Thursday, October 23

Merle Crowley opened the New Gorlan library every day at eight sharp. The library's sign posted the opening at nine. No one showed up before nine, not even the associate librarian, Pauline Mouse.

That one hour was spent in silence and solitude, where Crowley walked the carpeted floor and breathed in the musty smell of books. An observer might think he was relishing being surrounded by the written word.

Crowley kept that hour to himself to keep from going insane.

He hated the library.

He hated the air conditioning and uncomfortable chairs.

He hated the silent books, the small windows, and the repetitive complaints about the outdated card catalog.

If he didn't force himself into the right mindset each morning, Crowley knew he would flee from everything. He kept daydreams about joining Halt in the woods and living in nature.

Only Alyss kept him at the library. He would endure whatever he needed to ensure she received the life she deserved.

The bell above the door jingled. "Uncle Merle?"

"Alyss?" Crowley hurried out of biographies. "You should be in school."

"Fire drill," she said with a shrug.

Crowley pulled aside the blinds. Across the street, the high school had emptied onto the street. A fire truck rolled up, sirens blazing. "Oh. What's brought you by?"

Alyss breathed in deeply, then said, "I think I should get a job."

"No."

"But—"

"School's more important."

"I'm on track to be valedictorian."

Crowley spread his hands, palms up. "So why mess that up now?"

She collected her thoughts. "I'd like to get us a car. Please, let me talk. We need a car for grocery shopping and hauling things, and if I'm going to leave New Gorlan for college, I'll need a way to get there. Your job keeps us fed and gives us a roof. My job could get us something cheap, and Arald already said he'd discount any work needed on the engine."

Crowley sometimes wished his niece wasn't so smart. "You've already applied for a job, haven't you?"

She nodded. "At the cell phone shop."

"No! I'll get you something here." Crowley went to his desk.

"I've been offered a position."

"Alyss!"

"And I accepted." She withdrew a slim folder from her backpack, and showed her uncle the job offer. "It's the best paying job in town with flexible hours. I'll learn useful skills."

"Jory Ruhl is a snake and a liar, and I will not have you working for him."

Alyss straightened up. She was willowy and several inches taller than her uncle. Her near-white hair draped over her shoulders. In Crowley's mind, she was the image of her late mother.

"I understand your concern, uncle, but this is my choice. Jory isn't … pleasant, but they're only rumors. I'll only work there long enough to get a car."

"Cars cost money to keep." Crowley knew that argument wouldn't stop her. He cracked his knuckles, and Alyss remained unaffected. "If he does anything, says anything, you tell me."

Alyss kissed his cheek. "Thanks, uncle."

"For what? You've already made all of the decisions."

She smiled at him. The door jingled as she left.

Crowley dropped into the chair behind the circulation desk. Children had never been in his plans. Neither had he envisioned his sister dying young. At eighteen, Crowley had had plans to leave for college. A call from the police and a swaddled baby had changed everything.

He could only put his dreams into Alyss now. No one had ever left New Gorlan, but if anyone could, it would be his niece. And then, Crowley could do whatever he wanted. If only he knew what that was.

Horace Fumble knew the day of the week by the stench of the dumpster on the back side of the school. Today was Thursday, so Wednesday's leftover "mystery soup" was collecting in pools among the trash bags, broken furniture, and discarded student tests. There was a thick film on the underside of the flipped-up dumpster lids, and bits of unidentifiable goop rolled like molasses.

"Can we not do the dumpster today?" Horace asked in a half-joke.

Alda, Bryn, and Jerome didn't catch it. They were chatting with each other, Alda with a cigarette in one hand and Jerome draining the last of an energy drink. The three older boys were two months from graduation in the winter. Once they were out of the halls of New Gorlan High School, there would be a power vacuum.

Horace intended to fill that.

He turned to skin-and-bones George Dropper. If Horace wanted the power to not be bullied, he had to become a bully himself. He was both relieved and scared by how easy slipping on that persona was.

"Wh-wh-what's the alternative to the dumpster?" George asked.

Bryn Keren punched one fist into his open palm.

George shivered. "I-I-I think the dumpster's okay."

Horace wouldn't forget those horrible days during his freshman year, where he'd had to sit the whole day reeking of yesterday's lunch.

Alda grinned. "How about both!"

Once, Horace had been friends with George. He hadn't always made George tremble when he approached him. Nor had Horace willingly thrown a punch into George's gut. High school made people to desperate things.

Someday, maybe, they could be friends again.

When Horace and the others were finished, George was a lump on the ground. Bryn tossed him into the dumpster, and there was a crunch of cardboard and George's pained groan.

The bell rang, signaling the end to the fire drill. With a loud hiss of brakes releasing, the fire truck outside the school drove off. Horace headed for the crowd of students filing back inside.

"Where're you going, Fumble?" Alda asked and offered Horace a hand-rolled cigarette.

"The bell…"

Jerome snorted. "Let it ring."

Horace didn't show up to class until third period Literature class. He shared it with George. The stench of yesterday's soup followed Horace all day.

Each Thursday, Pauline Mouse visited the post office to collect incoming mail from the P.O. box. She had offered the job to Crowley on multiple occasions, as she knew he could use more time in sunlight, but had refused.

She passed Gilan O'Carrick, who was shaving by the reflection of his car's side mirror. He noticed her and tossed a smile her way.

"Morning, Pauline."

"G-good morning." She paused as he resumed his shaving. "Is this the best place to do this?"

"Probably not, but dad's being a bastard, and I couldn't see straight last night."

Pauline heard a lot that she wanted to unpack in the statement, but she wasn't sure where to start. She nodded and continued on her way.

Her steps were quick and short. Her comfortable loafers were quiet on the pavement. Pauline never wore heels; even when she slouched, she was taller than most men.

The post office was slow this time of morning. It was a mid-century building, with large, tinted windows and a pale, sandstone facade. The post master, Marshall Foldar, was working the front desk. He appeared to be the only employee on duty.

Foldar greeted her with a smile and a nod. He was dressed to the nines in a black velvet suit jacket, charcoal slacks, and a red silk button-down. His black bow tie wasn't a clip-on.

Pauline tugged on her oatmeal cardigan.

"Lovely seeing you, Miss Pauline." Foldar folded his hands on the post office desk. "Anything special today?"

She fumbled through her key ring for the right key, then opened the library's P.O. box. "J-just the usual."

"Have you heard the news? About Halt?"

Pauline dropped a small package. She stooped to retrieve it, thankful it wasn't fragile. "Wh-what about him?"

"Apparently, he's shooting off explosives in the woods. Probably some convoluted way to deal with the coyotes."

"Wolves."

"Huh?"

"H-Halt said it was wolves that are the issue." Pauline closed the P.O. box door and clutched the mail and packages to her chest. Her heart was beating faster, as it did any time she said his name. Pauline wished for a modicum of Halt's brashness. "B-but how would explosives—"

"Who knows why that man does anything?" Foldar said with a flourish of his hand. He leaned on his forearms on the counter and smiled at Pauline. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Free?"

"I was thinking dinner."

"Um …"

"I'll stop by your place at seven."

"Oh, I … dinner?" Pauline couldn't remember the last time someone had asked her for a date. Foldar's dark eyes were too much, and Pauline had to look away. He chuckled and took her discomfort for coyness.

He said, "Seven, then?"

"S-sure," Pauline said, as she ran out of the post office.

Fumble Grocery had the honor of being the central point of New Gorlan. The high school was two blocks away, and a block in the other direction were the elementary school and junior high. Town hall was a stone's throw, and the hospital loomed nearby.

The grocery store, David Fumble had decided, was a place of first meetings and reunions. As owner and proprietor, David watched these interactions every day. Some were more awkward than others. While he had lost his own happiness with the death of his wife three years ago, David allowed himself to live vicariously through his customers.

Merle Crowley was in every Tuesday to restock his fridge, and every Friday to restock his alcohol.

Cassie O'Carrick stopped in at least once a week to buy treats for the animals at the shelter.

Even Morgan Gareth, distinguished benefactor to New Gorlan, shopped at Fumble Grocery. That shopping was on his own time, even if David had already closed up for the night. Morgan's favorite time to shop was midnight, and David would dutifully turn on the lights for the richest man in town.

Today, car mechanic Arald Smallman had his eye on Sandra Reach, the flower shop owner. Arald had recently been matching his afternoon, bi-weekly visits to match hers. He 'hid' his bulky frame behind a stack of cabbages, while Sandra compared two brands of pancake mix.

David sidled up to Arald. "Are you ever going to talk to her?"

Arald started in surprise, and his big arm whacked the vegetable display. Cabbages toppled onto the floor and rolled every which way.

"Oh, sorry, sorry," Arald said as he gathered up his mess.

"Don't worry; sometimes I'm too sneaky for my own good." David picked up what Arald didn't, and they had the display back in working order in minutes.

Arald looked around the shop. Sandra walked out the door, her purchases in hand. "Oh."

David patted Arald's thick shoulder. "You'll chat with her someday. Maybe write down what you want to say beforehand."

"It'll never work, no matter what I say," Arald said with a sigh. "She's … no, it'll never work. Sorry, again, for the mess."

David's son, Horace, hurried through the front door. Head down, he slipped past the registers and made a beeline for the backroom.

"Horace, you're late." David grabbed his son's coat sleeve.

At sixteen, Horace was already taller and broader than his father. Horace yanked his arm away. "Yea, I know."

David sniffed the air. "What is that? Have you been smoking?"

"No!"

"Then what am I smelling?"

"How should I know?" Horace shifted uncomfortably as customers noticed the father-son conversation. "Do you want me on shift or not?"

David waved Horace off, and the boy stomped toward the back.

"Good luck with that one," said Arald.

David shook his head. Horace losing his mother hadn't been easy; worse had been the boy pulling away from his father. David imagined a future where Horace ended up a deadbeat like Gilan O'Carrick. "Thanks. I'll need it."

Thanks for reading!

AreiaCannaid - Thanks for the review! It was fun trying to imagine how Morgarath might want to ruin people's lives (without outright killing or maiming them, of course). Gilan, Will, and Cassandra have it tough, living with Ferris, since all three of them don't much care about how they're seen, and that's all Ferris cares about. Added stress from kids being kids might just drive him to do some not so good stuff. Jenny does have to live with both Alda and Teezel, but she's so irrepressible that I feel like her family has found a tiny bit of good in their hearts, just for her. Morgarath is taking the Regina role, but I don't expect he'll have her redemption arc.