Round Robin Chapter Four

Round Robin Chapter Four
by Regan Blair

"Watch out for the roots!”

I sat straight up in bed, instantly awake. The memory had come to me in my dreams, as words that register only in the periphery of one's mind often do. His words were a warning. I shivered, the feel of him a cloud floating around me in the air. That rich voice and apple-spice breath. The light, intimate scent of Zest, and shaving cream. Visions of soaped, steaming skin came to mind and I closed my eyes, hoping to shut out my guilty imaginings. The blend of scents lingered, as if he'd been there, standing over me, watching me sleep.

Roots. Strange, I hadn't seen any roots, with the exception of the oak tree roots that arced up out of the ground in some places. Was he worried that I'd trip? I rolled my eyes at myself.

“Stupid,” I muttered.

Throwing my covers off, I lowered my bare feet, one tightly bandaged, to the cold hardwood floor. My crutches were just out of reach. I'd have to limp over to them. I stood up and the pressure of my own weight brought me crashing back down onto the bed. “OOOh.”

“Angela!”

I had to get out of here. I had a lot to do. First stop, Woodbury public library.

***

“Just call. I'll be at the Starbucks across the street. I really think you should be in bed-”

“Angie.”

“I know, I know. You're a big girl, you feel fine, blah-blah-blah. This must be really important to you if you're willing to miss an episode of Heroes, I mean how important could it be-”

“Angie.”

“Okaaaay. Get what you need to do done and call me. I'll be right across the street. Are you sure you don't need help?”

“So sure.” I'd never accomplish anything with her questioning my every motive all evening. I glanced up at her. Her expression was hurt. She chewed on a cuticle, avoiding my eyes.

“Wanna order a pizza and rent Worms tonight?” I said, trying to make it up to her.

“You know I do!”

“Okay, later.”

“Later,” she chirped.

I clambered out of the passenger seat, a mess of limbs and crutches. I was already clumsy by nature, and the injury didn't help. I hissed when a crutch slipped and my throbbing ankle took my full weight. Thankfully, Angela had already turned the volume up on her stereo. It spewed forth ska music. I winced. Our taste differed outrageously. I couldn't stand the harried stuff she listened to. Give me alternative, give me pop, but Ska? Spare me. Angela's head bobbed as she sang along. As she pulled away she tapped the brakes to the beat of the music. I couldn't help but smile.

***

“Those records are in the basement, sweetie,” the librarian, a young woman who was clearly trying to look like a librarian, informed me.

Sweetie indeed.

“They're ordered by date.” She smoothed down her pencil skirt and straightened her fitted jacket, checking her appearance in the reflection of the glass double doors across from her desk. She ran her fingers over the corners of her lips, removing smudged lipstick. “I'll show you.” Her nondescript heels snapped against the linoleum floor as she walked, and I looked around self-consciously, as quiet-seekers glared up at us from behind books.

The archives were at the bottom of a set of cement steps. Row upon row of dusty shelves, just far enough apart to walk between, filled the room. A single reading table sat in the corner, a naked light bulb with a pull chain dangled above it, and an old coin slot photocopier stood next to it.

“Photocopies are ten cents each. Will you need change?”

I shook the drawstring purse hanging between my breasts, listening to the satisfying clink of dimes. “I come prepared.”

She raised one perfectly shaped brow at me. I glanced down at the creamy pearls around her neck and tried not to smirk. This was a woman who would never wear a coin purse around her neck. Perish the thought.

“Well, then.” I said, trying to dismiss her.

“When you're through with the research materials, please leave them on this cart. I will reshelve them later.”

What, didn't she think I knew the alphabet? I made a mental note to put everything back myself. “Thank you.” I sing-songed, folded my arms over my chest and gifted her with a sickly sweet smile.

“The library closes at ten. Sharp.” She gave me one more long look and turned on her heel. Seams ran up the back of her legs and disappeared into her skirt. Perfectly straight seams. I snorted aloud. She paused, and then continued to walk without turning.

I turned to my task. I had to find out who the man living in that tower room was before ten. Make that nine. I doubted if even Angela could sit around Starbucks for more then two hours.

“Okay, tall, dark and scary, where are you hiding?”