The bells hanging above the glass entrance of the library chimed in a merry greeting to the chestnut haired boy, who was dashing into the library in a cold sweat. The rectuangular lump in his chest vanished as three books slipped out from under his cloak and collapsed loudly to the hard floor. The boy frantically knelt down to retrieve them, but not quick enough to avoid a berating from the cranky elder in the office a few feet away.
"Walter," The elderly man demanded, striking the butt of his cane harshly against the floor. "You're late again, and this is the third time this week. If you're late again - and if you keep treating my books so doggone rough - I'll lower your pay, you got that?"
The young boy, Walter, or Wirt for short, rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Yes, Mr. Benett."
The old man, Mr. Benett, turned to reenter his office, but threw one last threat over his shoulder at Wirt, who'd already begun quietly and graciously gathering the books back up. With a sneer, Mr. Benett remarked:
"And you'll no longer be able to take any of my books home again."
Wirt cringed and stammered, "Y-yes, Mr. Benett."
With a spark of power, and an accomplished silence, he shut the door behind him.
Wirt didn't much fancy the thought of having his book privileges banished. It was the only freedom he had, reading the books and getting lost in the yellow-tinted pages the late, black hours of night when the moon was high and mighty with its brilliant beams, from his long, tiring responsibilities- of course, no offense to his younger brother, Gregory. For the past three months, Wirt had become the head of the house, and the only person who ever took responsibility to keep the chores in line and himself and his brother fed and clean. After leaving one day to make a few trips around town, their mother hadn't come home, and hadn't been seen or heard from since. In the week following, Wirt's stepdad and Greg's biological dad, James, tried his "very best" (or so he claimed) to keep up his responsibilities as a father. But it wasn't long before he started isolating himself in the attic of their house. The only times the boys saw him was when he had to restock on food, water, and wine, but that wasn't even that often, and it became painfully visible how greasy and thin James was becaming as a result of his own self-neglect. Wirt had only once seen his stepdad's little nest just under the roof, and it was filled with crumpled papers, old love letters, rotting food, and broken glass bottles. But even with their mom gone and James not too far behind her, Wirt's younger brother still never asked questions about it and still acted cheerful as always. That was bewildering to Wirt, but he rather liked it that way. Greg's cheer was most likely the only thing that kept him becoming the wreck his stepdad was.
Wirt stood, books cradled in his arms, and began reshelving them by their codes.
It was in the fiction section, as he was sliding a book into its rightful spot, when he first noticed a girl, his height and age watching him. With a startled yelp, he dropped the two other books. The girl laughed, and Wirt's cheeks became as red as the girl's hair.
He knelt down to pick up the books, but he only had the chance to pick up one, as the girl was kneeling down with him and had snatched the other one. "W-w-we don't open yet, sorry, we have another ten m-"
"Don't be silly." She handed him the other book. "My uncle works here."
Wirt squinted his eyes. "Uncle?" As far as Wirt was concerned, Mr. Benett was the only other person who worked here. "Wait, Mr. Benett is your uncle?"
The girl laughed right out loud, like a stupid slap in Wirt's face. "Well, duh, who else?"
Wirt frowned, and looked away from her. "Well, for someone who claims she's his niece, I sure don't ever see you here."
"My parents have some fancy party, and since I'm the oldest, they said I don't have to stay with the rotten babysitter."
"Oh." Wirt had no idea how to reply, he never often spoke to people besides his brother. No one in school ever bothered to acknowledge him, but he rather liked it that way. Anyway, he hadn't even been to school since his mom had been missing for an entire week, and Greg complained about being hungry after not being fed for the entire day.
"Yep. So, two and a half months, huh?"
Wirt shot a her a bewildered look.
"You've been working here for two and a half months, haven't you?"
Wirt squinted his eyes at her. "...Yeah?"
"Don't look so freaked out." She pushed a small strand of hair behind her ear. "My uncle talks about you. Your name is Walter, you're fifteen, you're trying to support your brother because your mom left and your deadbeat stepfather doesn't do anything about it."
Wirt flinched, and his face became red with shame. "He's not deadbeat." But even as he said it, he wasn't sure if he was right. He stood up furiously and shoved one of the books onto the shelf. "And my mom didn't leave. She's just..." He couldn't further continue, and looked down, puffing his cheeks out.
"Just what?" The girl pushed, leaning against the shelf with her arms folded across her chest.
Defeated, Wirt shook his head. "I don't know."
Wirt wanted to run, because he thought that perhaps the girl would mock him. But instead, she raised her eyebrows. "Huh."
With a few blinks and a nervous chuckle, Wirt asked, "Anyway, enough about me. Wh-who are you, besides my boss's infamous niece?"
"Beatrice, Beatrice Devitt."
"Ah, well, uh... nice to meet you, Beatrice Devitt."
The girl, now Beatrice, smiled. It was pleasant at first, but the squint of her eyes gave it an uncomfortable, malevolant touch. "Come here."
"What?" But before he could ask any questions, he was snatched by the left wrist and pulled along to the corner of the library, and to a door he'd never entered before, although it was mundane and unfancy.
"Woah, where- wh- what are you doing? I don't want to get into trouble, he's already cross with me for being late this morning."
"We're not going to get in trouble, I promise." She opened the door slowly and slid into it, dragging an anxious Wirt behind her.
There were two small sets of stairs with only about five steps, one a few feet away from the door they'd just entered, leading forward, and another small set in front of those stairs, leading to the right, where there was nothing but darkness.
The door shut behind them, and Wirt gasped, pulling his hand away from Beatrice's grip. "No, Beatrice, I'm going back, I'm not allowed to be back here."
"And I promised you wouldn't get caught, right? Come on, hurry, or you will."
Hesitantly, Wirt nodded.
Beatrice descended the mini-sets of stairs, with Wirt following closely behind. He became tense as they turned the corner into darkness, but, to his pleasant surprise, small, faint candles adorned the walls, glowing just enough to reveal the outline of a large door.
His breath hitched in throat, but he proceeded forward next to Beatrice.
Beatriced giggled at Wirt's awe-filled and nearly horrified expression. "Wh- how did you find this?"
"I found it a year ago, I saw the door but it was too heavy to open."
Wirt gulped, and Beatrice continued.
"I came back two other times, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never open it, and I decided that it was impossible... for one person."
Wirt looked up at her, and his eyes twitched with horror at the wide-eyed, anticipating expression Beatrice was giving him.
"No, y-you can't expect me to go in there, you don't know what might be in there, Mr. Benett will kill me if I-"
"And I already told you that you wouldn't get caught."
"No, nope, I'm done, I'm out of here." Wirt spun on his heel and began on his way to the door. But Beatrice chased after him.
"Come on, Walter, nothing's going to happen."
"No, I knew going down here with you was a bad idea." He opened the door back into the library and stepped back into the precious light of the bright chandeliers and fresh morning coming in through the windows.
"Wow, what a little wuss."
"I'm not a wuss," He snapped back, pointed his finger at her. "I just care about following the rules and not busting my... rear on dumb antics like that."
Beatrice flinched in obvious offense, then glared. With a huff, she began storming away from him. "Whatever, do what you want, wuss."
As Wirt watched her going about furiously on her away, he couldn't help but feel like something was missing. His hands felt empty, and his stomach had that small, bothersome pinprick of preoccupation.
But he was too angry to wonder what he was missing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As always, the house was only faintly lit by the setting sun and rising moon in the window, and by the lantern in the center of the dining room table, which was crickety and worn just like everything else in the house.
The very second after Wirt shut the door, thuds sounded abovehead, and he smiled as he crouched down with his arms outspread.
The thuds became louder and more hollow as they came down the stairs, and, with a bright smile and his marvelous, brown eyes, Greg came running around the corner. He nearly knocked Wirt onto his bum as wrapped his arms around his neck lovingly.
"Wirt, hi!" Greg let go and leapt with enthusiasm as Wirt's return.
"Hey, bub, are you hungry?" Wirt asked, standing up and smoothing down Greg's hair.
"Yeah! Yeah!"
Wirt couldn't help but grin widely, as his little brother's joy was contagious. He took his small, soft hand and led him into the kitchen.
Greg seated himself at the dining table, hands folded and legs swinging under his chair. He watched Wirt look through the fridge, his smile fading just a bit as Wirt had that sad look again, the look he always had when there was no good food in the fridge.
"What about..." Wirt pulled out the unused end pieces of a loaf that'd been devoured within days, and a plastic tub of nearly no more butter. "...bread and butter..."
"Again?" Greg asked with a slight urge of disappointment.
"Look, I know, but..." Wirt sighed and leaned his hands against the counter. "How about you and I go to the market later tonight, the 24-hour one, and we'll eat at the park, okay? Maybe the fish are still awake, you can feed them."
Thank the lord, Greg's smile returned once again, and he nodded.
Suddenly, the floorboards upstairs began creaking, and they both shut their lips tight.
With greasy hair and an unpleasant odor wafting off of him, James trudged down the steps, looking down as always with a sunken look in his eyes. He was pale and sickly-looking, and skinnier than he'd been just a few days ago.
"Dad?" Greg asked in a tiny voice. He received only a groan in response.
"We-" Wirt's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "We don't have anymore food left."
For the first time since their mom had disappeared, James looked up, actually looked at their faces. They both froze at the sight of his dead-looking eyes, but the gaze only lasted about three seconds before he dropped it again, and pulled out the only other thing in the fridge- a half-empty bottle of wine.
"There's... there's money..." James's voice was raspy and deep. "I-I-Innn the..." He reached into his pocket and dropped a few crumped five-dollar bills on the floor. "Buy me some wine while you're at it, please..."
No one said anything in response, but it didn't seemed like James expected one. He trudged back up the stairs, and although he had already reached the top, the brothers didn't move until they heard the attic shut.
They both exhaled loudly, and Wirt bent down to pick up the money. He stared at it, cherishing what it actually felt like to have a decent amount of money in his hands, and to feel secure in the guarantee that he, and most importantly Greg, would be fed for the next few days.
The silence was broken by Greg.
In a small, anticipating voice, he asked, "Go now?"
Wirt stuffed the money in his pocket, and nodded.
"Go now."