The Inferno Collection

by Jacqueline Seewald

  The Inferno Collection

  By Jacqueline Seewald

  Published by L&L Dreamspell

  London, Texas

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  Copyright 2007, 2011 by Jacqueline Seewald

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  ISBN- 978-1-60318-387-1

  Published by L & L Dreamspell

  Produced in the United States of America

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  * * * *

  This novel is dedicated to my husband, Monte, who supports me in every way possible.

  This book is also dedicated to my wonderful children, and to reference librarians everywhere. They are truly the world’s greatest information detectives.

  Special thanks to Alice Duncan who edited this book with good-natured thoroughness.

  * * * *

  “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!”

  —Dante

  The Inferno

  ONE

  “May I help you?” Kim Reynolds said the words automatically to the next person who approached the information services desk as she replaced the World Almanac under the ready reference counter.

  “I certainly hope you can help me.”

  The soft voice was familiar, and Kim quickly looked up to see an attractive young woman gravely watching her.

  “Lorette, how have you been?”

  “All right.” The words did not seem to go with the nervous way Lorette chewed her lower lip.

  “Need help with a paper?”

  “Always, but there’s something else. When will you be going for lunch?”

  “Someone’s coming back in a few minutes. I could take my break then.”

  Lorette agreed to wait. She moved around restlessly, glancing at a book now and again but never actually perusing it.

  Kim knew instinctively that something was wrong with Lorette. It was obvious some dark cloud hung over her friend. Kim didn’t even need to tap into what her grandmother had referred to as the awareness, a family trait, which seemed to reoccur in females on the maternal side of her family every second generation.

  Outside the university library, it was a vivid October afternoon. A gaggle of students sat on the benches and grassy lawns consuming sundry food and beverages. It was a comforting sight, and one that Kim had seen so often it gave her the illusion of permanence.

  “We could buy some junk food from one of the lunch trucks along College Ave.,” she suggested.

  “I’m not very hungry.” Lorette walked over to a stone bench that gracefully abutted a stone wall. “Maybe we can just sit here for a while.” But as soon as she had spoken, a handholding boy and girl seated themselves at one end of the bench, and Lorette beckoned her to continue walking again.

  They decided to walk to the commons and visit the Rathskeller. The “rat” had been their favorite place to go and relax when they were both in the graduate English program sharing courses together.

  Kim took a deep breath of the fresh autumn air. There wouldn’t be many wonderful days like this before the cold weather grasped them in icy tentacles. She was determined to enjoy the bright azure sky and multicolored leaves that looked like impressionist splotches of paint on canvas. Too much of her time was spent indoors, incarcerated like a felon. At this moment, she felt wonderfully alive.

  “I need to talk to you privately.”

  “I got that idea.”

  There was definitely something bothering Lorette. Kim sensed it, even though they weren’t as close as they’d once been.

  As they walked, Lorette kept furtively glancing around, occasionally checking out the people behind them on the busy street. It almost seemed as if she were frightened and thought someone was watching or following her. Kim wondered what sort of emotional stress her friend was under; Lorette was definitely not behaving like herself. Usually she appeared calm, cool and controlled, although Kim conceded that could merely be a façade.

  They made their selections in the Rathskeller, down in the bowels of the student activity building, then seated themselves in the dining room, which was dark and fairly empty at this hour. One couple sat off in a corner: an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard dressed in a Harris tweed jacket and wrinkled gray slacks who looked like a psych professor, and a young girl who stared at him adoringly, as if his words were those of the Messiah. Kim rolled her eyes.

  “I used to be like her,” Lorette said, picking at a salad without enthusiasm. “I was so naïve.”

  “How’s your dissertation going?”

  Lorette bit down on her lower lip. “I’ll be happy when I finish. It’s not going the way I would like.”

  “You have a standing offer. I’ll be glad to help you with the research.”

  Lorette looked up and smiled for the first time, but the smile did not extend to her eyes. “Yes, you’ve always been a real friend, someone I can trust…maybe the only one.”

  Kim studied Lorette thoughtfully. Some time ago she’d read that women dress for other women. She did not believe that to be true of her friend, who appeared to dress to be noticed by men. Today was no exception. Lorette was arrayed in a brown leather miniskirt and lacy, textured hosiery that made the most of her long, shapely legs. A silk, V-neck beige blouse was complemented by a slim-fitting velvet jacket of rich chocolate. Lorette had a way of combining elegance and sophistication with sensuality. Her soft, shiny black hair gently brushing her shoulders framed a heart-shaped face with eyes the color of spring wisteria; Lorette could have easily been confused for a model or an actress. Kim was aware of her own plain appearance in comparison.

  “I miss you in the program. I wish you hadn’t dropped English.”

  “More like it dropped me,” Kim admitted with a wry smile. “I’m a good academic librarian. I seem to be more suited to that.”

  “Actually, you have the cleverest insights into literature. I don’t think you were treated fairly. They don’t seem to respect original thinking.”

  Kim understood Lorette was talking as much about her own situation as Kim’s.

  “So what are you teaching this semester?”

  “Same old Expository Writing 101. But I was promised lit courses for spring semester.” The lavender eyes glowed momentarily.

  “That’s wonderful,” Kim said, biting with zest into a ripe cherry tomato. She thought she meant it, hoping there wasn’t any jealousy behind the words. She’d always loved the teaching part and missed it to some extent. But opting out of the program after finishing her Master’s in English was not a mistake. She did like her job. And her awareness, a kind of seventh sense, made it possible for her to locate what other people needed quickly and accurately. That was about the only benefit of her odd sensibility. Mostly, it had made her feel different and isolated her from others. So she ignored that peculiar insight, pretending it didn’t exist.

  “I do get tired of being paid the wages of a medieval serf. Hopefully, I’ll complete my dissertation sometime next year, get my degree and be able to teach full-time.”

  One of the things they shared in common was that they’d both received teaching assistantships. Kim had been a scholarship student all the way. She didn’t think that was true of Lorette, but she never asked. Their friendship rarely crossed the lines of privacy.
Kim did not ask personal questions of Lorette, and her friend reciprocated. It was one of the reasons they got along so well. They were also older than most of the other grad students. Lorette was twenty-six and Kim twenty-nine. They’d both spent time in the real world before entering the lofty tower of academe. Kim had taught English at the high school level, while Lorette had worked in business.

  “So you’ve finished all your classes?”

  “Not quite. This semester is the last. But I haven’t been able to concentrate very well on my work. The thing is, I have this problem.”

  Lorette was finally getting to the point of their meeting, and Kim could not help but feel curious.

  “Hello! Imagine seeing you down here where only trolls come to dine.” Don Bernard tossed Kim an engaging smile.

  Lorette, who had been stirring her coffee, started slightly, spilling the beverage on the table.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Don sounded uncomfortable, a rarity for the suave, sophisticated Dr. Bernard.

  “I’m a bit on edge,” Lorette said, frowning into his face.

  Kim was fond of Don Bernard. She’d come to know him during the last year as a colleague rather than a teacher.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He smiled again directly at Kim. “I’ll look for you at the library later.”

  He was a very attractive male with his fair hair and light-colored eyes. He left them and joined another professor.

  “No airs about that man. He’s so nice.”

  Lorette did not respond, but the look on her face told Kim that she disagreed with the assessment. Kim decided not to probe. Some things were better not to know about.

  “Kim, can you come over to my apartment later today? I’d like to talk where we won’t be disturbed or overheard.” Lorette got ready to leave, claiming that she was due in Dr. Barnes’s office to discuss a proposed paper. “He says he can get my work published, but he’s so full of hot air, I think I’m just going to blow him off.” Then she left. Kim noticed Lorette had barely touched her lunch. Kim’s instinct told her Lorette’s problem was very serious, and that she might be involved in something very dangerous.

  * * * *

  Kim drove to Lorette’s apartment on her way home from work. The La Reine Gardens development in which she and Lorette lived was attractive. The brick buildings, set around large courtyards, were lushly landscaped, the lawns elegantly manicured. Kim drove past trees that were a blur of red, green, orange and brown in their luxurious foliage.

  She parked in front of Lorette’s building, rang the doorbell, and was greeted by a tall, gray-haired woman who looked as if she’d been quite striking when she was young. The gray hair was the color of steel with the slightest hint of blue tint, a color reminiscent of delicate robin’s eggs.

  “So you’re Lorette’s friend,” she said. “Won’t you come in? Like you, I’m visiting this afternoon.”

  The apartment, an efficiency, had only one real room with a tiny kitchen space and a small bathroom, very similar to Kim’s own. But the furnishings suggested grace and elegance, mirroring Lorette’s personality.

  A moment later, Lorette came toward her dressed in lime-green slacks and matching silk blouse that suited her slim figure. Her dark hair fell softly around her thin face like a raven’s feathered wings.

  “I’m glad your friend’s come to visit. Lord knows, I don’t seem to have the ability to calm you down. Or maybe it’s my visits that upset you.”

  “Mother, please!” Lorette’s face paled.

  “It’s all the pressure you’re under, isn’t it? All those papers they make you write and grade.”

  Lorette didn’t reply.

  “Your daughter’s doing extremely well in the program. She’s suited to the academic life, Mrs. Campbell.”

  “My mother’s not Mrs. Campbell.”

  “Just call me Miranda.” A smile slipped through thinned lips.

  “It’s nice meeting you,” Kim responded in a warm manner.

  “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? I brought enough for three—or even four, considering the way Lorette eats.”

  Miranda was right about the way Lorette ate. Just as she had at lunch, she left her food virtually untouched at dinner. Of course, Lorette had never been much of an eater. Kim remembered very well during the Eighteenth Century novel course they’d elected to take together that Lorette had identified with Richardson’s Clarissa, a heroine who closely resembled a modern anorexic, wasting away in an effort to effect some control over wretched circumstances.

  “You are getting a little too thin,” Kim told her friend.

  “As the Duchess of Windsor said, ‘You can never be too rich or too thin.’”

  “I most certainly disagree,” Miranda said.

  They ate in relative silence, each woman locked into her own thoughts. Afterward, Kim offered to help with the dishes, but Miranda wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Mother likes doing those things. She’s a total perfectionist about housework.” Lorette eyed her mother impassively.

  “Lorette knows me. I like to put her place to rights when I’m here. So why don’t the two of you take a walk while I clean up?”

  There wasn’t any arguing with Miranda; she had a take-charge sort of personality. Kim also realized that Lorette wanted to talk away from her mother. Curiously, Miranda appeared to understand and not really mind.

  “Let’s walk through the woods where it’s peaceful.”

  It was twilight, and a feeling of gloom prevailed among the trees.

  “I like it here. It reminds me of home. Mother still lives in our old house. When I first left home, that was what I missed the most, just the brooding forest with few people about.” Lorette’s eyes brightened momentarily. “I suppose you know the Puritans considered the woods evil. My mother thinks that’s stupid superstition, but then again, she does sell real estate and considers forests as valuable property for development.”

  “I can understand the early settlers fearing the forests. Woodlands were full of frightening native people, unfamiliar flora and fauna. Don’t we all fear the unknown?” Kim knew she certainly did.

  “My father used to tell me stories about Colonial times when I was little. He was a great storyteller; that’s where I first got my love of literature.” Lorette was talking rapidly, her manner edgy.

  “You were fortunate to have a father like that,” Kim said.

  “Not so fortunate. He died when I was eight. A few years later, my mother remarried. Then everything changed.”

  Shriveled leaves stirred restlessly in the wind like an army of brown-shirted soldiers on the march. The brown leaves crunched under Kim’s sneakers. A sudden chilling breeze in the autumn air made her feel very cold inside.

  “Do you believe that the forces of evil are created by supernatural powers, that they are a constant threat to mankind?” Lorette’s eyes were unnaturally bright.

  Kim was pensive. “I believe people often create the things they fear.”

  “Mother thinks it’s all foolishness too. However, Dr. Forbes makes a convincing argument. He’s been discussing the power of evil in our class on occult literature.”

  As they walked along the woodland trail, Kim wondered what was really on Lorette’s mind. Her friend’s moods were not always easy to fathom. “What did you want to talk with me about?” It was probably best to be direct.

  A lock of dark hair fell across Lorette’s forehead, and she shoved at it nervously with her long, slender fingers. “I wanted to ask if you know anything about an inferno collection at the humanities library.”

  The question surprised Kim. She tried to recall exactly what she’d read on the subject. Usually, an inferno collection consisted of materials deemed salacious or inappropriate for children. In public libraries during the Victorian era, they had been kept locked away in a separate place and could only be retrieved by asking the reference librarian for access. The philosophy behind this policy was based on the premise that librari
ans were the gatekeepers. However, Kim saw the notion of an inferno collection as being thoroughly antiquated.

  “You really think there’s an inferno collection at the humanities library?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it.”

  Lorette’s certitude perplexed Kim. “Scholars have total intellectual freedom. I don’t see why any such censorship could or would exist at a university library.”

  “Maybe there are those who wouldn’t approve of the nature of a particular collection.” Lorette seemed agitated. Kim observed a slight twitch in her right eye.

  “What sort of a collection are we talking about?”

  “If it doesn’t exist, then there’s no point talking about it, is there?”

  She was finding this conversation with Lorette perplexing. “If I happen to hear anything about an inferno collection, I’ll let you know. I haven’t worked at the humanities library all that long, so I don’t know everything, but I can find out.”

  “Do that, but be careful who you ask.”

  The warning in Lorette’s voice gave Kim pause. “Why should I have to be careful?”

  “It might be safer. Some people might not like you asking.”

  “What are you implying?” Kim didn’t bother stating that Lorette was weirding her out.

  Lorette licked her lips as if they were terribly dry. “Do that for me, please.” She was shivering.

  “Let me reassure you. It’s not likely there’s any kind of inferno collection at the university libraries. I doubt they exist in public libraries anymore either. Could someone be playing a stupid practical joke, telling you spooky stories? In a few weeks it’ll be Halloween.”

  Lorette continued walking, barely listening, looking preoccupied. “Last week I found this note in my mailbox at school.” Lorette slipped a folded piece of white paper from her slacks pocket and handed it to Kim, who observed the neatly printed words. Because of the gathering darkness, she had to bring the note up close to make out the words.