The Bookshop From Hell

by David Haynes

  “Now then,” he started, narrowing his eyes. “I do not believe you have common tastes for a lady of your ageless beauty.”

  She felt herself blush. Even though it was an obvious sales ploy, it had been a very long time since anyone had complimented her.

  “No romance for you, no cozy mysteries either. Not that I stock such trivialities anyway. No, like you, I prefer my literature to be more…more visceral, if that’s not too strong a word for you?”

  She shook her head. “I like something a little…edgy,” she replied. Telling someone she liked reading about the country’s great serial killers was like telling someone you had syphilis. Something Robert had probably caught that from that horrible prostitute.

  Castavet smiled. “One moment.” He bent down behind the counter. There was a faint rustling noise before he slowly stood back up. It looked like his back was sore.

  “Here.” He placed a small brown parcel on the polished counter and patted it. Nothing had been parceled up like this for half a century; brown paper, with a length of black ribbon around the middle. It was so beautiful it might contain an important correspondence from the Queen of England herself. How on earth could he have packaged something so quickly, so precisely?

  It was all part of his little show. He must have dozens of books just like it below the counter, all ready to be handed out as a publicity stunt. The books were probably all the same, some self-help, meditation crap or something equally dull.

  Linda put her hand on the book. It was slightly smaller than the books she handled in the library, just slightly.

  “You won’t find this book in any library in the country, I dare say the world. It’s been out of print for a very long time.” He tapped the side of his nose. “But I print my own books, special ones, for people just like you. Now pop it in your purse before anyone sees!”

  He was certainly entertaining, there was no arguing about that. And, if he was giving away free books, eccentric too. Maybe even a fool. She took the book and dropped it in her purse. She’d been through everything she wanted to read from the library and there wouldn’t be any new stock for a while, not after blowing all that money on the computers. A new book might just be the tonic she needed.

  “Well, thank you Mr. Castavet. Perhaps I should spread the word for you, you know, drum up a little…”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that, Miss Phelps. I prefer to be more…selective about who I give books too. But thank you for thinking of me.”

  “Well, if you change your mind.” She walked toward the door.

  “Now, you make sure to come back and tell me what you thought of the book. I just know you’re going to love, love, love it!”

  Linda stepped back onto the street. The sound of the door being locked and bolted behind her came before she had the chance to turn and thank him again. She shrugged and walked toward home. Toward that drunken slob, Robert.

  Castavet was quite something else. Maybe he was just what the town needed. He was…

  She frowned. When had she told him her name?

  8

  The week after the incident at the lake had been the worst times of Ryan Simmons’s life. Monday had been fine, up to lunch break. Things went downhill from there, and they went that way in a heartbeat.

  First, Megan ignored him in the hall. That led to Sam Portland firing a load of questions at him, questions he didn’t want to answer. That just led to speculation. Sam and Emily hadn’t ended their relationship, so Sam wandered back and forth between the tables getting titbits from Emily and feeding them back to Ryan. Somewhere in between all that, the truth came out. Megan’s version of it anyway.

  He'd tried to deny it, of course he had, and his protestations had been genuine. He hadn’t hit her, he hadn’t almost raped her and he most certainly hadn’t tried to kill her. But Emily and Megan kept going on and on and on about it, whispering in Sam’s ear, telling him lies about the cabin. Pretty soon Sam told the other guys and maybe they believed it, maybe they didn’t, but it was all the ammunition they needed to take him down. Something they’d been waiting to do for a while. ‘Minuteman’ became his new name. From hero to zero in under five days.

  He got into a fight at football training, bust the nose of a special team guy and then argued with the coach about being sent to the showers early. The defense chanted “Minuteman!” at him as he trudged off the field. It was utter humiliation and he had no idea how to deal with it.

  At least Megan hadn’t called the cops. Ryan knew why. They both broke into the shack to get cozy and it hadn’t been his idea. That had been all down to her and she knew it.

  The silly thing was, he still loved her. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was having trouble with that whole sentiment at the moment. He still wanted to fuck her – that was a little closer to how he felt. He’d wanted that for the last two years and now it didn’t look like he was going to get it. But there was something else now, something new. As well as wanting to have sex with her, he wanted something more. Something different. He wanted the little cherry on top.

  It was midnight and he couldn’t sleep. Insomnia had bothered him for a few years but it was worse now. He used to go and wake up Megan by throwing stones at her window. If he tried that now, her mom would definitely call the cops. All he could do now was wander around the streets until he felt tired. Last night it had been nearly 4am when he climbed back into bed and even then, his brain wouldn’t switch off.

  He kept thinking about how he felt when he grabbed her, how his body felt when he pinned her down on that little cot in the shack. He felt powerful, strong, almost god-like. He was in control of her. She was his completely, until she brought her knee up into his crotch anyway. Well, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He’d been thinking about how he could have stopped her, and it was just a matter of positioning his body differently. Not that there would be another time. Not with Megan anyway.

  Ryan crossed through the park and onto the north end of Main Street. He could walk to the lake from here. It was a couple of miles back through town but he wasn’t tired, and maybe he could check out the shack again. He looked at the road leading out of town the other way. Lights on the old covered bridge blinked as they passed in and out of view through the trees. Some of the goth kids used it as a hideaway so they could smoke pot and listen to their crappy, depressing music. There would be nobody there now.

  He turned away, looking into town. His town, the place he had lived since he was born. It was a shithole and as soon as he could he was getting out, to some place where nobody knew who he was. Where nobody would call him ‘Minuteman’.

  One of the shops looked open. The lights were on – not normal lights, more like candles. He walked toward it, curious.

  “Good evening, young man. Pleasant night for a stroll.”

  He was shocked by the voice. An old man stood in the doorway, smiling at him.

  “Although I do believe there’s rain in the air.” He held his hand out, palm facing upward.

  As if on cue, Ryan felt the first few drops of rain on his face. Gentle at first, cool and soothing and then harder, stinging and spiky.

  “You better step inside a moment. Looks like there’s a storm on the way.”

  He looked the man up and down. He was no threat. He couldn’t have been more than five and a half feet tall and from the way his clothes sagged off him, he wasn’t carrying any muscle. Besides, he looked older than Ryan’s grandpa.

  “You a fag?” he asked.

  The man laughed, slapping his thigh. “No, I am not a fag.” He stepped inside the shop. “Come on inside, all my new customers get a free gift for stopping by.”

  Ryan looked up and down the street. It was empty, dead. The smell of fresh rain on dry sidewalk reminded of him of being a kid and the long hot summers they used to have. He could do with a rest, maybe stop walking for a while and see what this free gift was. He stepped inside.

  “What’s that stink?” he asked.

  The man lau
ghed. “Books, of course!”

  He looked about. It was dark and dingy like an old movie. “I don’t like books,” he said. This had been a waste of time. He turned to leave.

  “You like books with pictures though, right?”

  He turned around. Did this jerk think he was being funny? Books with pictures?

  “Better be careful what you say, old man. I’m not in first grade.”

  The man held his hands up. “No, no, no. You have me all wrong. I mean graphic novels. Stories with pictures so real you’ll imagine you were really there.” He tapped the side of his nose. “And I’m not talking about little bunny rabbits or puppies and kittens here, I’m talking about the things you like, Mr. Simmons. Images of a more…primitive nature.”

  Ryan frowned. How did this guy know what he liked? And how did he know his name, for that matter? Did he know his dad, perhaps? That was highly unlikely.

  “Listen,” he started. “I don’t know who you are, or what you think…”

  The man reached below the counter and pulled out a thin volume. He got a brief look at the cover. It was blank but the man wrapped it in brown paper and tied it with red string. The same color as Megan’s bikini. He pushed it toward him.

  “As I said, all my new customers get a free gift and here’s yours.”

  He took it.

  “I just know you’re going to just love, love, love it! Now, it’s late and I have to lock up. Be sure to come back and tell me how much you enjoyed it now.”

  Ryan held the book in his hand and touched the red ribbon, rendering him a zombie for a moment. He was back out on the street before he realized his legs were moving. He turned and looked at the store. It was in darkness again, the doors closed and locked. The last few minutes had been weird.

  He shrugged and walked back through town, toward the lake. He hadn’t read anything for pleasure in years, not since the comic books he read as a kid. Even then, it was mostly the pictures he liked. He gripped the book tight. There was something about the red ribbon that told him this wasn’t a book to be read at home. This wasn’t something he wanted anyone to find. This was his and it needed to be read alone.

  He needed to go to the little fishing shack in the woods. The place where all his dreams had come crashing down; the place where Megan’s red bikini had caused his downfall. He smiled and walked faster. The sky had cleared now, the rain that pushed him inside the store gone. He felt his cock stiffen inside his shorts.

  9

  “Has anyone seen Ryan Simmons today?” Dan asked.

  There were one or two stifled giggles from the class. He looked at Sam Portland. “Sam? You two are normally attached at the hip.”

  Sam sneered, a look of distaste on a face that up until a year ago was riddled in acne. “Not seen him. Don’t care.”

  Dan frowned. He’d heard the rumors going around school but if all the stories were true, half the school would be dead by now and the other half mad from syphilis.

  “Megan?” he tried. Megan and Ryan had been a unit for a few years now. The golden couple of the school, homecoming king and queen.

  She shrugged but said nothing. Maybe there was some truth in the rumor that the king had abdicated his throne.

  “Well, whoever sees him next, tell him to come see me please, I’ve got…”

  “We saw him on the street a few nights ago,” JJ shouted up. “Man, he looked pissed. Looked like he had some important business to attend to.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Alex.” He nudged Alex, who looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. “When we were coming to the library for the Reading Room.”

  There were some more giggles then but they stopped when Dan changed his expression. They knew not to make fun of anyone in his class, particularly when they would also be making fun of him.

  “Okay, thanks Joseph. Now, everyone get out of here. You know what your assignments are and when they’re due in, so no excuses for not getting them finished.”

  The kids filed out of the classroom in small huddles. Only JJ and Alex remained.

  “Book club still on this week, sir?” JJ asked.

  “Of course.” Dan put the last of his own books into his bag. It was the same leather satchel his parents had bought him when he got the job at the school. A long time ago. He nodded at the book in Alex’s hand. “What you reading there?”

  Alex jumped a little, pushing the book into his bag. “Nothing.” He glanced up at JJ. “It’s nothing, just some pulp crap I found at home. Nothing.”

  Dan frowned and then shrugged. Alex didn’t want any more questions, that much was clear. “You two have somewhere to be?”

  JJ shuffled his feet. “You’ve heard what everyone’s saying about Simmons, right sir?”

  Dan put his bag on the desk. “I’ve heard a lot of old gossip. Nothing new about that.”

  “Apparently…” JJ started.

  He held up his hands. “I don’t like sentences that begin with that word, JJ. If I listened to all the rumors that flew about this place, I wouldn’t leave my house. Now…”

  “He wasn’t just pissed,” Alex started. “He was weird…out of it. He never even saw us until he walked right into me.”

  Dan frowned. Three years ago, a senior had started pushing weed to top up his college fund. At one point, it seemed like half the school was permanently high. Some of the kids had been like zombies in the mornings, more so than usual.

  Still, it didn’t seem to fit Ryan’s profile. The all-star jock, the homecoming king and, up until a couple of days ago, the most popular boy in school. Drunk, maybe. They all knew what went on after Friday night football and at the lake on the weekend. But that was it, it never rolled over to the week.

  Ryan had always seemed to enjoy school, hardly ever missed a day, which wasn’t all that surprising given his dad’s nature. He probably wanted to be out of the house as much as possible. Dan knew Brad Simmons from school – one of Paul Weaver’s crew. The two had been like peas in a pod. Ryan wasn’t the brightest kid in class, but he was good-natured and, most importantly, he didn’t seem to be anything like his old man. Although, Dan couldn’t say for sure on that count. He’d never seen him drunk.

  He nodded. “Okay, thanks for that, boys. You better get going.”

  They smiled and walked out of the class, their footsteps tapping down the corridor. Dan wondered if he should call the Simmons house and see what was going on. He gathered his belongings and followed JJ and Alex, turning into the office a few yards down the corridor.

  There were only four other staff members in the room. They all had their heads down, marking papers and sighing loudly. Dan smiled at the secretary. “Hi Joy, can you get me the number for Ryan Simmons’s house, please?”

  One of the other teachers snapped his head up. It was Bob Fletcher, the math teacher. “And if you speak to him, tell him he failed his mid-term.” He paused. “Spectacularly.” Fletcher mumbled something else and continued marking.

  “He took it, then?” Dan asked.

  “No,” Fletcher replied. “A no-show. A no-show equals an F in my class. A big juicy red F.” He smiled as he spoke, as if he were enjoying writing the letter.

  “Here you go,” Joy said, handing him a scrap of paper.

  “Thanks.” He took it from her and stepped out of the office, leaving the building by the main doors. He’d make the call on his cell. It was easier than having men like Fletcher listening in. He stood at the foot of the steps and dialed the number.

  The phone rang until Dan pulled the cell from his ear, about to cancel the call. “Yeah?” a gruff voice answered.

  “Mr. Simmons?”

  Silence greeted his question. He waited a few seconds.

  “Mr. Simmons, are you there?”

  “Huh? Who is this?” It was after two in the afternoon but the man sounded like he’d just woken up.

  “It’s Dan Law, one of Ryan’s…”

  “I know who you are. What do you want?�
�� He yawned. Sleeping off his lunchtime visit to the liquor store no doubt. Brad Simmons had been Paul Weaver’s sidekick at high school. He’d been just as unpleasant as Paul but twice as stupid.

  “I just wondered if you’d seen Ryan today. He’s not been at school for a couple of days and…”

  “Damned if I know where he is,” he interrupted. “Haven’t seen him for…what day is it?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Haven’t seen him since Friday…no, Thursday I think it was. Is he in trouble? Because if…”

  “No. No trouble. You didn’t think to contact anyone? Let the police know he was missing?”

  “Kid’s always taking off. Staying out all night. Sometimes he’s gone for a week or more before he shows his face. Nothing unusual with that.”

  I wonder why, Dan thought.

  “You checked with that Portland kid he hangs around with?”

  “You need to call the police, Mr. Simmons. Nobody’s seen Ryan for several days now. He could be…”

  “The police? What the hell for? When I was his age I stayed out almost every night. Made my own decisions.”

  Bad ones, thought Dan.

  “He’ll turn up when he gets hungry or tired. Mark my words.”

  Dan sighed. “Maybe I should call the…” He stopped. It took a moment for him to recognize Ryan without his blue and yellow letterman jacket on. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him without it. He strode across the parking lot toward the school as if it were the start of the day and not the end.

  “Ryan?” Dan called out to him.

  “Told you he’d show up,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. The line went dead almost immediately. Dan held it to his ear for a few seconds before lowering it.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked.

  Ryan stopped in front of him. He smiled. “Just clearing my head, sir.”

  He looked the boy up and down. He looked fine. A little disheveled perhaps, his hair growing out from the buzz cut he’d had for ten years. “You okay?”