My Name Is Not Alexa Pearce

by Kerri McLoone

  ● 15 ●

  The rest of the work day went by relatively uneventfully compared to the morning. At four o’clock I texted Cali to remind her to bring my bag with my workout clothes to Mickey’s studio tonight.

  LEX: hey kid. you back at the apartment?

  CAL: yeah, got here a couple hours ago

  CAL: chillin with dog man

  LEX: did you open that box? i hope nothing was ruined!

  CAL: no it’s ok! no damage done

  CAL: but damn, milo really went after this box!

  LEX: yeah i guess i forgot to tell you, but tyler left a note on it. apparently went to his door by mistake. milo must’ve smelled him on it or something

  CAL: no wonder

  Cali adds the eye roll emoji to her response.

  CAL: that guy is a pig. he’s the only person i’ve ever heard dog man growl at

  LEX: i think pig is putting it too nicely

  LEX: i gotta get back to work. but you’ll bring my bag for me tonight?

  CAL: yeah no problem. i already put it on the coffee table so i won’t forget.

  LEX: thank you!

  I send another text of alternating thumbs up and heart emojis.

  CAL: haha you’re welcome

  CAL: i’m gonna take dog man for a walk and then we’re going to take a nap

  LEX: ok sounds good. i’ll see you later

  Cali saying she’ll take Milo for a walk reminds me of his dog attitude this morning. Also, how I promised I’d bring a double pup-cup for him when I got home. I’ll have to stop at Roast on the way to Mickey’s. I laugh to myself. I can’t wait to tell Cali all the great tricks she’s teaching my dog.

  As I’m putting my phone back into its spot under the counter, I see the return bin is full again. I sigh and load up the cart for the fourth time, dragging it behind me to weave my way around the library replacing the books. It’s monotonous work, but it frees my mind up somewhat to think about The Book.

  I haven’t had a chance today to check the computer. I put my hand on the piece of paper I’ve kept in my pocket all day. I don’t even need to look at it as I go over the information in my head for what feels like the hundredth time in less than a day. No author, title is simply The Book, language Latin, it’s been in this building since the early 1900s, but the exact origin date is unknown.

  I’m lost in my thoughts, so I don’t hear or see Jeff coming up to me. It wasn’t until he was right next to me that I finally noticed him.

  “Hi, Alexa,” he says. He’s still holding the clipboard from before.

  “Hey, Jeff,” I say back making sure I remain polite regardless of still feeling a bit irked at having to work on Sunday. I pick up a couple more books to put on the shelf.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Sunday,” Jeff continues.

  “Oh sure, of course,” I calmly reply. He is, after all, my boss. I put the book currently in my hand in its correct place on the shelf. I turn to give him my full attention.

  “I wanted to tell you that Samantha is working on a special project for me. We’re updating our online presence, especially regarding our rare book collection. So what you’ll be doing on Sunday is you’ll be downstairs in the climate-controlled storage room in the basement looking over the books to catalog them in a fashion more detailed than our current internal files. You’ll also need to photograph the cover and first few pages of the book to add to the online database.”

  My heart rate started to speed up when he said “rare book collection” and it skyrocketed when he added “climate-controlled storage.” That is exactly where I need to be. I must be imagining this.

  “So, just to be clear, you want me to scan through each of the books, give a synopsis of what it’s about, the author, the year it was printed and its approximate age, genre, et cetera, and then photograph it and upload that onto our internal servers which will eventually be part of an accessible online database?” I ask Jeff. I need him to make this as plain to me as possible. I cannot jump to any conclusions, especially when I’ve possibly just gotten that much closer to The Book.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Jeff replies. “Now, it is a very involved process, and you’ll need to be careful handling the books, so I understand it will be quite time-consuming. It could take you all day to catalog two or three books. I would not expect you’d be able to get more than three done.”

  “Alright. You know, it actually sounds very interesting.” I try to keep my voice as neutral as possible even though internally I am pretty much jumping for joy.

  “Yes, that was Samantha’s response as well.” He looks down at his clipboard and picks something up. “You need authorization to access the rare book room, so I’ve made you a new I.D. tag. It has a magnetic strip on it that you’ll need to swipe to enter.” He hands me the tag on a Central Library lanyard. “Be sure not to lose that card, it grants access to the entire library, even after hours.”

  I look at it quickly and then wrap the lanyard around the card and put it into my pocket. Oh, Jeff, I could kiss you! I cannot believe what I am hearing! I slowly breathe in and out to calm myself.

  “Thank you, Jeff,” I look at his serious expression, but I think I can see a small glint in his eyes. “I understand you are placing a lot of trust in me with this project and I appreciate that very much.”

  Jeff nods before replying, “I will be here Sunday, so if you run into any problems or have any questions, you may ask me.”

  “That sounds great.” I pause after answering. I can’t help the downward turn my brain takes. It’s been my defense mechanism for the last five years.

  Could this be too good to be true? This literally just fell into my lap, it’s pretty serendipitous. What if this is actually a trap of some kind? Could Jeff be a demon or a Victus reporting to Darius about me? Oh no, what if that spark I felt when I saw the computer listing for The Book sent out some sort of signal to Darius? No, no. I would know if that were the case. Wouldn’t I?

  Jeff breaks me out of my spell by clearing his throat to get my attention again. “Alexa, it is now 5:15. Please finish shelving these books and go around letting our members know the library will be closing.”

  “Right, of course,” I nod and return my attention to the cart of books.

  He turns and walks abruptly away, I watch him leave. I don’t want to believe that Jeff is a Victus and that I am being lured into a trap, but decide it’s better to be safe than sorry. I will go through the box under my bed tomorrow and reread my mother’s letter and my grandpa’s instructions. I want to be as prepared as possible if I finally come face to face with The Book after all this time.

  I finish replacing the books and put the cart behind a counter. I walk around the library saying the same words over and over that I do every day at closing time:

  “It is now 5:30, the library will be closing at six. If you would like to check out any books, please bring them to one of the check out counters. If you are logged on to the computers, please finish up and log off.”

  I go through the motions of preparing the library for closing mechanically. I go area to area asking people to log off the computers, to bring the books they’d like to check out up to a counter all on autopilot. My mind is occupied by the possibilities that Sunday could bring, what it could mean.

  I’m still running scenarios through my mind as I gather my things together; I collect my phone from under the front counter, grab my bag from the lounge, check that my keys and wallet are still in place, put on my jacket.

  I see Matt come into the lounge but it doesn’t register in my brain that he’s waiting for me until he speaks, “You ready to go?”

  I smile and answer in what I hope is a bright voice, “Yes, definitely.”

  My mind, however, is still focused on The Book. Stop it, I tell myself. You have all day tomorrow to check the box and prepare for Sunday. You still don’t even know if this book is what you’re looking for. I nod in agreement to what my inner voice has said.

 
“Oh, I have to stop at Roast on the way and get Milo his double pup-cup.”

  Matt laughs, “Yeah, we don’t want him throwing another puppy tantrum like before.”

  “I swear he must’ve learned that from Cali,” I chuckle.

  We leave the library and make our way toward Roast. Matt adjusts his bag on his shoulder, when he puts his arm down, it’s me who reaches for his hand this time. He interlaces our fingers like before and holds it the whole way to the coffee shop. As we walk, he narrates for me how the rest of his day went, that he had three more frazzled mothers and two fathers approach him, each one asking about those damn earth science books.

  ● 16 ●

  Darius

  On the other side of the country, the derelict bar that the demon has set up his current base in is full with the local townsfolk. Seeing as it’s 9:30 on a Friday night, the bar has been loaded for the past four hours, since quitting time, the parking lot filled with dented and scratched pickup trucks, some old enough to drink themselves.

  Darius is perched in his corner, glass of whiskey in hand. He watches as the bartender looks after his customers with fluid movements, rarely pausing to hear an order before producing drinks.

  The black-haired man puts his glass down and turns to scope out tonight’s prospects. He sees a tall, bald African-American man playing pool that shows promise. He looks like a football player; broad chest, flat stomach, thick arms — probably a tight end. He’s surrounded by four men who most likely were his teammates back in the day but are now very far past their prime.

  The demon’s eyes move across the rest of the bar. Other than the couple of women he might take to his bed later, there is nothing else promising from this crowd. Darius puts a mental bookmark on the football player and turns back to the bar, his glass full again.

  As the main entrance to the bar opens, Darius hears a large group of loud and rowdy halfwits come in. This group is younger than the rest of the crowd filling the bar and none of them look familiar. Excellent, Darius thinks.

  The black-haired brute enjoys watching people, especially people he’s never seen before. He’s been observing humans for centuries, studying them, learning their weaknesses. New masses inevitably lead to conflict in some form; maybe an advance by a man is rebuffed by a woman, or someone bumps into another person who’s having a bad day and is looking to fight, or someone gets looked at wrong, or people who are just inherently violent are looking for trouble. All these interactions can be found in a crummy, dilapidated bar in any of the decaying towns across this earth. All Darius has to do is sit back and wait.

  Darius wipes his mouth with one of his tattooed hands, watching as a woman from the new group breaks away to head to the bar. She’s young, probably in her twenties, short, has blonde hair, and a curvy body being shown off in clothes at least a size too small. She has to pass the table the former footballer is playing pool at to make her way the bar. Darius sees the man follow her with his eyes the whole way. This catches the attention of one of the guys in the woman’s group, a scrawny guy with shaggy, greasy hair wearing a flannel shirt with arms cut off displaying his severe lack of muscle.

  And so it begins, Darius thinks as the former tight end approaches the woman at the bar.

  “Hey there, sugar,” the muscled man says in a smooth baritone, tapping the woman lightly on the shoulder. “I’m Damon. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Across the room Darius sees the shaggy guy shoot up out of his chair to get a better view of what’s happening at the bar.

  “Um, no thanks.” The woman has a high pitched, almost squeaky voice. It instantly irritates the demon.

  “Oh, come on now, honey. Just one drink?” Ooh, nice touch Damon, Darius considers. Why don’t you give her a little tap on that round ass, while you’re at it?

  “I said no thank you,” the young woman says with a bit more bite. She goes to move away from Damon but there isn’t much room around her.

  “Darling, why don’t you just let me buy you a drink. I won’t ask nicely again.” Damon steps into the shorter woman’s space, crowding her.

  The door to the bar opens again, and Darius sees that it’s his number three, Julius. The short, squat man makes a beeline right to where Darius is located.

  “Boss,” he says a bit out of breath.

  Darius shushes the man. “I’m watching my program,” he says. “And it’s just getting to the good part,” he adds seeing the unkempt skinny guy coming over to the duo at the bar.

  “Hey! We got a problem here, buddy?” He pulls on the footballer’s shoulder, trying to clear some space between him and the girl. Up close the guy looks like a child standing next to Damon.

  The exponentially bigger man chuckles, leans his elbow onto the bar and says patronizingly, “No, no problem here pal. I just offered this fine looking woman a drink, and she turned me down twice. Can you believe that?”

  The face and neck of the shorter guy turn dark red. He puffs out his chest and practically screeches, “Yeah, I can believe it. ‘Cause she’s here with me. You got that?”

  “Bobby, stop. Come on, let’s just go.” The woman puts her hands on the flannel covered shoulders in front of her.

  Damon laughs, “Bubba? Of course your name would be Bubba!”

  Bobby’s face gets even darker as his anger rises. He reaches a hand behind him and pulls a hunting knife out of his pocket. “You want to say that to me again?” He aims for slow and intimidating but his voice cracks at the end.

  Damon laughs at the man again. “Oh, sugar. You should put that away before you hurt yourself.” Damon leans in, his voice dropping to an even deeper register. “Or before someone takes it from you and shows you how to really use it.”

  Sold!

  Darius is just about giddy, or as giddy as a demon can get, watching the man who he will make his next Victus put the little loser in his place.

  Bobby’s face loses a little of its color. He puts his knife away slowly and turns to the woman behind him, “Come on, Janey, let’s just go.”

  Damon watches the couple walk back to their table, gathering their friends to leave. “Bye-bye, Janey!” he calls out. The woman stops just inside the doorway, looking back upon hearing her name. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

  Darius is chuckling to himself swinging back around in his seat to face the bar. He holds up his empty glass getting the bartender’s attention. It isn’t until the whiskey has been poured and he’s taken a big sip of it that he sees Julius out of the corner of his eye.

  “Julius! Did you like that episode? I think we will have to keep an eye on Damon. I like his style.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Julius rarely makes direct eye contact with Darius but right now he is practically staring the man down.

  Darius views this as a challenge. He stands ready to knock Julius back down to his place. “You got a problem?” he growls at the portly shorter man.

  “N-n-no, no sir,” Julius stutters out casting his eyes back down at the floor.

  “Well, then what?” Darius is losing his patience at the blubbery man currently ruining his good mood.

  Julius takes a deep breath and looks up again.

  “I think we’ve got something.”

  ● 17 ●

  “Alexa”

  Matt and I arrive at Mickey’s studio just before seven, right as her previous class is about to end. We give a small wave to Mickey, she nods her head slightly in acknowledgement without breaking stride. We spot Cali waiting off to the side sitting on the floor with her knees up, phone in hand.

  “Five bucks says she’s playing the game with the squirrel finding nuts,” Matt says to me under his breath as we approach her.

  I look at him and smirk, “You’re on.” I know that Cali recently discovered a new solitaire app that has a squirrel deck and that it’s her current game of choice. Which is only technically cheating.

  As we approach Cali, I notice something missing: my gym bag. Cali lifts her head from her phone as Matt a
nd I plop down on the floor beside her. When she sees me her eyes widen.

  “Ah, shit, Lex. I saw the bag, I even had it in front of me and I meant to bring it, I swear. Shit, I’m sorry. Do you want me to go back and get it, ‘cause I can. I will.” Cali spews out the string of words without breathing.

  I try to hold a stern look on my face, but I break when Cali raises her eyebrows and pouts. “Please don’t be mad,” she says.

  I laugh and tell her not to worry about it, that I’ll borrow some of Mickey’s extra clothes she keeps in her office.

  Cali lets out a long “whew” before noticing the cup from Roast in my hand. She tilts her head to the side and asks, “You got a hot chocolate before kickboxing? Won’t that make you sick?”