was also connected to the park just off of the town square. Jessica passed by the park, cutting through the town square on her way to school that morning.

So far the park did not look promising. Remains of an old, rundown fort stood on one side near the sidewalk. The wood rotted with all sorts of fungi growing on it. And trees. Lots and lots of overgrown trees with no green space to play soccer or even throw a Frisbee ten yards. Either that, or it was so overgrown that she couldn’t tell if there was green space. What playground equipment she saw was meager, and rusty. One set of swings and a teeter-totter. What a disappointment.

But she thought the town square looked promising. She gazed at it watching the birds flutter off and a car almost hitting a squirrel by three feet. Crossing the cobblestone to the fountain in the center, she peered in. It was converted from an old well, the center still retaining its shape. Around it, water bubbled over into a shallower pool. The fountain formed a roundabout for cars, giving it a mildly European feel to the square though there was plenty of driving space beyond it. Off the square (which was more of an octagon) on the right loomed a two-story colonial style building with a sign above it that said Middleton Library. It had a clock with two large bells that gonged every hour on the hour. She had been hearing them since their arrival. It echoed over the town. Currently it was gonging, letting her know that she was going to be late for school if she did not hurry.

Two buildings down from the library, still along the square, stood a short classical style building, as if she were back in ancient Greece or the US capitol. The Doric columns holding up the pediments displayed triglyphs supporting dynamic mythological friezes that would have felt more familiar in a large, consequential city. All depicted the residents’ desire to be part of a more dignified kind of society. The plaque on the side said Middleton Village Town Hall. Jessica passed all those, hurrying her pace for two more blocks until she reached the high school.

Middleton High School was perhaps the only new thing in the town, and only partially. Originally it was an old colonial school house. It expanded with each new generation, the newest part updated just that last year. The front of it still had the old bell tower, which was no longer used except as the main entrance to the school. Everyone walked up the solid stone steps through the archway into the main doors, hedged and trimmed with creeping ivy. Yet the majority of the kids stopped and goggled at her the moment they saw her.

She almost stopped then.

It was obvious to Jessica now that no new kid had ever moved into Middleton Village before. They stared at her as if she were a freak of nature—a complete impossibility. What was she to do? Run now and insist on homeschooling? It was a thought. No. Jessica clutched her schedule in her hand. She was going to go in bravely, not intimidated. It was an adventure, she kept telling herself under her breath. One big stinking adventure. The natives would be hostile, but she would overcome. With a solid grin, she marched straight through main doors.

According to her paper schedule, her first hour class was on the second floor—History with a Mr. Dickers. As Jessica ascended the stairs to go to that room everyone halted to stare. She was half tempted to see if she had a booger hanging out of her nose. Yet to maintaining her cool, she continued on straight through the door. The teacher sat, preoccupied at his desk, and hardly looked up.

Clearing her throat, she held out her schedule.

Looking up mildly first, he then did a double take and straightened up. He took the paper she handed him without a word then gestured to an open seat she could take near the front of the room.

So she sat in it.

So awkward. Glancing at all the faces that turned in her direction, Jessica gave a halting smile.

The starting period bell rang twelve minutes later.

“Welcome everyone. Before we begin today,” Mr. Dickers said over the murmur of voices as everyone in class continued to stare at Jessica like they would a trained seal sitting there, “we’ll have our new student introduce herself to us. If you please.”

Jessica drew in a breath for strength. She knew this might happen. It didn’t always. Some teachers let their new students quietly slip into anonymity. But clearly this was not going to happen in such a small town. She got up, slid out through the aisle, and turned around to face the room. All of them stared back at her, most without any expression except amused curiosity. She took that as a good sign.

“Hi, I’m Jessica Mason. My mom and I just moved in this week from California.”

Several murmurs erupted in the classroom. Excitement mounted a little.

“Uh, this is my first time on the East Coast, so uh, I’ll need a few pointers on how to handle winter here.” She chuckled with an uncomfortable nod then moved to sit down again.

Mr. Dickers set a quick hand on her shoulder to keep her there. “Does anyone have any questions for Miss Mason?”

One boy raised his hand. Mr. Dickers pointed to him.

“Why did you move here?” the boy asked.

Jessica blushed then shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about the divorce, so she said, “Uh, my mom worked for Mr. Deacon in his LA branch, and she got this promotion as head foreign contract negotiator in the company. So we moved here, to the main branch. She speaks all sorts of foreign languages and stuff.”

Several of her new classmates drew in breaths. Some of them nodded knowingly.

Another boy raised his hand.

“Why do you wear glasses, four-eyes?”

Jessica blinked. Four-eyes? What? Were they stuck that far back in time? Most small town types were a little out of touch with modern life, but this was ridiculous. Besides, her glasses were fashionable wire-rimmed things, not coke-bottle monstrosities. She lifted her chin and replied, “I’m not a fan of touching my eye, so contacts are out of the question.”

But her classmates snickered, murmuring in a growing chant, “Four-eyes. Four-eyes.”

Rolling her eyes, Jessica looked to Mr. Dickers. But he was smothering a mocking smirk with his hand. Really?? How backwards was this place?

Shaking her head, Jessica exhaled and said, “Are the questions over? Can I sit down now?”

Nodding, Mr. Dickers waved her to her seat, masking another chuckle.

As soon as Jessica took her seat, the pretty girl next to her leaned over and sniffed her clothes. She was sneering. “You smell like toilet cleaner.”

A warm flush rose behind Jessica’s ears. She tried to blow it off. “We just finished spring cleaning.”

The girl’s trendy little friends snickered with smug, down-the-nose leering look. The same time, Mr. Dickers started into his lecture on the reasons North America was colonized.

“It’s autumn.” The girl sneered. “You smell like a janitor, four-eyes. Are you living in the school bathrooms?”

Jessica didn’t finish that conversation. Her face had gotten so hot. Her anger surged up in waves behind her ears, muting all sound. She looked away, paying attention to a burn spot on the desk.

The girl’s name was Mary Pransford, she soon found out. Mary was a healthy girl with a peaches-and-cream complexion and honey-colored hair. Next to Mary, Jessica felt plain. Mary wore fitted, yet modest shirts with all the fashionable accessories Her earrings alone looked expensive, yet not brassy. Clearly the girls followed Mary in all the fashion trends, especially with how they hung on her every word. And not just that. They followed her in everything.

When Jessica went to her second hour class, Mary spread the word that a four-eyed geek had invaded their picturesque little town and she needed to be put in her place. So for the rest of the day, from Science class to Gym, every kid, from freshman to senior called her four-eyes and told her to go back home to California.

Lunch was dismal. Jessica dragged her feet into the cafeteria looking at the all the filled tables—searching for one spot to sit. Yet the moment she set her eyes on an empty space, someone would occupy it, shaking his or her head saying, “Move along, four-eyes.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Jessica snapped finally when a freshman girl wearing giant retainer blocked the last open seat with a binder covered in pink hearts saying I love Justin Bieber all over it.

She found a ledge near the doorway to set down her tray. The idea of eating lunch standing up for the rest of the year sounded ridiculous. The idea that not one person was willing to let her sit was even more so. What was their problem? Didn’t anyone wear glasses in that hick town? It wasn’t like she was the ultimate geek! In fact, Jessica thought indignantly with a sulk while munching on her chili-fries, leaning on the ledge irritably, she had never been considered a geek back home. She was vice-president of the magic club for pity’s sake. She went skiing on Mammoth Mountain, not to mention Big Bear, a junior varsity member of the ski team. And…and, she learned how to surf—if only a little. She did stuff. She had a life.

The indignity of it all swelled in her chest. She was no geek. Why in the world were they snubbing her?

After lunch, Jessica almost stormed to her sixth hour class, so angry that her mother had dragged her away from California to a podunk East Coast hovel of a town among closed-minded hicks. But she halted the second she stepped through that door.

Laughing, in the center of the room, was a tall redheaded boy, freckled from head to toe, with a smile that could charm any fool into doing anything. Adonis nearly. He turned his eyes towards her and smiled wider.

If he called her four-eyes, that was it. She was going to bring her book bag down onto his head.

“So, you’re the new girl,” he said. His grin looked genuine at least. He hopped away from the group he was sitting with. An especially pretty blonde with large fat ringlets stared daggers at Jessica the second he left her. The redhead jogged up to Jessica without any pretense to do harm. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and said, “How are you liking it so far? One of the seven circles of Hell, right?”

Jessica broke into a laugh. All her anger extinguished, washing right out of her. Finally, a real human being. She nodded.

Everyone around her scowled, glowering most specifically at the redhead.

He stuck out his hand, so far no joy buzzers in his palm. “I’m Andy. Andrew, really. Andrew Cartwright.”

“ABC!” someone from his crowd shouted.

Another person catcalled, all in good fun though.

Andy cast a dirty look over his shoulder. “Knock it off.” He then smiled back at her.

Jessica tilted her head at an angle and asked, “ABC?”

Shrugging, Andy said, “My middle name is Bartholomew. ABC is an old childhood nickname. But I’ve been Andy since junior high, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Sure thing, Abey!” one of his other friends called out, cackling.

Someone made kissing noises.

Andy rolled his eyes. Clearly that was another of his old nicknames.

“Anyway,” Andy said, “I hope people haven’t been too mean to you. It’s been generations since anyone new has moved into Middleton Village. We could totally use new blood.”

Jessica lifted her eyebrows at the mention of blood. The town was creepy enough.

He seemed to read her thoughts. “I mean, there are enough in-breeders here as it is.”

And Jessica laughed.

His crowd did not. But they were not inclined to relentlessly tease Andy in the same way they had Jessica. Clearly they loved him as equally as they thought she was a four-eyed geek.

“That’s Mark Parks,” he said, pointing to a cocky boy with brown hair and lanky build. Mark was in a yellow Middleton Timberwolves tee shirt. “David Yates, Linda Hooper, and Amy Paige.” Amy was the pretty blonde. She wore a junior varsity cheer uniform of yellow, black, and white. Her eyes were steely cold.

Andy smiled wider. “I’m a nine-generation descendant of one of Middleton Village’s founders who, incidentally, had been a witch hunter during the Salem witch trials. And though people have moved into town on occasion, you either have to be invited in or you have to be a witch.”

Jessica pulled back, her face contorting.

He laughed. “I see you are not a witch.”

This time she rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

But his friends relaxed some. Andy extended his arm out and led her to an open seat. He took the one right next to it, grinning fondly. It was hard not to blush. She averted her eyes.

“So, your mom works for Mr. Deacon?” he asked.

Chuckling, Jessica shook her head then nodded. “Yeah…though I never—”

Waving it away, Andy said, “Rumor spreads fast at Middleton High. Don’t worry about it. Most of the town works for Mr. Deacon. Without him, this town would collapse. Believe me.”

“Do your parents work for him?” Jessica asked, now curious.

Andy shook his head. Everyone listened in, though their gazes were only less mocking on Jessica because Andy was chatting so easily with her.

“My dad works at the health clinic,” he said. “He’s a gynecologist.”

Jessica raised her eyebrows. “Thus the talk about inbreeding.”

He laughed, nodding. Then Andy tilted his head to the side and added, “My grandpa is the town priest.”

“One of them,” Linda cut in, shaking her head derisively. She was a girl not unlike Mary, fashionable and critical.

Nodding tiredly, Andy said, “Fine. But I don’t count those other churches. You all should be coming to hear Grandpa’s sermons.”

His pals started to laugh.  They cast Andy jibes within private jokes that Jessica didn’t understand even a piece of. Once more the clamor of the room returned to the pitch it had been before she had entered. She listened, so abruptly left out. Yet she could still feel Amy’s hard gaze set on her from time to time. The conversation silenced only when the teacher walked in and began her lesson. When the class was over, all the conversations started up again as if they had not ended. Andy’s friends ever-so-discretely left Jessica out.

But before they all parted ways to the seventh and final class hour, Andy slipped near Jessica and said, “Don’t let them scare you. We need fresh blood like you to stir things up. I’m glad you’re here.” 

And he hurried off.

It was a good thing for his friends that he did not look back. Amy Paige shoved Jessica aside as she marched past, her eyes shooting icy daggers at her. Mary Pransford joined Amy near the corner along with Linda.

Of course. They had to be friends.

*

Jessica was exceedingly glad when school finished. Walking home back the way she had come, retracing her steps, Jessica halted near the library, just thinking. Her eyes had set on a public bulletin board she had not noticed in her morning walk, standing next to the library entrance. On the side facing the street hung playbills and announcements for events such as sales and carnivals. On opposite side was a large schedule showing the floor plan to a new library along with library program offerings, such as adult computer classes. But edging both sides of the glass frame, stuck into it with tape, dried flowers, hanging strings to popped balloons, were faded photographs of boys. Most were in their early teens, though one looked as young as eleven.

Jessica stepped closer and examined that boy’s face. His hair was extremely light blond, and he had light blue eyes framed by square-ish glasses. The photo was stuck to a paper with his name underneath the photo—Semour Dawson. He was last seen at the public library, it said. Reading the date, Jessica drew in a sharp breath. The boy had been missing for over three years.

She looked at some of the other faces, reading the notices and checking the dates. The majority of the photographs were faded, pictures from the Eighties and Nineties. There were even a few from the Seventies. But the most recent ones were within that last year, the truly old ones taken down. All of them had been last seen at the library. Jessica spotted one that showed a boy who had vanished just that summer, a Peter McCabe.

He had a friendly enough face. Dark brown hair. No glasses. He would have been sophomore, like she was. But he had been gone for four months now.

“Hey. There she is.”

Jessica looked from the bulletin board. Her eyes set on Amy Paige, closely trailed by Mary Pransford. Both marched murderously forward.

Hopping at once, Jessica didn’t even try to outrun them home. She ran up the library steps and went straight through the doors.

Mary and Amy stopped just outside them, but did not go in.

Curse on the library? Jessica chuckled. So even the girls were scared of it? Good.

Jessica gazed upward as she wandered into the foyer, ignoring the foul language the girls were using as they shouted at her. She had heard worse in LA.

To her right she saw a model of the new library under glass, fuzzy plastic trees and tiny model men and women walking down the perfect replica of the town square, including the overgrown park with teeter totter and swings. Going past it, her eyes took in the dimly lit space ahead. Most of the lamps were incandescent forty watt bulbs glowing inside yellow glass hanging from the ceiling. The décor was like out of some musty gothic novel, and it smelled like old cheese and mildew. Dark red carpets, yellowed wood paneling, wide oak staircase. On her left stood a long oaken checkout counter. Behind it, a wizened old woman peered through a pair of Prince Nez glasses at her with a sour expression. In one hand was a book she had been stamping, in the other a chewed-on pencil. She said nothing. She only watched Jessica’s procession into the library’s main gallery like all the kids at school had when she first arrived, completely dumbfounded. Her name tag said Miss Coombe. She seemed awfully old to be still going by the title Miss.

Lifting her eyes higher, Jessica’s gaze took in the yellowing crystals hanging from two large chandeliers above, leftovers from an even older era. Little strands of spider web strung between them where a duster had missed. The tops were mostly covered in dust, so clearly they were not cleaned often. On equal level to the chandeliers, she saw a balcony that overlooked the main floor. Shelves upon shelves of books stood at both levels. The center of the open main floor was filled mostly with tables.

Going towards them, Jessica overheard Mary hiss in a loud voice to Amy, “I’m not going in there! She’s crazy!”

“Looking for anything good, dear?” the librarian asked, leaning over the counter with a glance at the pair of girls storming off from the library. Her yellow teeth and her breath reeked of nicotine, the little wisps fluttering out of her mouth.

Shaking her head, Jessica whispered, “Just looking.”

Nodding, the librarian said, “Well, dear, please stay in lighted areas. You’ll need a stronger eye glass prescription if you keep choosing the dark corners to read in.”

Blinking at her, Jessica wondered what that meant.

She went in further.

Walking along the rows of shelves towards the back, Jessica read the signs at the end of them. Non-fiction first. Biographies, how-to books, histories, arts and crafts, informative books on various topics. Then fiction. Her eyes scanned the author’s names and titles more carefully, walking into the aisles for a peek, going by topic. She halted at the science fiction section, pulling out one. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. There were several by Jules Verne. In fact, many were the classic authors. Not one Orson Scott Card book. Or Heinlein. There was an Isaac Asimov anthology, and a singular book from Ray Bradbury, but she didn’t find one from George Orwell. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was there though.

Plucking at the books, searching for something to read in that dismal town while she made sure those girls had truly gone on their way, her eyes flickered to the checkout counter where the Miss Coombe was busy stamping late notices to be mailed. An old woman that looked like she could have been Baba Yaga in a Russian folk tale hefted onto the counter a thick dusty brown book with a leather cover along with a stack of thi, beaten novelettes. Jessica’s eyes flickered near the door where the bin of books with the sign REJECTS in big black faded letters written in magic marker sat. Another wrinkled woman wearing a speckled blue dress and a prim hat trotted into the room. She looked thin enough to slide through the bars on the front windows. Jessica recognized her as the mayor’s mother. She and her mother had met that woman the first day they arrived. That woman had shared a few terse words with them at the post office where they had registered for a box. An ancient man puttered in one aisle, pulling out large dusty volume that appeared as old as the town.

On the second floor, Jessica saw a twenty-something woman searching for books while her two children ran back and forth on the already worn carpet. The thumpita thumpita thumpita of their feet echoed over Jessica’s head. The librarian kept casting dirty glances toward the second floor, grumbling sour remarks underneath her breath. When Jessica took From the Earth to the Moon off the shelf to look at it, she heard the mother snap for her children to be still. But it didn’t come out as sincere, as if the mother was glad for some sign of life in that crypt-like place. And apparently the other patrons agreed. No one complained except for the librarian who seemed to like old dust and deadness more than laughter and fresh air.

The library door opened. Jessica lifted her eyes over the top of the book, hoping the girls hadn’t doubled back after all. But it was only a thirty-something man with dark hair. His watery blue eyes flickered up and around the room, searching with almost manic inspection on every person, every creaky lamp overhead, and every book. He marched past the librarian with an accusatory glare. She returned it with scathing dislike. Wringing his hands, he ducked into the shelves and peered around at the book titles. Jessica noticed he was wearing a white apron that had some sort of emblem on it. She could barely read it at that distance. When he got closer, she saw that it said McCabe Pharmacy.

It had to be the father of that missing boy.

Mr. McCabe once nodded to Jessica when he saw her. He almost stopped to talk to her.

But before he could spill out the words behind his sorrowful face, Miss Coombe rushed forward and hissed, “Are you here to find a book or to disturb our patrons?”

He glowered back at the old woman and answered in a low voice Jessica could not hear. Then he tromped to the stairs, ascending them.

Miss Coombe muttered to herself, stomping the other way. “…accusing me of….”

The front door opened again. Loud with teenaged irreverence, Andy’s friends marched into the foyer, side by side with Andy himself. They didn’t bother to lower their voices. “Andy, why are we coming here? This place gives me the creeps.”

“I just have to return a few books. It won’t take long,” Andy said, setting a pile on the desk in front of Miss Coombe. He glanced over the room, shivering a little himself.

“Well, hurry up,” his friend, Mark said, pulling his arms close

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 17.04.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7438-5714-8

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