Four Past Midnight

'Naomi recognized the name,' he muttered.

Now the library assistants were looking at him with identical expressions of consternation.

'Pardon me,' Sam said, and tried a smile. It felt crooked on his face. I'm having one of those days.'

'Yes,' the boy said.

'You bet,' the girl said.

They think I'm crazy, Sam thought, and do you know what? I don't blame them a bit.

'Was there anything else?' the boy asked.

Sam opened his mouth to say no - after which he would beat a hasty retreat -and then changed his mind. He was in for a penny; he might as well go in for a pound.

'How long has Mr Price been the head librarian?'

The two assistants exchanged another glance. The girl shrugged. 'Since we've been here,' she said, 'but that's not very long, Mr - ?'

'Peebles,' Sam said, offering his hand. 'Sam Peebles. I'm sorry. My manners seem to have flown away with the rest of my mind.'

They both relaxed a little - it was an indefinable thing, but it was there, and it helped Sam do the same. Upset or not, he had managed to hold onto at least some of his not inconsiderable ability to put people at ease. A real-estate-and-insurance salesman who couldn't do that was a fellow who ought to be looking for a new line of work.

'I'm Cynthia Berrigan,' she said, giving his hand a tentative shake. 'This is Tom Stanford.'

'Pleased to meet you,' Tom Stanford said. He didn't look entirely sure of this, but he also gave Sam's hand a quick shake.

'Pardon me?' the woman with the mystery novels asked. 'Could someone help me, please? I'll be late for my bridge game.'

'I'll do it,' Tom told Cynthia, and walked down the desk to check out the woman's books.

She said, 'Tom and I go to Chapelton junior College, Mr Peebles. This is a work-study job. I've been here three semesters now - Mr Price hired me last spring. Tom came during the summer.'

'Mr Price is the only full-time employee?'

'Uh-huh.' She had lovely brown eyes and now he could see a touch of concern in them. 'Is something wrong?'

'I don't know.' Sam looked up again. He couldn't help it. 'Has this suspended ceiling been here since you came to work?'

She followed his glance. 'Well,' she said, 'I didn't know that was what it's called, but yes, it's been this way since I've been here.'

'I had an idea there were skylights, you see.'

Cynthia smiled. 'Well, sure. I mean, you can see them from the outside, if you go around to the side of the building. And, of course, you can see them from the stacks, but they're boarded over. The sky-lights, I mean - not the stacks. I think they've been that way for years.'

For years.

'And you've never heard of Ardelia Lortz.'

She shook her head. 'Uh-uh. Sorry.'

'What about the Library Police?' Sam asked impulsively.

She laughed. 'Only from my old aunt. She used to tell me the Library Police would get me if I didn't bring my books back on time. But that was back in Providence, Rhode Island, when I was a little girl. A long time ago.'

Sure, Sam thought. Maybe as long as ten, twelve years ago. Back when dinosaurs walked the earth.

'Well,' he said, 'thanks for the information. I didn't mean to freak you out.'

'You didn't.'

'I think I did, a little. I was just confused for a second.'

'Who is this Ardelia Lortz?' Tom Stanford asked, coming back. 'That name rings a bell, but I'll be darned if I know why.'

'That's just it. I don't really know,' Sam said.

'Well, we're closed tomorrow, but Mr Price will be in Monday afternoon and Monday evening,' he said. 'Maybe he can tell you what you want to know.'

Sam nodded. 'I think I'll come and see him. Meantime, thanks again.'

'We're here to help if we can,' Tom said. 'I only wish we could have helped you more, Mr Peebles.'

'Me too,' Sam said.

4

He was okay until he got back to the car, and then, as he was unlocking the driver's-side door, all the muscles in his belly and legs seemed to drop dead. He had to support himself with a hand on the roof of his car to keep from falling down while he swung the door open. He did not really get in; he simply collapsed behind the wheel and then sat there, breathing hard and wondering with some alarm if he was going to faint.

What's going on here? I feel like a character in Rod Serling's old show.

'Submitted for your examination, one Samuel Peebles, ex-resident of Junction City, now selling real estate and whole life in ... the Twilight Zone.'

Yes, that was what it was like. Only watching people cope with inexplicable happenings on TV was sort of fun. Sam was discovering that the inexplicable lost a lot of its charm when you were the one who had to struggle with it.

He looked across the street at the Library, where people came and went beneath the soft glow of the carriage lamps. The old lady with the mystery novels was headed off down the street, presumably bound for her bridge game. A couple of girls were coming down the steps, talking and laughing together, books held to their blooming chests. Everything looked perfectly normal ... and of course it was. The abnormal Library had been the one he had entered a week ago. The only reason the oddities hadn't struck him more forcibly, he supposed, was because his mind had been on that damned speech of his.

Don't think about it, he instructed himself, although he was afraid that this was going to be one of those times when his mind simply wouldn't take instruction. Do a Scarlett O'Hara and think about it tomorrow. Once the sun is up, all this will make a lot more sense.

He put the car in gear and thought about it all the way home.

CHAPTER 7

Night Terrors

1