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.
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 land
ing, 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—
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