He stepped back and cleared his throat, effectively wiping the ugly from the list of topics to discuss. “Come over for dinner tonight. Andrea’s cooking Thai. I know you love it.”
I looked at him again, studying his face. I saw genuine friendship and concern. I’d been a dumb arse, letting one of the most important friendships in my life go because my stupid ego was bruised, and I didn’t want to burden him with my shit. Well, I was going to fix this, too.
“Sure. Why not. I’ll eat anything. Even Andrea’s cooking.”
He grinned. “Excellent. You looking for some design books?” He crouched down, pulling a book off the shelf.
“Yeah.” My knees cracked as I joined him, listening as he described the course and some of his projects.
A spark of light crept into my darkness. I knew where the Amazonian Gazelle worked, and I’d found my long-lost best-friend. The brother I never had. I’d really missed this. It was so rare to find that in life. A genuine lifelong friendship, where you could pick up where you left off after not seeing the person for some time. It was like time had never passed, but you valued the friendship even more because of the lost years. Any dickheadedness was instantly forgiven because they understood and, I guess, loved you. No matter what.
A cold patch of air briefly covered my back, causing a shiver to run its way down my spine. It disappeared almost immediately. Looking up, I couldn’t see any air vents close to us. Weird. The sensation seemed to follow every turn my life took.
Ben noticed he’d lost my attention and stopped his spiel. “You all right, mate?” He frowned.
“Mm. Yeah. Just a bit sore.” I waved my cast before resting it back on my thigh.
“I wasn’t going to ask. Thought it might’ve been a masturbation strain or something.”
I snorted. “You’re still a dick.”
“No. I have a dick, and someone to look after it. You were always the more dedicated do-it-yourselfer.”
All thoughts of any X-Files shit going on were wiped from my memory, as we fell back into our rhythm. Between my obsession with an elusive woman, my adrenaline binges, and the weird sensations, I was seriously worried that I was losing my shit. Seeing Ben again could not have happened at a better time.
“It’s good to see you again, mate,” I told him with sincerity.
“Yeah, you too. You wanna go get some grub? I can show you around if you want.”
“That’d be great.”
We headed back towards the stairs. I kept a look out for my favourite librarian, but I didn’t see her again. Yet. It was only a matter of time.
Ronnie
A series of staircases wrapped the law building, climbing like the veins on a body builder. I made my way across a raised walkway to the law academic’s offices. The only person I could find was a middle-aged, balding man, who was surfing the net for fishing gear.
“Uh, hi. Beverly sent me to drop this over.” My body leaned away while my arm stretched out as far as it could go, offering him the large yellow envelope.
“Who’s it for?” He didn’t bother looking away from his screen. Rude bugger.
Angling the envelope so I could read it, I answered, “Derek Lindstrom.”
He raised his head, blinking several times, his glasses magnifying his eyes. “Who are you?” His voice was raspy, and the action of talking sent him into a coughing fit. My feet retreated three steps, even though I was nowhere near him. I waited for him to stop, watching as he reached for a tissue. He’s going to find blood, but not until next week.
“I’m Ronnie. I work in the library.”
“Right, right. Derek just headed over there to see someone. You probably passed him on the way over—” Another round of hacking coughs wrenched from his chest, crumbling the last word as it broke out.
“Okay.” I turned quickly away, but paused with my back to him.
He had lung cancer. The knowledge seeped into my brain from some unknown and unwelcome source. In the glass doors, my face reflected the internal battle waging between my conscience and my sanity. The stupid envelope hung from my limp fingers, like a yellow card signalling that I’d just committed a foul. If I told him, he probably wouldn’t believe me. He’d think I was a psycho. I’d been branded with the label since I was a child. The news was too late to help him, anyway.
My features relaxed as I straightened my spine. “You should get that checked by a doctor.” I walked out, not needing confirmation that he heard me. Even if he did, he wouldn’t listen. I just had to try to give him a warning. Some time to sort his affairs and say his goodbyes. Milton Hanford wouldn’t last out the year. His wife would retire nicely on the insurance pay-out, and his mistress would be devastated. The information didn’t ease my conscience one iota. I’ve learned to live with it.
This troublesome yellow package needed to go.
I headed back to the library. As I passed the stacks, my attention was caught between two shelves to a couple who were having a quiet, but heated conversation. The man crowded the woman, his arms on either side of her head, his face angled close to hers. She was short, mostly hidden. If it wasn’t for the fact that I recognized the Chanel skirt and Prada shoes she was wearing, I probably wouldn’t have stopped. The man moved his left hand to circle it around her throat, exposing the identity of his captive. My suspicions were correct. It was Flicker. She had her back to the shelves, clutching a notebook to her chest. Her breaths
