Читать книгу The Unwritten Books 3-Book Bundle - James Bow - Страница 6

BEHIND THE SHELF

“That’s how it started. That’s how it went until she stopped.”

— Marjorie Campbell

Theo walked past his parents, his attention captured by a book in his hands, a paperback with a painting of a book on the cover. “Mom, I’m okay,” he said, without looking at her. He moved like someone half in another world: a sleepwalker, or a scuba diver, or someone in a lot of pain.

Mr. Watson, his breath fogging, touched his son’s arm. “Theo?”

Theo paused. He turned. He focused. “Hello,” he said. Then he stepped into the house. They followed him in.

“He’s been like that ever since I saw him in his residence,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I found him staring into that book, and I had to shout to get him to acknowledge me. It’s like he has tardive dyskinesia — flat affect.”

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

Rosemary tugged at Theo’s sleeve. “Theo?”

Theo gave her a smile, but his eyes were vacant. “Hello, Rosie,” he said. Then he turned back to his paperback book. Rosemary frowned at it, tried to see if there was a title. She caught sight only of an image of smoke emanating from an open book before he walked away, into the kitchen.

“Drugs?” Mr. Watson blanched.

“No,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I took him to the hospital. That’s why I was late. I had them run toxicology tests. Physically, he’s fine, but I don’t know, Alex, I don’t know. Who’s he?” She stared at Peter.

“Rosemary’s friend,” said Mr. Watson.

“Rosemary brought home a boy?”

Rosemary huffed. “He’s just a friend!”

Peter shifted on his feet. “The squall’s let up a bit. Maybe I should go home?”

“I’ll drive you,” said Mr. Watson. “Let’s get our coats on.”

Rosemary stood in the living room, torn between Peter and her father preparing to leave and her brother in the kitchen. After a moment, she settled on her brother, but froze at the kitchen door. Theo stood, facing the refrigerator, staring at the jumble of coloured-letter magnets as if he expected them to change and spell something. Her mother stood behind him, still in her winter coat.

I’m not supposed to be here yet, Rosemary thought, and she turned back to the living room.

Peter and her father were ready for winter and stepping out the door. Rosemary stopped Peter in the foyer. “Wait!” She clasped his hand in a sort of handshake. “Thanks for rescuing me.” She pulled a face.

“I wasn’t rescuing you, I was rescuing Leo.”

She scowled at him. Then her mouth quirked. She snorted and broke out into a grin.

He smiled at her. After a moment, she sobered. “Thanks,” she said again. “I guess ... see you Monday.”

“Yeah, at school,” he said. “Not much to do till then. You doing anything this weekend?”

She started. “I’m ... I’m working!”

“You work? Where?”

“At the library. I volunteer.”

“Isn’t the library closed on Sunday?”

Rosemary spluttered. Mr. Watson called from the idling car. “Ready?”

Peter nodded. Then he turned back to her. “Your brother’s going to be okay.”

She looked away. “How would you know?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

He turned away, leaving her staring, and got into the car. A moment later, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the snow-covered road. It crept carefully into the distance.

Rosemary stared after it for a few seconds, then closed the front door. She started for the kitchen, but hearing her mother’s calm, measured tones that Rosemary knew were a few steps away from breaking, she hesitated. Then she went to the closet, pulled on her boots, coat, and hat, and went outside.

Her father had made a rink in the backyard with a garden hose. The ice was covered with new snow, but Rosemary was able to entertain herself with running slides. Her mind went over the day again and again. Folding girls and now Theo.

She hadn’t told Peter about the girl in the library because she wasn’t sure it was real. Theo made it more real. She couldn’t tell her mother — not yet anyway. She didn’t know what she was talking about, and her parents would be scared that not only was Theo losing his mind, but so was she.

The back door banged. Rosemary skidded to a stop. Theo stood on the back porch, slumped against the stone, his eyes on the book in his hands. “Hey, Rosie,” he said, his voice flat, stagnant as a pond, but suddenly she felt years younger, and protected.

She slid across the rink and stumbled on the snow. “Hi.”

They stared at each other. Or, rather, Rosemary stared at Theo. He stared at his book. The silence stretched between them. Rosemary opened her mouth to say something, but Theo spoke first.

“I — I heard you were in a fight.”

Rosemary gaped. “Did Dad tell you?” How did Dad know?

“You shouldn’t ... let them get to you,” he said, still not looking at her. “They’re ... only words.”

“Theo, are you all right?”

Theo stood silent a long moment. She could see no change in his expression, but somehow Rosemary sensed that he was considering his answer very carefully.

“Of course I’m all right,” he said at last. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Theo, look at me.”

He looked at her. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, as though she were in a fog.

“Theo, I know something’s wrong. Is it — is it like high school? Are you sick?”

“No.”

She bit her lip. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Rosie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Her voice cracked. “I hate to see you like this! I hate —” She halted. “Snap out of it!”

“Rosie, please —” And she was reminded of him in his hospital bed, unresponsive as she tried to reach him.

“It’s not fair!” Rosemary shouted. “You’re not supposed to be like this! You’re the one who protects me, gets me out of fights. You’re supposed to be strong!”

His eyes glanced down at the pages as she spoke. He closed them, in pain. “Rosie, please, I’ll handle this. I’ll be all right. Just ... stay away from the books.”

She stuttered to a stop. “What?”

“The books.” He took a deep breath. “Stay out of this.” He turned and stepped back into the house.

“Theo, wait!” She struggled through the snowdrifts after him and scrambled up the back porch. She banged her way into the kitchen and ran into the front room. It was empty. Upstairs, she heard Theo’s bedroom door click shut.

As she debated whether to follow, the lights of the station wagon pulled into the driveway. A minute later, her father entered, stomping the snow from his boots. “I drove your boyfriend home, safe and sound, dear!”

“Dad!” She stood with her hands on her hips.

“What?” Her father looked playfully blank.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

She faltered. “Well, yes, but —”

“And he’s a boy, isn’t he? Those are the two criteria for the term, aren’t they?”

Rosemary scowled at the floor. “You know what I mean.”

Her father nudged her chin. “Yes, dearest. I do.”

“How can you be silly at a time like this?”

“It’s how I cope.”

Rosemary softened. “What do you think happened to Theo?”

Mr. Watson sighed. “I don’t know. But we’ll find out, dearest. I promise.”

Rosemary snuggled beneath the covers, smelling bacon. She could hear the clatter of plates downstairs and the sizzle of the frying pan and she remembered that it was Saturday: pancakes and bacon day. Smiling, she tossed aside the covers and jumped out of bed. She was halfway to the closet when she stopped.

She picked up a grey sweatshirt tossed carelessly over the back of her desk chair. It had a faded group photo on the front of a cast of actors in costume. “Clarksbury High” read the black bold text beneath the photo, and beneath that was a date and “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Theo was in front, dressed as Puck, mugging for the camera. She smiled at his grin, then frowned as she remembered how different he had been last night.

She crept to the door and peered out into the hallway. Theo’s door was open and his room was empty. She felt a little hope rise inside her. Was Theo better?

She listened to the voices downstairs. Trisha shouted something across the table. Her father cut her off, calling for quiet and courtesy. Her parents’ voices returned to their measured, nervous tones.

Theo’s voice didn’t come.

Not better.

She sighed and returned to her room. Dressing quickly, she shrugged the sweatshirt on over her clothes and slouched downstairs to breakfast.

Her mother set a plate of pancakes and bacon before Rosemary as she sat down. She cut off a piece with her fork and started chewing. She looked around the breakfast table.

Her mother sat down, poured herself a glass of orange juice, and looked towards the foot of the table. Trisha kicked her chair rails and looked towards the foot of the table. Her father sipped his coffee and looked towards the foot of the table. Theo sat at the foot of the table and read his book.

Her mother’s glass of orange juice overflowed, bringing her attention back. Muttering under her breath, she mopped up the spill with her napkin.

The family ate in silence for a moment. Finally, her mother said, “I talked to Doctor Abrams. I’m taking Theo to see him at eleven this morning. It’s outside his office hours and he assures me his gossipy receptionist won’t be there.”

“Why does he keep that kid?” Rosemary’s father asked.

“That kid is the only person in this town who can type,” her mother replied. “But with him at hockey practice, Theo stands a better chance of privacy. If only that McAllister child hadn’t been here to see.”

Rosemary bristled. “Peter wouldn’t tell!”

“Are you sure?”

Rosemary fought back the flush of anger. It was true that she hardly knew Peter. She should have been as uncertain as her mother.

“Theo had a difficult enough time in high school, thanks to his breakdown.” Rosemary’s mother ran her hand through Theo’s hair. “He doesn’t deserve what people will say about this.”

“Daddy?” said Trisha. “Is Theo going to be okay?”

He hoisted Trisha onto his knee. “’Course he is. Just as soon as he sees a doctor.”

“But Mommy’s a doctor,” said Trisha.

“Mommy’s a doctor of the body,” said Mr. Watson. “Dr. Abrams is a doctor of the mind. But don’t worry about that. You and I are going out. How would you like to see a movie?”

Trisha smiled. Rosemary could tell that it was for her father’s benefit.

In the front room after breakfast, Mr. Watson touched Rosemary’s shoulder. “Rose, tell Mrs. McDougall that she’s in charge of the library for the day, and help out behind the front desk. Probably won’t see another living soul, but hours of operation are hours of operation.”

“Sure, Dad,” said Rosemary, with a smile that matched Trisha’s.

Rosemary refused her father’s offer of a lift into town. She pulled her skis from their hooks by the back door and strapped them on. She was on the shoulder of the road before her father and then her mother passed in separate cars. She gave them each a wave and carried on.

The town was a ten-minute trip by ski, much of it downhill. She’d get her exercise coming back, but that was okay. She liked the sound of the skis as they slid over the crusty snow. The bitter wind whistled past her ears. Her cheeks tingled. At the edge of town, she took off her skis and trudged the rest of the way on the sidewalk.

The main library was downtown, one block off of the highway, on the bay side. Mrs. McDougall frowned when Rosemary walked up to the front door and kicked the snow off her boots. “Where’s your father?”

“Um, he couldn’t come in today.” She leaned her skis against the wall. “He told me to tell you you’re in charge. I’m supposed to help.”

“Hmph. Fine, then. You’ll handle the front desk. I’ll catalogue the new orders.” She bustled off into the back, leaving Rosemary standing by the overnight bin.

The library had few visitors that day. Rosemary set the books aside and twiddled her thumbs at the front desk. She sighed, and frowned to hear it so loud. She was used to the hush of a library, but not to total silence. Perhaps her father should have called it a day off and closed the building; then she thought of Theo. She pulled over an almanac and buried herself in it.

It was early in the afternoon, and Rosemary was pushing the bookcart when she smelled dust again. She stopped, looking up and down the aisle. No one was with her. She was sure that the library was empty, but still she shivered.

The sky outside the front windows was darkening. Another snow squall was coming. She might have to call home to get a lift after all.

Enough was enough. Nobody else was coming. She’d shelve the remaining books and call it a day.

She slid four books into their places on the lower shelves of H–K. The remaining books belonged to the top shelf of L–N. Rosemary looked at the top shelf and sighed. “Growth spurt any day now, Mother says.”

Pulling over a stepstool and standing on tiptoe, she was just able to bring her face level with the top-most shelf. She shoved some books aside in order to put a book in their place.

From behind the books, someone stared back at her.

Rosemary gasped.

For a fraction of a second, she thought that she was staring into a mirror and that her reaction had been foolish fright. But another look at those eyes told her that the “reflection” was different.

The girl from the school library was standing on the other side of the bookcase, obviously on her own stepstool. She was glaring at Rosemary, eyes full of resentment and hate. Rosemary was held by those eyes like a butterfly on a pin.

“Who —?”

“Coward!” The girl’s voice was as soft as sandpaper. She lashed out, caught Rosemary’s wrist, and pulled.

Rosemary screamed. The stepstool flew back as she was pulled into the bookcase. Her forehead hit the top shelf. Another hand grabbed Rosemary’s collar. Rosemary kicked, struggled, but felt herself being pulled in.

Then a voice boomed around her. “Hey!”

The grip slackened. Rosemary fell backwards and hit the bookcase behind her. Books rained down on her and the spine of a thick volume clocked her on the head.

Her vision swam. She saw the girl standing over her, sneering. How did she come around the stacks so fast? Rosemary thought she heard someone calling her name, and footsteps running. The girl turned towards the sound and then turned away, folding into herself like paper and disappearing.

When Rosemary’s vision cleared, she saw Peter kneeling over her. “Peter!” She grabbed his arm.

“Rosemary! What —”

“There was this girl.” She was talking much too fast. “She — she — she was in the — I mean, behind the bookcase. She grabbed my wrist. She tried to pull me in —”

“Where did she go?”

“She disappeared.”

“Disappeared?!”

“I saw her yesterday, at the school library. She disappeared there too.” She stopped suddenly, staring up at Peter in horror. “You don’t believe me.”

His eyebrows jerked up.

“Of course you don’t believe me. Disappearing girls. It’s crazy talk, and you know it was just a matter of time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb! You heard the stories about Theo and his breakdown! You have to have heard, everybody knows. Everybody’s waiting for me to go crazy too. Of course you don’t believe me; I don’t believe me!”

He looked at her with a gaze that was the most serious she had ever seen. “I believe you.”

“But,” she sputtered, “why?”

“Because you’re bleeding.” He nodded at her wrist.

Where the girl had grabbed her, her wrist was covered in thin red cuts, two dozen or more. The cuts made the shape of a hand and clawing fingers. They weren’t bleeding much, but they hurt.

“These look like paper cuts,” said Peter.

“You believe me.” The feeling of relief made Rosemary giggle. “God, Peter, I feel like such an idiot!”

He helped her to her feet. “You’re not an idiot.”

“But it doesn’t help that you believe me,” gasped Rosemary. “I mean, it helps, but it doesn’t make it go away. If I’m not hallucinating, then something is attacking me. Something horrible.”

Cold brushed them. The library door had opened.

Peter and Rosemary looked up.

Theo stood in the entranceway.

Rosemary let go of Peter and stumbled over to her brother. He had come in from the cold without a coat. His book was in his hand and he stared blankly ahead.

“Theo?” said Rosemary.

Theo looked at her, then reached out and took her arm, where the girl had cut into her wrist. He stared at the paper cuts, and his gaze grew dark.

“Leave her alone!” he shouted, pointing in Peter’s direction.

“What? Theo, no, Peter didn’t —” Then Rosemary saw that Theo wasn’t pointing at Peter, but at the bookshelves beside him, at the aisle where the girl had been waiting for her.

How did he know?

Theo shouted again, “Leave my sister alone!”