My Name Is Not Alexa Pearce

by Kerri McLoone

  After not finding my book, I picked up where Sam left off indicated by a piece of lined paper stuck underneath the spine of a book. Even though I knew pretty much what to do, I read over the instructions she wrote out on the pad next to the computer just to be sure.

  In the bright white cloth gloves Jeff had sternly instructed me to wear, I archived the next three books on the shelf in quick succession. A first edition copy of Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, from 1883; a first edition of Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide also by Robert Louis Stevenson, from 1886; and a leather-bound copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare, stamped with a date of 1830.

  I photographed the covers of each book and the first fifteen pages. The camera was plugged directly into the laptop so the photos loaded to the database seamlessly. I entered the title, author, publication date, and other pertinent information about the book itself before writing a quick but detailed synopsis. The gloves made using the trackpad on the laptop impossible, so thankfully there was a mouse.

  It was quite surreal to hold books that were so old and so well known, especially the first editions of books I had read as a teenager. And although I was really disappointed not to have found The Book right off the bat, I had to admit to myself that so far I was at least enjoying this project.

  Now at 12:30, over three hours after Jeff “left me to it,” I decide to stop for lunch only because my growling stomach has become louder than I can ignore.

  It’s such a nice day that I choose to eat outside on one of the benches near the library. I don’t even bother to heat up my food before exiting the building.

  Even though what I have been doing in the sub-basement is interesting, I can’t help but think of the morning as a total bust. What if the entire day goes by and I don’t get my hands on The Book at all? I roll my eyes at myself and my internal whining. Well, then I just convince Jeff to let me continue working on this project, I answer myself.

  I finish my food while finishing the round of solitaire from this morning on my phone. The sun is warm on my shoulders as it cuts through the budding trees lining the library. It reminds me of springs from my childhood. How the air felt when getting to finally play outside again at recess after long cold winters. Although, early April at home could still threaten a snowstorm or two.

  I close my eyes at the memory. I ache so much for it that I can almost smell it. Home.

  I shake my head to jostle the thought of home quickly away. I’ve gone too long, and I’m too close to something to make a mistake now.

  I go back inside the library and make my way down to the sub-basement. I use my ID card to unlock CCR1 and get ready to get back to work. I feel oddly compelled to look over Sam’s instructions one more time and this time see something I missed before. In her smooth, loopy handwriting, I see Sam wrote: **Jeff only expecting 2-3 books per day.**

  My eyes widen as a realization comes to me. I’ve already done three books today. I look down at the ID tag hanging around my neck. I know it will open rooms CCR2 through CCR6, and any other locked door inside or outside the library.

  I exit room one and stand in the makeshift hallway created by the layout of the six cubes. I know that The Book, what I believe to be my book, has to be in one of the other five rooms. I’ve got a computer print out that says so.

  I mentally put an X through CCR1 and move to the door of CCR2. I swipe my card through the slot. The red light above the handle turns green and I hear the electric lock slide in its casing.

  Let’s see what’s behind door number two.

  ● 26 ●

  Julius

  At noon local time, three hours before Alexa takes her lunch break in Portland, Julius and Damon are entering the New Orleans Parole Office. The pair had gone straight from the alley behind the bar to Damon’s house. Julius had stood by and watched as the man packed a bag. From there, they took Julius’s car and drove to the longterm parking lot at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.

  Julius pulled his own go-bag from the trunk, and the pair boarded the airport shuttle headed to the terminal. They had to wait around until 9:30 A.M. for an available flight out of Atlanta. Julius had called their contact as soon as they were wheels down in NOLA.

  Damon has kept a wary eye on the shorter man currently walking in front of him ever since leaving the bar last night. He doesn’t know if Julius has the same abilities as Darius, but after seeing what happened to his friends, he’s not eager to experience it himself. He absolutely does not trust the guy. He stays a half-step behind, on his toes ready to defend himself against an attack from his... partner, for lack of a better term.

  Julius walks up to the counter just inside the main entrance to the building and sees a young man sitting behind it staring at his phone. The peach fuzz on his chin and the acne on his face make him look more like a boy than a man.

  “Hi there, son,” Julius says. “We’re here to see Rodger Blusseau. He’s expecting us.”

  The young man lazily raises his eyes from the phone in his hand. Skipping all pleasantries, he asks, “Names?”

  “I’m Julius Togan. And this is Damon Jennings.”

  The kid drags a finger down a printed list of names. He taps his finger a few times when he reaches the bottom and scans the sheet again.

  “I don’t have either of you down with check-ins for today. Who’s your parole officer again?”

  “Oh, no. You misunderstand, son,” Julius chuckles. He’s aiming for light and amused, but it comes out gruff and tense. “You see, I’m an old friend of Officer Blusseau. I called him to let him know I’d be in town for business and he said to come by.” Julius’s continued attempt at an informal tone comes out sounding patronizing.

  “Uh-huh. Well, let me just check on that for you,” the young man replies adopting his own condescending tone. Julius’s eyebrows furrow at the boy’s response. Behind his back, Damon’s mouth twitches into a quick smile but he swiftly erases it.

  At the desk, the young man picks up the office phone and dials a four-digit number. He listens for a beat then says, “Officer Blusseau, there are two men here to see you. A Julius Toboggan and a Damon Jennings.”

  “Togan,” Julius hisses at the kid.

  The boy rolls his eyes and mouths, “whatever,” in response as he listens to the officer’s response.

  “Yes, sir. Okay, thank you.” He hangs up the phone and smiles sweetly at the men in front of him. “Officer Blusseau will be down in a minute. You can have a seat,” he says dismissing the men.

  Damon smirks at the deepening color on his comrade’s face as Julius turns away from the counter. The duo goes over to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs lining the walls. Damon pops a piece of gum in his mouth and pulls out his own phone to play a game while they wait.

  “Let me do the talking,” Julius says in a low volume.

  “Sure,” Damon responds, his gaze remaining on his phone. Then taking a bolder approach, adds, “You know, ‘cause I have no fucking idea what is going on.”

  “Just shut up. You’re here because the boss wants you to be.”

  “No,” Damon says through gritted teeth looking up at Julius. “I’m here so that that monster fuck freak of nature doesn’t kill me or turn me into a goddamn pile of ash like he did my boys.” Damon’s throat tightens at the mention of his friends.

  “Well then, do what you’re told and there won’t be a problem,” Julius explains with zero empathy.

  Damon’s attention returns to his phone for the next few minutes the pair waits. Julius busies himself brushing away some lint from his suit pants. They both look up as the heavy, metal door behind the kid at the counter buzzes then opens. A man even shorter than Julius walks out wearing a tailored dress shirt and black pants. Whereas Julius has a generous girth around his middle, the man walking toward them now is trim and muscular.

  “Blue!” Julius exclaims.

  “Jules!” Blusseau replies with equal enthusiasm.

  Julius
grunts as he stands up to hug the man. They give each other a few rough claps on the back in greeting. Damon also stands and towers over the other two. He actually has to tilt his head down in order to see the men in front of him.

  “Rodger Blusseau, meet Damon Jennings,” Julius says facilitating the introductions.

  “Dear god, don’t call me Rodger unless you happen to be my granny in disguise. Name’s Blue,” the officer says with a soft, southern twang.

  Damon nods as he grips the man’s outstretched hand. He notices that Blue’s hand is dwarfed by, and all but disappears into, his own.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” Blue continues. “But I’m starving. Why don’t we grab something to eat and we can catch up.”

  He raises an eyebrow and gives Julius a brief, meaningful look.

  “Right, right,” Julius replies, easily catching on. “Where to?”

  **********

  Blue’s compact silver sedan pulls into the parking lot of a local dive and stops. Damon had to practically fold himself in half to fit in the small back seat. His kneecaps were on the verge of touching his cheekbones the whole ride. So as soon as the car stops he’s opening the door eager, to get out quickly.

  The two old friends up front paid no attention to Damon’s cramped quarters while they comfortably caught up on tedious things. Nothing they’ve discussed so far has anything to do with the reason why Julius and Damon are in New Orleans.

  When they walk in the restaurant, they bypass the host stand and sit themselves down in a booth near the front entrance. Blue and Damon are on one side, with Julius across from them. Within minutes, the waitress comes by and Blue orders for the three of them.

  Damon is becoming quite impatient with Blue’s lackadaisical personality. He thinks that maybe if Blue had seen his own buddies reduced to ashes in seconds, his attitude would be a little more industrious right now. He’s squirming in his seat and tapping his foot on the floor. With a cold look, Julius silently reminds Damon of his earlier instruction to keep quiet. The large man settles down and for the next ten minutes, the old friends continue to shoot the breeze.

  As soon as the food comes, Damon demolishes his sandwich in three massive bites. He drains his glass of water and is again just waiting on the two men. He’s tapping his thumbnail on the empty glass and is about to ask some questions himself, when after two big bites of his shrimp po’boy, Blue finally says something of worth.

  “Alright, so here’s the situation,” he begins. “I asked all of my parolees about the girl. Made it sound like she skipped out on something up north and told them there is a reward for any information that produces a solid lead. My guys know people practically across the entire Bayou, so I hoped when I mentioned there was a reward they’d ask around and I’d at least get something.”

  Blue pauses his story to take another bite and washes it down with a huge gulp of sweet tea.

  The waitress comes to their table again, an older woman with tightly curled, short white hair. She’s wearing an apron and is carrying a coffee pot. A web of raised veins shows through the wrinkled, ashy skin on her arms.

  “You boys needing anything?” she asks in a Southern lilt.

  “Uh, yes actually,” Damon answers. “Could I get another two shrimp sandwiches and some more water, please?”

  “Sure thing, darling. How about you two?”

  Blue and Julius shake their heads.

  “No, I think we’re all set, Irma,” Blue says.

  “Alright, honey. I’ll put that order in for you, darling,” she says looking at Damon. The waitress moves on from their table and makes her way toward the kitchen.

  “What was I saying?” Blue asks.

  “You were offering a reward,” Julius tells him.

  “Right, right,” Blue wipes his mouth with his napkin and continues.

  “So I ask ‘em all about her, and I get a lot of shrugs and ‘that could be anyone’ type responses. But one guy, Collin Kings, tells me he was at the library the other day to use the computer since it’s free, and he thinks he might’ve seen her.”

  Blue takes another swig of his tea. He clears his throat and continues, “I told him good, and I’d see him next week. I sent one of my guys over to follow up on it, but wasn’t expecting much.”

  Blue goes silent when a busboy comes and refills the water glasses at the table. When he leaves, Blue speaks again.

  “He comes back and says that the librarian there didn’t remember seeing anyone the other day, but there was a girl there a couple of years ago that fit the same description.”

  “Which library?” Julius asks.

  “Hang on now, I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.” Blue pulls out a black leather notepad from his back pocket and opens it to the last used page. “The Cita Dennis Hubbell Library over on Pelican Ave across the river.”

  “That library have anything special about it? Any affiliations or... leanings?” Julius inquires.

  “It’s not connected with any of yours as far as I can tell.”

  Damon’s eyes narrow. “What does ‘any of yours’ mean?” he asks stiffly.

  “Nothing that you need to know yet,” Julius quickly retorts. “Go ‘head, Blue.”

  “Right. The librarian there, a uhh...” he looks at his notepad again, “Smith, Alton Smith, retired architect, he works there part-time now. Something of a building historian actually. Told my guy that about three years ago, a young woman no more than twenty came in and started asking questions about the building.”

  “And he remembered a girl from three years ago?” Julius asks skeptically.

  “That’s right. Mr. Smith said he remembers her distinctly because no one before or since has ever asked about the building itself rather than the books inside, and how prime he was to give her all the information she wanted.”

  “A building historian,” Julius repeats.

  “Everyone’s got their interests, Jules,” he says pointedly.

  “Right. Well, I believe I’d like to meet this Alton Smith. Hear more of what he has to say.”

  Irma returns right then with Damon’s food. “Here you go, darling,” she says putting the plate down in front of him.

  “Thanks,” Damon says before picking up his second sandwich and biting half of it off at once.

  “Y’all want anything else?” Irma asks looking between Blue and Julius.

  “No, thank you, sweetheart,” Blue says. “I think when my friend here finishes eating we’ll be on our way, so just the check whenever you have a moment, Miss Irma.”

  Irma smiles at the men and moves on to check her other tables.

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, Julius centers his dark eyes on Damon who is mid-chew and says, “Eat fast.”

  ● 27 ●

  “Alexa”

  Stepping out of CCR2 I put another mental X on my list. I move down the line to the next room and swipe my keycard. The light turns green and I open the door.

  Holy fuck.

  That’s all I can think the second I step into CCR3. I feel an intense pull toward the last set of shelves in the room. It’s as if an invisible hand is reaching out and grasping my own, leading me.

  My heart starts to pound as I inch closer to the last shelf. I’m in the back corner of the cube, facing the glass wall that’s up against the cinderblock walls of the building’s foundation. The only sound I hear right now is the blood rushing in my ears. I close my eyes and turn around to face the shelves.

  I never got the chance to check my mother’s letter in my box, but I don’t have to. Before I even open my eyes, I know. It’s here. It’s right here.

  I look at the shelf in front of me. I’m about to search it top to bottom, but my eyes are drawn to a tall, thick book that is dark maroon in color. There is no writing or markings of any kind on the spine. It looks ancient, much older than any of the other books surrounding it but sturdy and strong.

  I reach out my hand to touch it but stop myself inches away. What if when I hold
it, my powers are released in a way I can’t contain or hide anymore? What if I touch it and that instantly lets Darius know where it is?

  It seems like another thousand what ifs run through my head while my hand hovers right above the shelf in front of me.

  “Okay, ‘Alexa’, ” I say out loud to myself emphasizing my current name. “You’ve waited a very long time to come face to face with this thing. So you’re either brave or you’re scared. You can be both later, I guess, or whatever, but right now you have to pick one.”

  It’s a horrible pep talk, so I try again: “Pick up the damn thing!”