Composed of burnt umber bricks, a steel roof and massive windows, the edifice on the corner of E. Mingus Ave and Paula Street had a certain charm to it. It was rather small for a library, but it was well maintained, never a leak in the ten years it had been there. It was enough for Light to spend an hour of his day, everyday, within it's masonry.
The library was similar to a maze, with each main area made up of shelves, chairs and pillows under tables where students slept during cram sessions. He preferred to sit at the back of the young adults section, near the fireplace. That particular area was never occupied .
Except by himself and one other.
The child, around six or seven, was always there, tucked between the wall and an armchair. Light could never see him, because the boy was behind the chair, but he could hear the soft voice sounding out the words in college-level books.
Every once in awhile, the boy would peak out from behind the chair to see if Light was still there, reading the newspaper. It was in these brief moments that Light could see large optics behind ebony locks. The child's mouth was always occupied by a lollipop. Light would smile, but the timid creature would disappear behind the chair again. He'd never stop reading, though.
It had become one of the things Light looked forward to every day.
He always wondered why the boy was always there alone. He was always there before Light got there and they would both leave when the library closed. A woman would come walking to take the boy home. He would always wait in the parking lot, in his car until the woman came, just to be sure the boy was safe. There were a few times when she was late, but she always showed up.
It was on a Thursday that he decided to speak to the child.
It started out as usual. Light got there at around three in the afternoon, latte' in hand. He worked his way around two sleeping students and headed for the fireplace. He paused.
Sure enough, the staccato speech floated from behind the leather chair. Light sat slowly in his own chair, so as not to evoke any sounds from the leather. He licked off the froth from his beverage and mentally prepared himself. He didn't want to admit it, but the haunting eyes frightened Light to the core. They were lacking the shine most children possessed. It was almost like the child was dead, or wanted to die. To fade away like the characters in a book do after the story ends.
This is ridiculous; he's just a kid, it's probably the lighting.
The pale face peaked out from behind the chair, knowing full well the creepy man with the fluffy coffee would be there looking at him. Light could feel the young eyes looking him over.
"Hello, my name is Light, what's yours," he said, in that tone people used when calling to a timid puppy.
Light could've sworn the eyes glared at him before disappearing behind the chair. He should've known it would happen like that, but he still wanted to try. The small voice behind the chair did not resume reading, like he had expected. Instead, it formed words directed at him.
"My mother tells me not to talk to strangers…" Yet she leaves you alone all day? What kind of mother is this?
"Well then, where exactly is your mother?" The round face refused to show itself.
"She's at work. She told me not to talk to strangers…"
Sensing it to be the end of the "gripping" conversation, Light sighed and left. The boy was obviously not into talking.
Little did he know what leaving the library early on that day would do.
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Henrietta Dovier slammed the fifth shot glass onto the counter. It was her twenty-first birthday and NOTHING was going to ruin her night. She laughed and giggled as her friends congratulated her on becoming a legal drinker. She had stayed sober up until that point. Main reason being that she didn't want to set a bad example for her son. Where was her son, by the way? He was probably reading his dear books again. He was always trying to help her, no matter how much trouble she was in, no matter how many times she yelled at him for something stupid…
She smiled fondly, before forgetting what she was thinking about. The hands on the clock kept ticking away.
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The shuffling of the papers falling from his desk roused him from his nap. The wind blew through the window again, farther disorganizing his notes. Light stretched before leaving his swivel chair in favor of his bed. He fell asleep once more.
The glaring light of his digital clock illuminated his sleeping form. It was well past eleven, now.
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Small sniffles went unheard by the lifeless library. Eyes struggled to stay open. Legs shook. Hands clenched and unclenched the coat's hem, shaking, knuckles white.
Waiting.
A sharp intake of breath as cold arms wound themselves around the small being.
A cherry lollipop fell to the ground. The harsh sound of the hard candy cracking and splitting into pieces was all the child had time to comprehend.
Henrietta downed another one.
Light tossed in his sleep
Breathless screaming went unheard.
…
It had been days. His Sunday paper was shredded by a stray dog. Light would sit in the chair and wonder if he had scared the child off. He'd wait, until he grew bored and left. Months passed since he last saw the child and Light began to forget the large optics. He moved on with his life.
Even Henrietta, the child's own mother, soon moved on. The memory whom she'd raised for seven years was quickly drowned in ethanol.
In front of the library were the crushed remains of cherry-red candy.
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a/n Constructive criticism will be much appreciated. I'm starting my junior year in high school and I'd like my writing to catch up before then.