by Sarah Noffke
With my mind visualizing my intention I stroll through the darkened rows lit only when an interested reader turns toward a shelf. Books prefer the dark, according to Flynn. I halt randomly, my attention still wrapped around what I intend to accomplish. A soft gold light beams on overhead as I step into the row of shelves. My fingertips find the spine of the first book and I lean forward, my fingers running over the cloth and leather spines, one after the other.
“Can I help you find something?” a voice says at my back. I pause, my finger resting on a volume. I slip the book out from its place on the wood shelf as I turn to the person who is interrupting me. It’s the librarian. She wears her hair short and an amused look on her face. Shouldn’t she have a high bun, glasses, and a pinched expression like most librarians?
“No,” I say, and flip the book in my hand up so I can read the spine. Socrates and Philosophy in the Dialogue of Plato.
Most would wonder what the odds were of me seemingly randomly finding a book that nearly promises to hold the “how” to my goal. Most people are fucking idiots who don’t know how to find what they’re looking for.
I slip the book onto a table at the end of the shelf and continue the same process as before. The spines of the books gently tickle my fingers as they pass under them.
“What are you looking for?” I hear the stalker librarian say at my back. I have the feeling she was tracking me through the library like a hyena watching a cheetah.
I pull the book resting under my fingertips from the shelf as I turn my head over my shoulder and eye the woman with a sneer. “None of your bloody business. Fuck off,” I say, as politely as I can manage.
I hear her approach and to my revulsion she doesn’t stop until she’s taken the position in front of me. “Well, you appear lost. I am a librarian and can help shorten your search,” she says.
This is the problem with people. They automatically think that being lost is a bad thing. They fail to see that only things that are lost can be found.
“You can’t help me,” I say, my voice a terse whisper.
“But I know this place inside and out, and it is my job to help readers find what they’re searching for,” she says in a loud and proud voice like she doesn’t understand the rules of a library.
“And you obviously need more to do if you can’t stop bugging me. Sod off,” I say and then spy the book in my hand. Physics of the Impossible by Michio Kaku. Another hopeful text that will no doubt lead to the how. I pull out the book next to it, sensing I should. Instinct is something that needs to be followed. A victorious smile crosses my mouth when I read the title. Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps, and the 10th Dimension by the same author. I could have gone straight to a database and searched for hours to find these books, which will no doubt be of use for my goal. However, I’m not a man who wastes my own time when I know the universe is always willing to offer fast answers to those who know how to look.
Because the insufferable librarian doesn’t know how to mind her own fucking business she glances at the books in my hand. “Interested in quantum physics, are you?” she says.
“Go the fuck away,” I say and turn for a new row, stalking off.
And because she’s the worst librarian to ever exist, she hurries until she’s beside me in the next aisle. “I let it go the first time because I’m extremely forgiving. However, while in my library you will refrain from using profanity,” she says, again too loudly.
I turn and regard her with one of my trademark punishing stares. “Do you know who I am?” I say, realizing she must be new if she thinks she can kick me out of here.
The mistake-of-a-woman extends a hand. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Patricia,” she says.
I don’t take her hand. “Well, Peggy, since it’s your first day on the job I’ll forgive your obvious poor manners and also inform you that I’m Ren Lewis. And if you’d like to keep any of your brain cells then you’ll leave me the fuck alone.”
She shakes a finger at me. “I warned you about that foul language. You get one more chance and then you’re out,” she says, and then proudly holds a hand to her chest. “And I’ve actually worked here for twenty years.”
My chin tilts to the side. How hasn’t she heard of me? I’m a legend to the Lucidites.
“Well, you should get out more. Maybe take a day off from reading your penny dreadfuls and socialize, because you should have heard of me by now. I’m kind of a big deal,” I say.
She smiles at this and then turns for the shelf at her back. “Actually I just read a book that might interest you,” Book-face says. And like she has the shelves memorized she goes straight for a book almost too high for her to reach.
“Here, this might help you on your search for answers. Then she hands me the thick volume that smells of old dust. Impact Parameter and Other Quantum Realities by a bloke named Geoffrey A. Landis.
“The author also wrote a really fascinating article with his cohorts on wormholes, if you’re interested,” she says.
A chill travels down my spine. And even though I know the process for discovering the “how,” it still mesmerizes me when it all comes together.
Chapter Six
Stomping feet interrupt the silence. I’ve been resting in my plaid armchair for approximately three and three quarter minutes. God must have learned about this moment of mine of respite and summoned some commotion into my life.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” I hear Adelaide’s voice say. By the sound of it she’s directly in front of me, probably framed in the doorway to my study, but my eyes are still closed so this is only a guess. I peel open one eye. Yes, the little monster is standing with her hands on her hips, menace written on her freckled face.
“Are you trying to ruin my life?” the girl with an anger management problem says.
“Since the very beginning,” I say, yawning as I open my eyes to find blurry vision.
“You’re just not happy unless you are making me miserable,” Adelaide says.
“It’s true, but if you have a problem with it, then lodge a complaint with management,” I say and close my eyes, not caring what has her pants in a wad and knowing rest is of utmost importance anyway.
“I can’t believe you told him not to promote me,” she says, breaking into my reverie yet again.
My eyes spring open. Oh God, that’s what this is about. Trent is more incompetent than I thought.
I look at Adelaide, realizing I have to defuse this or she’ll be intolerable and still a resident of my home.
“I told Trent to follow protocol,” I say through another yawn. Apparently the dumbass thought that meant confiding in a bull-headed agent. Or he was taken advantage of, which is the most likely possibility.
“That’s what you said, but you meant that I wasn’t ready,” she bursts out, almost crying.
“Addy,” I say like I mean it with affection. “If you wouldn’t touch people and get into their heads then you wouldn’t be cursed with information that isn’t supposed to hurt you.”
“I was only taking a report from him. Can I be blamed for grazing his hand and his thoughts about me pouring into my head?” she says.
It’s happened to me loads of times. She can’t be blamed but hell if I’ll say that. “It doesn’t matter who you are or who you’re bloody related to. No fast promotions through the Lucidite’s system,” I say.
“You know damn well that it’s not like that. He wants to promote me because I’m great, but you won’t allow him, even though it’s not your fucking department anymore,” she says, spit flying from her mouth.
I rise from my chair now, because God and his minions will always ensure I get zero rest. From ten feet in front of Adelaide I try my best to bear down on her, to make her see I’m an intimidating presence. “You aren’t great until you’ve proven it and right now you have too few cases under your belt. The mistake now would be to assume that with your abilities
and your association with me, you’ll be great. Let’s make you prove it. That’s what I’m encouraging right now, but if you want to see that I’m ruining your life rather than preserving it then go right fucking ahead,” I say.
Her stare softens a tad as her shoulders lower. Her eyes skirt to the side. Her cheeks blush. Her hands fist. “Yeah, well, you better be telling the bloody truth. Because I’m tired of working shit cases,” she says.
“What in tarnation is going on in here?” my pops says, rounding the corner, the demon in tow.
“Adelaide is having another meltdown. We should see about putting her on meds to stabilize the outbursts,” I say, sinking back down into my chair. It feels like I’ve sunk down to the bottom of the earth.
Sleep almost wipes me out at once, but then my spawn says, “He’s trying to ruin my life and cover it up with good intentions.”
My pops smiles widely. “It’s so neat to see you two working together like this. Like a detective father and daughter duo,” he says.
“That’s not what this is,” Adelaide says too loud as Lucien makes to crawl for my pops’s head like he’s taking the high road before the avalanche.
“He won’t let me live my life. And because he’s in charge of the fucking universe, Ren gets to tell everyone what to do,” she says, casting a finger at me.
“It’s really awful for her,” I say and now my mouth rests half on my hand, my words obstructed from my palm’s interference.
“See, and he doesn’t even care. He’s fucking sleeping while I’m trying to save the bloody world,” she says.
I do wake now. I don’t rouse completely but I do uncross my legs and look at Adelaide straight on. “Why the fuck do you think I’m so tired?” I say to her.
“Because you play too much online poker?” she says.
“No, dimwit. Because saving the world and managing a family is exhausting. Go take care of your child and thank me later for keeping your life manageable. If you stay in this line of work then you’ll hardly see Lucien. So go ahead and thank me for keeping your workload to something you can bear for now,” I say.
I can tell immediately that she wants to apologize. She realizes I had good intentions. Strategic ones too, although she may not know the specifics yet.
“Well, let’s just forget about this for now,” Pops says, always the calming voice in the family.
“Yeah, let’s,” I say, turning on my side in my armchair, almost cuddling up like I’m going to fall asleep here.
“What’s going on down here?” Dahlia says from the stairs. She’s in her white silk pajamas. As beautiful as ever.
“Look, you’re loud enough to rouse the dead and the almost dead,” I say.
“Ren!” my pops admonishes at once. He sets down the monster, who rushes at me immediately, like my crotch is a magnet.
“What are you doing up, Dahlia dear?” Pops says, walking over and taking the weak woman’s hand.
“Just heard noise, is all,” she says.
Adelaide, who senses the tension, swoops in and pries Lucien off my leg. “We will be going,” she says.
“Yes, why don’t you,” I say and then turn my attention to the woman still looking down at me from the stairs. She looks as I’ve always seen her, more powerful than all the world’s forces. And yet she’s weak. Just a body subjected to life’s forces. I want to tell her I love her. That she should go rest and that I’ll join her soon. But instead I remain silent.
“Ren didn’t mean that thing about you almost being dead. I’m praying for you, sweet Dahlia,” my pops says, and then adds, “Every day.”
“He’s only saying that because he knows you’re dying and there is not much else to say to you,” I say.
“Reynold Lewis, you take that back,” he says in the voice of my mum. There must be a ghost in the room. Feels like it.
“I won’t,” I say, actually rising from the chair. “The love of my life is dying and I’m dealing with it in my own way,” I say as I walk to the stairs and take Dahlia’s hand. “I’m making every moment a fresh, honest one so that one day I can move on.”
Dahlia smiles at me but I hear my pops’s disgruntled sigh at my back.
“How can you think of moving on when she’s still alive?” he says.
“Because,” I say, Dahlia’s eyes unwavering on me, “I know where I’ll be after she’s gone.”
Chapter Seven
“Why are you dragging me out here?” Adelaide says.
“Because I’m a mean and intolerable man,” I say to Adelaide as the driver turns a corner. The streets here in Alaska aren’t paved. Actually they hardly classify as streets.
“Is this bring your daughter to work day?” she says from the other side of the backseat, her eyes trained out the window, taking in the landscape littered with overgrown brush and out of control trees.
I turn to my own window and the doubt settles in just then. What am I doing this for? Is it to prove something to me or to Adelaide or to prepare her for the future? It’s a rare moment when I’m not sure of my reasons. My instinct just told me to bring her along today. And I’m uncertain why it had to be on this case, one cloaked in mystery.
“You want to work higher level cases, right?” I say.
“When did you start asking obvious questions? Don’t you always say you don’t waste your own time?” she says with her usual sneer.
I roll my eyes but silently punish myself. The work and constant researching is taking a toll on my usually incredible competence.
“You might think that working higher level cases will be fun and cool and make you feel like one of those fucking leather jacket–wearing detectives popular on the telly. The type that smack their gum and look like they just graduated from high school but they know how to crack the toughest cases although they can hardly wipe their own ass. And they do it all with perfect hair before winking with a sparkle in their teeth which have suffered too much orthodontics. Is that right?” I say.
Adelaide blinks at me rapidly, a confused expression on her face. “Right now I can’t believe you said half of those words.”
“My point is that I’m fairly certain you’ve constructed this idea that being an agent is hip. And you’ve deluded yourself into thinking working higher level cases will be like how they portray it on crap television,” I say.
“And you brought me here to show me that it’s not glamorous and takes a lot of work and is a thankless job,” she says in a low, disinterested monotone.
“No. I brought you out here to show you that it’s a highly satisfying job but it takes a ton of experience that you don’t earn overnight. Just because you’re successful at level one cases it doesn’t mean you should be promoted immediately. The Peter Principle is a very real concept and I’m not about to have Trent promote you to a level of incompetence,” I say.
“Yeah, that all makes sense, but I’m tired of stopping kids from stealing video games and helping single dads when they lose their wallets,” she says, referring to her last two cases.
I nod. I remember all too well working shit level one cases and wanting something that challenged me. However, Adelaide takes her intelligence for granted sometimes. She needs to see that it’s not just having mind control and superior reasoning that makes us great. Strategy is the key and it’s not bought or inherited. It’s engrained through discipline and experience.
“Just try and keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. This is a level five case and I only want you observing. No input or sniveling remarks that will no doubt diminish my unyielding patience,” I say.
“Right-O. I’m just going to sit back and watch how the salty old-timer gets it done,” she says and pulls down on her invisible cap.
“If you want me to make you throw yourself from this vehicle then just say it next time,” I say and then direct my attention to the driver, who is wearing overalls and a cowboy hat. He obviously cares extremely little about his life or other people’s impression of him. “We are up here on th
e right,” I say to him.
“Yes sir, I’m well aware based on the coordinates you gave me. I know these parts better than I know my belly button,” he says with a thick hick accent.
I grimace that he actually said that out loud.
“And I happen to think you took me on this case because it’s in the backwoods of nowhere and you thought it would be entertaining to watch me slog through the wild frontier of Alaska,” Adelaide says.
This case has taken us to northern Alaska where the closest GAD-C is hours away. We had to fucking fly and we’ve been in this car for what feels like a fortnight. I would have driven myself but I knew I was too exhausted.
“It pleases me that you realize that everything I do revolves around making your life hell. It is truly all about you and not about investigating a case that has stumped the news reporting department and left us with more questions than answers,” I say.