Crosstalk (34 page)

Where's your faith in me, darlin'?
C.B. said in a brogue nearly as broad as Aunt Oona's, and Briddey glanced up at him and then abruptly down again.

Sorry,
she said.
I keep forgetting I'm not supposed to look at you.

It's okay. The librarian's forgotten about us. It's one of the other librarians' birthday, and she's busy thinking about the party after work. She's worried she didn't buy a big enough sheet cake.
He turned the page of his book.
Describe your brick wall to me.

Briddey did, trying to focus on exactly how it looked, to make it as real as the room they were in, the table they were sitting at, but C.B. kept glancing worriedly at his watch.

The library was going to close at ten thirty. When it did, they'd have to go back out into the darkness, and it was four blocks to his car. If she didn't have her perimeter up by then, or if it didn't work…Visualizing a brick wall here, in the safety of the Reading Room, was one thing. But droning and safe as the readers' voices were, she could hear the other voices waiting beyond them, like falls ahead on a river. She glanced involuntarily over at the windows and the darkness beyond them.

Put your left hand under the table,
C.B. said, and when she did, he took it and held it tightly, resting it on his knee.
Better?

Yes,
she said gratefully.
But I can't hang on to you forever.

Sure you can. Now tell me again what your wall looks like.

She described it to him, imagining it there in front of her, standing impenetrable between her and the voices, comfortingly solid and watertight.

I think I've got it down now,
she said when she'd finished, but he shook his head.

It's not just a question of getting it down. You've got to be able to visualize it without thinking. It's like when you're learning to type or drive a car. It's got to become automatic.

He took her through her wall's appearance three more times, and then said,
Okay, I'm going to let go of your hand, and you're going to hear the voices. As soon as you do, I want you to think of your wall. Ready?

No,
she thought.

It's okay. You've got the readers, and I'm right here. And you've got your brick wall. Nothing can get through it. Ready? And don't nod. You're supposed to be reading. Keep your eyes on your book. And think about your wall.

I'm ready,
she said, clenching her hand into a fist under the table to keep from grabbing for him as he pulled his hand away.

Don't look over at the windows,
she told herself.
Look at your book,
and heard the droning buzz of the voices begin to swell into a noisy clamor:
…got to study…the antebellum South was governed by the idea…if I flunk out, my father…as X approaches plus or minus infinity…subjunctive tense…

They can't get past the wall,
she told herself firmly, staring at the book, at the bricks, red and rough-cast and standing solidly between her and the voices—

Good,
C.B. said, taking her hand.
Okay, try it again. And this time I'm not going to tell you when I'm letting go.

Okay,
she said, taking a deep breath, and began reading. “Suddenly, on the barrow, there mingled with all this wild rhetoric of night a sound.”

I'm not sure this is what I should be reading,
she thought, and C.B. let go of her hand.

The voices roared in:
…Carolinian dynasty…reduction of sulfuric acid…never remember all this crap…basis of tort reform…fucking stupid class!

Think of the wall,
she told herself, gritting her teeth, and immediately saw it standing there, keeping the voices out.

The next time was even easier, and by the third try she wasn't even giving the voices a chance to speak before the wall was in place, stopping them.

Very good,
C.B. said. He glanced at the clock and shut his book.
Okay, we've gotta go.

Go?
she said, looking over at the clock: 10:10.
I thought you said the library was open till ten thirty.

It is,
he said, reaching over to close her book.

But I'm not ready.
Envisioning the voices safely behind the brick wall was one thing here in the brightly lit Reading Room, but outside, in the darkness with them…
Can't we stay till they close?
she pleaded.

Yes, but not here. Pick up your book and push back your chair.
He gathered up the other books. “You want to go get some sushi or something?” he said aloud.

The librarian looked up and over at them. “Sorry,” he mouthed at the librarian and repeated the question to Briddey in a whisper, adding silently,
Say you can't, that you're meeting your boyfriend.

“I can't,” she whispered, standing up and pushing her chair in. “I'm sorry, I promised my boyfriend—”

C.B. steered her toward the door past the librarian, saying disappointedly, “Yeah, that's what I figured,” as he opened one of the double doors for her. “I just thought—”

“I'm really sorry,” she said as she went through.

“Where are you meeting him?” C.B. asked as the door swung shut behind them. “Do you need a ride?”

Do I?
Briddey asked.

No,
he said, leading her in the opposite direction from which they'd come.

Where are we going?
she asked.

For starters, the bathroom,
he said, stopping in front of a door marked Women and taking her book from her.
We may not get another chance for awhile. I'll meet you out here.

Briddey stared at the door, paralyzed, thinking of the ladies' room at the theater, of the mirror and the sinks and herself, crouching back under the counter to get away from the voices.
You want me to go in there by myself?

You're not by yourself,
C.B. said.
You've got a nice, solid brick wall to protect you. And Gilligan. And Billie Joe.

I know, but—

And we're still within range of the Reading Room. Listen,
he ordered, and he was right. She could still hear the beelike hum of the students' reading. But that could cease any time now, as they stopped reading and prepared to go home.

Do you want me to come in with you?
C.B. asked.
Mentally, I mean? It wouldn't be the first ladies' room I've been in. Or bedroom. Or back seat. You would be amazed at some of the things I've had to listen to. Bathrooms are nothing. I've—

No, thanks, I can do this on my own,
she said hastily.

Good,
he said.
You'll be fine. I'll meet you back here in a sec.
He disappeared into the men's room.

I can do this,
Briddey told herself, pushing the door open. She had to. The only alternative was the humiliation of having him accompany her in here. If he wasn't doing that anyway.

He's right,
she thought.
Telepathy's a terrible idea.
She fixed her mind firmly on her brick wall, reciting for good measure, “Yellow moons, green clovers, Tallahatchie Bridge…,” till she was safely back outside the bathroom.

C.B. was waiting for her, looking at his watch. He immediately handed her the stack of books, put his hand on her elbow, and walked her rapidly back toward the stairs down to the main floor.

I thought you said we were staying here at the library,
she said, the panic beginning to beat against her rib cage again as she thought of the darkness outside and the endless blocks to the car.

We are,
he said, opening the door to the stairway and ushering her inside.

Then where are we going?

The stacks,
he said, and turned to grin at her.

“But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy, lie further off.”

—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
,
A Midsummer Night's Dream

The stacks?
Briddey repeated.

Yeah. After I make sure nobody sees us going up.
C.B. cocked his head and listened. “Okay,” he said aloud after several seconds. “The coast is clear. Come on, hurry.” And he hustled her out of the stairway and back to the door marked
TO THE STACKS
.

Inside was a metal staircase very much like the one she'd fled to in the hospital.
Fond memories, huh?
C.B. said, trotting up the stairs.
You didn't know how well off you were with only one voice to contend with, did you?

“Attention,” a voice said out of nowhere. Briddey gasped and looked sharply around.

PA system,
C.B. explained, and the voice continued.

“The library will be closing at ten thirty. If you have books or materials to check out, please take them to the circulation desk now.”

Sorry. I should've warned you about that,
C.B. said.

“It's okay,” Briddey said, and hurried up the stairs after him, her heels making an incredible amount of noise on the metal steps. “Should I take them off?” she asked.

Yeah,
C.B. said, looking up at the stairs above them.

She unstrapped them, leaning against him for support. He scooped them up, handed them to her, and they started up the stairs again, past landings with doors marked
A
–
C
and
D
–
EM
.

“The library will be closing in fifteen minutes,” the PA announced.

And the students in the Reading Room will stop reading,
Briddey thought, a shudder running through her, and C.B. must have sensed her fear because he took her hand and hustled her up the next flight to
EN
–
G
.

He listened, his hand on the door for a moment, and then said,
Too crowded,
and started up the stairs with her again, going through the same routine for
H
–
K
and
L
–
N
.

Outside the
O
–
R
door, he listened intently for what seemed like an aeon and then said,
There's one couple on this level. Down at the end. In Macrobiology, appropriately enough. Come on.
He moved to open the door.

Shouldn't we try to find a level that's empty?
Briddey asked in a whisper, and this time C.B. didn't tell her it wasn't necessary.

He whispered back,
No,
listened for another moment, and then opened the door onto a large, shadowy space filled with aisle after aisle of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The only lights were dim ones at the head of each narrow aisle, and a brighter one in the farthest aisle. The other aisles lay in shadow, the shelves and the books disappearing into darkness.

No wonder students come up here to make out,
she thought.
It's like the Black Hole of Calcutta.
She wondered how they'd be able to see if they
did
come up here to find a book.

She'd assumed, since the couple was at the far end, that C.B. would lead her down the first aisle at this end, but he didn't. He pulled her over a half dozen aisles.
Where are we going?
she whispered.

Communications. Where else?
he said, and led her into the aisle labeled P148–160. As they made their way down the aisle, small lights clicked on above them, illuminating each section of the shelves as they passed.

Energy-saving device,
C.B. said.
They click off after fifteen minutes, but the librarian'll be up here before then.

And the lights being on would tell the librarian there were people on this level. Which was why they needed the other couple—to justify the lights.

You got it,
C.B. said.

But won't the other couple notice?

He shook his head.
They're not noticing much of anything right now.
He led her to a break in the shelves, an aisle at right angles to theirs.

But if they're at the other end,
Briddey persisted,
won't the librarian think it's odd that there are lights on at this—

The PA cut in: “The library will be closing in ten minutes.”

Come on,
C.B. said.
We don't have much time.
He rushed her across the gap and down the aisle to the next cross-aisle.

He stopped just short of it, took the books from Briddey, squatted down, and stuck them on the bottom shelf between
Basic Communication
and
Interpreting Body Language.

I thought those were your books,
Briddey said.

They are. But if we should get caught, I don't want to be escorted down to check them out.
He straightened up, listened a moment, and then leaned out to look up and down the cross-aisle.
All clear. Come on.

She followed him quickly across the gap and down the next section of bookshelves and the next, trying to stay to one side to avoid triggering the lights, but to no avail. They winked on one after the other.

The lights will tell them exactly where we've gone,
she said.
And how do you know they don't have surveillance cameras, too?

They used to, but not anymore,
he said, motioning her to follow him to the next cross-aisle.
Budget cuts.

How do you know that?

I can read minds, remember?
he said, continuing down the aisle toward the back wall.

Where we'll be trapped like rats,
Briddey thought.
With a spotlight on us.

Have ye no faith in me, mavourneen?
C.B. said, plowing ahead, and as she neared the end of the shelves, she saw there was a narrow space between it and the wall, running the full length of the room. C.B. repeated his routine of listening and looking, then led her sideways into the narrow space and back along it.

It was scarcely wide enough to walk in, but at least no lights clicked on as they went along it. C.B. stopped at the end of a darkened aisle two rows from the door they'd come in. And nowhere near the lighted aisles. But even though they were in darkness, C.B. flattened himself against the wall and motioned her to stand against the end of the bookcase, facing him.

See? Nothing to worry about,
he said.
We're invisible from the front of the stacks.
He glanced down.
Except for that dress of yours.

He was right. The flared skirt of her green dress stuck out beyond the sides of the bookcase. She gathered it in, bunching its fullness together with one hand and holding her shoes to her chest with the other.

Good,
C.B. said.
The librarian'll never see us now.

But won't she check back here, too?

No. She's checking for people who might not have heard the announcement or are dawdling, not for people trying to get themselves locked in.

You don't know that,
she said, and then realized he probably did.

“The library will be closing in five minutes,” the PA announced.

When it stopped, Briddey said,
But what's to keep the other couple from ducking back into this space, too, when they hear her coming?

Because they've got to get back into their clothes first. If they hear her,
he said, tilting his head to one side and listening.
Which I'm not sure they will.

You're listening to them having
sex
?

He made a face.
I wish I were. That might be kind of entertaining. No, I'm listening to what they're
thinking
while they're hooking up, which is a completely different thing.

I thought you said sex shut everything down. W-well, not everything, obviously,
she stammered,
but you said it shut down the voices.

I was talking about
having
sex, not having to listen to somebody else have it. And I was talking about having sex with somebody you're absolutely crazy about,
he said, and she was suddenly aware of just how close they were to each other in this narrow space. At some point he'd put his hands flat against the end of the bookcase on either side of her head so that he was leaning over her, his face only inches from hers.
And he can hear everything I think.

So those two over in Macrobiology aren't crazy about each other?
she said hastily.

Not by a long shot,
C.B. said.
He's thinking about what he's going to tell his buddies, and she's wondering whether she should change her Facebook status or not. And both of them are thinking how uncomfortable the floor is and wishing they were doing it with somebody thinner and better-looking.

That's terrible.

Actually, it's not that. At least she's not wondering what she's going to have to do to get him to give her his econ notes and he's not wondering if his spy cam is working. And neither one's wondering what to do with the murdered body.

But surely some people—

Are madly in love? You bet, but a bunch of those people are also thinking about how to wrap things up so they can make it home before their spouse gets suspicious. I told you, it's a cesspool in there.

That's still no excuse to listen to them having sex like some disgusting voyeur,
she said reprovingly.

He shook his head.
A voyeur
wants
to listen. We're talking involuntary here. I would
love
not to have to hear the voices at all.

I would, too,
Briddey said fervently.

Well, as soon as everybody leaves, we'll get to work on that.

On what?
she wondered, her pulse beginning to race in spite of herself.
And he knows it.

Don't worry, I'm talking about teaching you to protect yourself,
he said.
Your perimeter's just the first line of defense. There are other ones.

One of them had better be a wall that keeps me from being such an open book,
she thought.
Telepathy really is a terrible idea.

I tried to tell you that,
he said, and then seriously,
How are you doing in the meantime
?

She'd been so busy hurrying and hiding and trying not to make any noise that she hadn't thought about the voices since they'd started up here. They were still present, but as background noise, the way they'd been in the Reading Room. Her perimeter must be working. Or else she was acclimating to the voices. Or C.B.'s proximity, combined with the tens of thousands of books above and below and around them, formed some sort of protective shield, and that was why he'd picked the stacks for them to spend the night in.

We're not spending the night here. For one thing, as our amorous friends pointed out, the floor's uncomfortable. And with the budget cuts, they've been turning the heat way down. It's worse than my lab. We'd freeze.

She was already freezing. The tile floor was icy against her bare feet. If they stayed here much longer, her teeth would start chattering.

Sorry,
C.B. said,
but we can't leave yet. The whole place is crawling with staff locking up and getting ready to go home. We'll have to wait till—
He raised his head, alert.
Shh, someone's coming.

He put his finger to his lips, even though neither of them had made a sound, and took a half-step toward her to get out of sight. She bunched her skirt more closely in front of her and listened intently for the sound of a door opening.

Is it the librarian?

Nope, a TA. A guy.