The Devil’s Librarian

Chanel was sitting at the front desk of the Graypine Library with a paperback book open in her hands. The silence was all around her. It was lunchtime, and her only coworker had stepped outside. She was alone in the quiet library in the suburbs. Graypine's population had been slowly going down since the new highway passed through Stonebridge and made a faster route to the state capital. The library's regular readers had also gone down because of people leaving the town. The book she was reading was about two lovers on a yacht, lost in their love under the sunlit sky, far from anyone's eyes. She has always wanted to go on a vacation like this, wild and carefree. No matter how strange the place was, it would still feel cold with her husband beside her. His silence always made sure of that. Her breathing got heavy, and she was completely caught up in the story as usual. Even the least powerful stories had a way of captivating her.

A few hundred meters away, a black man in a hoodie was running away from the police. Graypine, which is close to the border and getting more and more empty, was an obvious route for drug traffickers. The man ran off the street and into the bushes, forcing the police car to stop there. The six-foot-two figure had already disappeared. The short delay gave him all the time he needed. The officers got out of their car to chase him.

The man ran with thoughts racing through his mind. Where to hide? Where to hide? He could get away from the cops for now, but they wouldn't give up. At that point, he saw the library. They won't look for me in there, which gives me a little time. But what book would he even pretend to read? Books had never been his thing. Suddenly he remembered, one of his old partners had talked about a book on a local First Nation tribe. They had a strange ritual, and a buried treasure near their sacred ground. He said it was kept upstairs in the library. That means it couldn't be seen from the street by the patrolling police. He always wanted to get the book to find the treasure one day and leave this dangerous life for good. He quickly came up with a plan: he would use the library as a hideout, pretend to look for the book, and when the police left, he would have not only a way to get away, but also a treasure map. He is a person who always believed that the best-case scenario would happen to him.

The man walked into the library and quickly looked around. He saw all the closed-circuit cameras and planned his way inside so that his face wouldn't be seen. The cameras didn't cover every corner, and no reader in the library at this time. This made him feel safe. No witness means no risk. He calmed his breathing to hide the panting from the chase and walked up to the front desk. Chanel was so into her book that she didn't notice anything else. Her oval face had a soft appearance that made her look friendly and approachable. He leaned forward a little and smiled in a way to create a good impression. "Hey there, looks like you're the only one keeping this place alive. I'm looking for a book about a First Nation ritual, it's supposed to be rare..."

Chanel was quietly happy to have a visitor in this eventless library, especially since the topic was so unusual. Bolt was clever enough not to mention the treasure part. She didn't even realize it at first, but his voice had a charm that drew her in.

"What's your name, if you don't mind me asking?" She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the rest of her hair was tied in a ponytail.

"The name's Bolt," he voice smooth as silk.

Chanel led Bolt upstairs. While going up, she noticed his towering height and well-built body. Even his hoodie in the middle of summer didn't seem unusual to her. Bolt, meanwhile, felt reassured. The upper floor had no cameras. The police sirens passed the building and gradually faded away. He felt he had made the right decision. Chanel, unable to contain her curiosity, asked what got him interested in such an uncommon topic.

Bolt smiled and lied, "You see, I come from a minority group, and so are the First Nations. I suppose I have a feeling of commonality."

Chanel was amazed by his answer. She could see his face clearly for the first time when he smiled. His dark skin and bright white teeth made a beautiful contrast. The curves on his cheeks made her think, he wasn't just thoughtful, but handsome, too.

Chanel found the book that matched what he said. Her brown eyes had something in them that made her kindness visible right away. She looked like someone who took care of people, without any show-off. Before she could leave, Bolt came closer. His voice dropped, shook with emotion, "Please... I know how it looks, but I need your help. A friend, I trusted, put something in my car. I didn't even know what it was. And now the police are after me. You know, I'm the easy target. They don't ask questions when it's someone like me." He indicated toward his skin. "All they want is someone to blame. But I swear, I've done nothing wrong. I just need to stay out of their sight for a while."

Chanel's heart raced. No doubt, the story is hard to believe. But the pain in his voice, the shaking of his fingers, and the fear in his eyes made her think again. How old could he be? Twenty-five? This is the time to make a better future, not to waste in the jail because of someone else's fault. She felt compassion and the need to help someone in distress. Besides, what kind of criminal goes to a library and asks for a book on First Nation history?

She made arrangements for him to hide in the archive room of the library. It's a large hall room, filled with rows of tall shelves that took up most of the floor. Just past the entrance, there was a small open area. On the corner, there was a long table with a computer on the side. Fortunately, the room had an attached washroom. Even if he turned the lights on, no one outside would notice because of the curtains.

Chanel said, "You can stay here as long as you want. Hardly anyone comes upstairs. And I'm fully in charge of this section, we're short-staffed. My only coworker is Tony. He is a nice, geeky guy. He never comes up here, so don't worry about him. And just so you know, I'm the only one who has the key to this room. So relax."

Bolt said, "I don't know how to thank you," and held her hand gently between his. A genuine gratitude filled his eyes. "Not many people have shown me such kindness in my entire life."

Chanel gave an assuring smile. "Maybe it's time someone did."

She went back to her desk and ordered some food online for Bolt. He had probably missed his lunch. She ate her own food quickly and hoped that the delivery would get there before Tony returned. She didn't want to face any awkward questions. Eventually, her wish was granted. The delivery man showed up right on time. She rushed to take the food to the archive room. Bolt was pretending to read the book when she walked in. His eyes were glued to the page as if he hadn't heard her come in. Chanel couldn't help but be impressed. He asked her if she had eaten and offered to share the food with her, even though there wasn't enough for two. It took some convincing to assure him she already had her lunch. There was no doubt that he was starving because he devoured the meal. Chanel was thankful in her mind that life had given her the chance to help someone in need.

Later that evening, Chanel waited until Tony had left before bringing Bolt his dinner. When she walked in, she saw him asleep. His head rested on the table and the book was still open beneath his hands. She gently put the food down and then went to the stock room. She found some cardboard boxes and a big piece of curtain folded up on a shelf. These could be used to make a bed, she thought. Bolt was awake when she got back with everything.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "You'll have to make do with these for tonight. I'll try to arrange something better in the morning."

Bolt didn't know how to respond to such a grand hospitality. But looking at her arrangements, he decided to stay a little longer. He thanked her over and over again before she left.

When Chanel reached home, her husband, Gary, wasn't there. And as usual, he didn't even care to leave a note. But she knew he had gone fishing. In the summer, he would sit by the lake for hours. Even at night, he sits with his lines in the still water, as patient as a stone. She doubted, was it the thrill of fishing, or the chance to stay quiet for hours, that kept him there. Their relationship had settled into something predictable, love without the excitement. As time went on, routine took the place of intimacy. Their house was filled with silence, quiet dinners in the evenings, and chores and groceries on weekends. She had a lot to talk about tonight, but he wasn't there to hear it. And even if he had been, she wasn't sure he would have noticed the emotions in her voice.