Crosstalk (35 page)

The door clanged open, and Briddey held her breath, waiting for lights to begin clicking on, but nothing happened.

The TA's standing in the doorway,
C.B. said.
He's listening for noises.

After a silence, a male voice called out, “The library is now closing.”

“Oh, shit!” a female voice said at the far end, followed by frantic whispering, scrambling noises, a stifled giggle, and the sound of the TA striding purposefully in the direction of the noises, calling out, “If you have materials to check out, please proceed immediately downstairs to the circulation desk.”

She's trying to button her blouse,
C.B. said, providing a running commentary,
and he's looking for his shoes and hoping this won't get him in trouble with his coach.

And the TA?

He's thinking this is the fourth time this week, and they'd better not be doing anything he has to report because…oh, good, the TA's got a hot date after work. Which hopefully means he'll be in a hurry to get out of here.

There was more scrambling and whispering, and then a silence of several seconds. “Hi,” Briddey heard the girl say, and could imagine her trying to make her hair look more presentable. “We didn't realize what time—”

The TA cut her off. “The stacks are closing. You two need to get downstairs.”

“We were just getting ready to,” the guy said.

“Anybody else up here?” the TA asked, and C.B. laid his hand on Briddey's shoulder, ready to yank her around the corner into the aisle if necessary.

“No,” the guy said. “Listen, I'm on the basketball team, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't report this.”

“That depends on how fast you two get out of here,” the TA said, and there was the sound of two pairs of footsteps heading quickly for the door. “And go straight downstairs,” he called after them.

“Okay,” the girl said.

“Thanks,” the guy muttered, and the door banged open and then shut.

Did the TA go with them?
Briddey whispered.

No.

A light blinked on at the far end and then several aisles closer.
He's coming this way,
Briddey whispered.

I know,
C.B. said.
Come on, buddy, it's obvious there's nobody here. And I thought you had a hot date,
and, as if the TA had heard him, he called, “Anybody else here? The library's closing.”

Footsteps as he walked back to the front. “Last call,” and then the sound of the door opening and shutting again.

Is he gone?
Briddey whispered.

C.B. nodded.

“The library is now closing,” a voice said practically in Briddey's ear. She jumped.

The PA again,
C.B. reassured her.

“Please proceed to the ground floor,” the voice said. “The library will reopen at eleven
A
.
M
. tomorrow.”

The voice fell silent, but C.B. made no move to go, which didn't surprise Briddey. They obviously couldn't leave the stacks till after the staff had finished up their work, made their rounds, and left the building. But he made no move to step away from her either. He stood where he was, leaning over her. Her pulse began to race again.

C.B., I—
she began, and realized he hadn't heard her.

He was listening to someone else, his head up. Who? The TA? Or one of the other librarians on their way up here for a last look around? She had no idea. Close as he was, she wasn't picking up so much as an inkling of a thought from him.

He must have some kind of defense that keeps me from reading his mind,
she thought, and he didn't hear that either.

Who was he listening to? His gaze, fixed blindly on the end of the bookcase, seemed almost too distant and too intent for it to be a mere librarian. Could it be Trent? The play would be out by now. Could Trent be thinking about calling her to see what was going on? She needed to text Maeve—

Don't worry,
C.B. said, coming back from wherever he'd been.
I already took care of it. While you were in the bathroom. I texted Maeve and explained the situation, and told her that if Trent called, she was to tell him you were there and that you'd call him back.

But what if he called Mary Clare or Aunt Oona? God knew what they'd tell him.

I told Maeve to be sure she was the one who answered the phone. And she said she'd see to it everybody else's was turned off.

But how would she be able to do that? Aunt Oona—

C.B. gave her a look as if to say, “You're kidding, right?”
In case you haven't noticed, your niece is a very smart kid—and a whiz with computers,
he said.
When she was down in my lab, she showed me how she'd disabled the V-chips and spyware her mom had installed on her laptop, and I was impressed. Remotely switching off Oona's phone would be child's play for her—literally. Don't worry. I'm sure she's got the situation under control.

That was easy for him to say, but even if Maeve did manage to keep Trent from reaching Mary Clare and Oona, there was still the problem of explaining to Maeve why they needed her to lie. Maeve would have dozens of questions, and—

We've gotta go,
C.B. said abruptly. He grabbed her hand and hurried her back along the wall to the still-lighted aisle they'd come down originally.

But what about the TA?
she asked, following him up the aisle to the door.

He's up on
W
–
Z
,
C.B. said, opening the door and starting down the steps.
It's amazing how fast you can check ten levels of stacks when you've got a hot date.

What about your books?

I'll get them later.
He went swiftly down the steps from landing to landing, stopping at the last one. He turned to face her.
You need to put your shoes back on before we go out.

But what about—?
Briddey began, looking nervously back up the stairs.

It's okay. He's got five separate couples up there he's got to dislodge.
But it was obvious that C.B. wanted her to hurry. When she had trouble fastening her shoes' straps, he knelt down and did it for her.

But wouldn't it be safer to wait up in the stacks till after the staff's left?
she asked.

He shook his head.
They turn all the lights off up here, including the motion-controlled ones, which means we'd have to use a flashlight to find our way, and we'd run the risk of somebody outside seeing it. It's okay. They're all at the birthday party right now.

But what about the custodians?

They don't work Saturday nights.
He hurried her down the last of the stairs to the third floor. He took hold of the door handle, and then stood there a long minute, listening. Satisfied, he put his finger to his lips, said silently,
Tiptoe,
and opened the door.

It was clearly a staff-only area. The corridor looked just like the ones at Commspan, lined with offices, one of which she supposed they were going to hide in. But C.B. said,
Nope, they're locked,
and strode quickly down to a door marked
COPY ROOM
.

Of course,
Briddey thought, remembering how he'd waylaid her in the one at Commspan. But after a quick look inside, C.B. shook his head, shut the door, and started down the corridor again.

Why can't we stay in there?
Briddey asked, scurrying after him.

There was a smartphone on the table, which means somebody'll either come back for it or borrow somebody else's phone to call it so they can hear it. Not good for us either way.
He walked quickly down to where the corridor made a ninety-degree turn, and stopped to listen again.

I thought you said everybody was at the birthday party,
Briddey said.

I think they are, but thoughts don't have GPS. Unless they're actively thinking,
“Here I am walking down Broadway toward Forty-second Street,” it's impossible to tell where they are or what they're up to. When this first happened to me, I thought maybe the telepathy was a superpower, and I could fight crime with it. You know, be Spider-Man and solve mysteries, catch bad guys. But unfortunately—

It doesn't work like that,
she said, thinking of the anonymity—and the violent flooding force—of the voices.

Yeah,
C.B. said.
That, and the fact that it's impossible to tell from their thoughts where they are and whether they're actually stabbing somebody to death or just stuck in line behind somebody really slow at the grocery store.

He listened for another minute and then said,
They're all still down at the birthday party, except for the TA, who's texting his hot date that he's on his way.

Which might mean he was coming down here.

Exactly,
C.B. said, turned the corner onto another empty corridor, and hurried her down it to a door labeled
STORAGE CLOSET
. He opened the door and pushed her in ahead of him.

Into a solid wall of stacked chairs and boxes—and file cabinets topped with old computer monitors and daisy-wheel printers.
I don't think there's room…
Briddey began, but C.B. had already stepped inside and pulled the door three quarters of the way shut, colliding with her as he did.

Can't you move any farther back?
he asked.

No,
she said, banging into something that wobbled.
There's nowhere to go. I thought you said we were going someplace more comfortable.

We are. As soon as…shit. There's no lock on this door.

Does that mean we need to find someplace else?

Maybe,
he said, looking over her shoulder at the jumble of furniture dimly visible in the light from the hall.
On the other hand, this may be perfect. It doesn't look like anybody's been in here in years. If we can just…
He stretched his neck, trying to see what lay beyond the file cabinets and boxes.

Change places with me,
he ordered her.
I want to see what's behind this stuff.
He squeezed awkwardly past her and began shifting chairs.

What's back there?
Briddey asked.

“More stuff,” C.B. said aloud. “Jeez, this place could be on one of those shows about hoarders. I doubt if they'll bother to check in here. It's too crowded to hide in.”

Should you be talking out loud?
she asked nervously, looking at the still partly open door.

“It's okay. The TA's still in the stacks, and Marian's singing ‘Happy Birthday.' ”

“Marian?”

“The Librarian. From
The Music Man.
Marian the Librarian's what I call the librarian I've been listening to. She's the one who's been designated to lock up tonight. It's also a good song, by the way. Lots of verses. I think there might be some room in the back.” He paused, and then said, “Go ahead and shut the door.”

She did, and thought,
Oh, no, I'm alone in the dark, and the voices—

“No, you're not,” C.B. said. “I'm right here, and you've got your brick wall.
And
I brought a flashlight.”

He switched it on, but even if he hadn't, there was a line of light under the door from the hallway, which kept the closet from being totally dark. And her perimeter must be working, because the voices remained at a murmur.

C.B. was shining the flashlight around at the stacked furniture, looking for a way behind it. He handed the flashlight to Briddey so he could use both hands to shove the file cabinet back and then push the stacked chairs aside, and the chairs made an ungodly scraping sound as he moved them. She hoped he was right about the staff still being out of earshot.

Me, too,
he said, flattening himself to slide between two stacks of boxes. He took the flashlight back from her and motioned her to follow him. “Come on. There's loads of room back here.”

I wouldn't call it loads,
Briddey thought, squeezing between discarded tables and chairs and head-high stacks of computers, their dangling cords looking like vines in the beam of the flashlight.

C.B. threaded his way through them to the back wall. There an old-fashioned card file stood, surrounded by more boxes and a library table topped with an ancient mimeograph machine and a pile of black encyclopedias. The table, boxes, and card file formed a small enclosed space from which Briddey couldn't see the door. Which meant someone opening the door wouldn't be able to see them either.

Exactly,
C.B. said, shining the flashlight around at a globe, a tattered
READING IS GOOD FOR YOU
poster, a plastic potted palm, and a portrait of a glaring George Washington.
Why do they always hang Washington's picture in libraries?
he asked.
Lincoln was the one who read all the time.

He stood the flashlight on end on top of the card file, opened one of the drawers, and riffled through the cards.
Just as I thought. They've got the Lost Ark of the Covenant in here.

He cocked his head, listened for a minute, and then said aloud, “They just cut the cake, which means we may be here awhile. Make yourself comfortable.”

“I don't think that's possible,” Briddey said. “There's hardly room for both of us to stand in here.”

And we're still much too close.
He was standing even nearer than he had been in the stacks, and when she backed away from him, the brass handles of the card file pressed into her back. Their faces were mere inches apart.

“Here we go,” C.B. said, pushing the encyclopedias to the end of the table. He put his hands on Briddey's waist and lifted her up to sit on the oak table. “Better?”