Friday, October 24

Gilan tested the library door. It was a few minutes before nine, the official open, but the door was unlocked. "Crowley!" Gilan had slept in his car last night, and while he'd brushed his teeth and combed his hair, he still looked a rumpled mess. And not the sexy kind, more the I-haven't-bathed-in-a-week kind. "Crowley?"

The librarian appeared out of the Adult Fiction K-M aisle. His red hair was down around his shoulders today, complementing his sky blue waistcoat. Gilan's throat caught, and he couldn't speak for a moment. "Gilan? The library's not open for another," he checked his watch and sighed, "fifteen minutes. Damn, I thought it was later."

"You're here. I'm here." Gilan put his hands in his jacket pockets. He swaggered closer; had Jenny been there, she would have been halfway to swooning. "And I'm not here for a book."

"We do have a small collection of CDs, books on tape." Crowley tapped his chin. "We also have microfilm, but I don't know what purpose you'd have for that, unless … have you enrolled in the community college? But if you needed microfilm, you'd have to be a History or Political Science major, and you don't strike me as the type to sit around and read all day."

Gilan lost his train of thought, and his mouth sagged open a little. Whatever confidence he'd had walking in was gone, now that Crowley was in full analytical mode. "I meant I'm looking for a job."

"Oh. Why didn't you say that? We're not hiring."

Gilan motioned to the door, where a 'Hiring: Inquire Inside' poster was taped to the door. "You sure? Or are you just not hiring me?"

He crossed his arms and fidgeted. "Your name is all over town."

"It usually is."

"People are saying bad things about you."

"They usually are."

Crowley raised one foot and scratched his other leg. He wouldn't look at Gilan. "We have to vigilant about who we let work at the library."

"Who's 'we?' And you know me, Merle."

"Ugh, no, please, call me Crowley. I don't know what my parents were thinking."

"Yea, Crowley's better. But you know me. You know I wouldn't do the things people say I do."

"Then why do they say them?"

Gilan shrugged. "Because they're bored. Because they're jealous. Because it makes them feel better about themselves. And they don't include the true stuff, like the fact that, though my room was torn apart yesterday, the cops found nothing."

"I'd heard you were arrested."

Gilan raised his arms, and his sleeves fell to show his wrists. "Do I look like I'm handcuffed." He grinned. "Lucky for me, I keep the illegal guns and exotic animals in my car."

Crowley shook his head. "When you say things like that, it makes people talk."

"Let them talk. I don't care."

"Their talk is keeping you from getting a job here."

Gilan stepped closer to him. God, this man smells good. "I'm trying to do better. But I can't when my dad runs down my name and everyone else in town believes him. You know my dad, Crowley: he's awful. Capital a. All he cares about is reputation and status, and those things don't matter. Not really. I dropped out of high school, which is the worst thing I can possibly do, apparently, but I had my reasons. Now, I've looked at the requirements for this job: a diploma is not required."

Crowley grabbed an application from near the counter check-out station. "Seriously?" As he read the job listing, he muttered key words under his breath. "I'll be damned."

"You didn't know?"

"Pauline wrote these."

"Give me a chance, Crow."

"Crow?"

"It's better than Merle."

"Anything is better than Merle."

"Not … uh …"

"Why are you trying to find names worse than mine?"

"Because you smile when I'm a smartass, and I like it when you smile. It's cute." Gilan realized he was pushing his luck. He'd had too many run-ins with Jenny lately. He wasn't as infatuated as she was. Was he? He watched the emotions play out on Crowley's face: confusion, analysis, understanding. Crowley turned red; Gilan had been that way for some seconds now.

Crowley cleared his throat. "There's a test you'll need to take to apply. To make sure you can shelve, re-shelve … cute?"

Gilan nodded quickly. "For sure."

"Are you trying to flatter me? To get you a job?"

"Is it working?" Gilan raised his hands in submission when irritation took over Crowley's face. "Joking, joking. Not about the smile; that's true. I'm not trying to wheedle you into anything. I really do need a job, and I really do think I can do this well. Maybe you can get some time off. See the sunset. Watch a movie." He left off the with me that he'd wanted to add.

Crowley took several moments to collect himself. "We have strict rules about … flirting while on duty here."

"You do? Is Pauline that into you?"

"Gilan, please. Will you take this seriously? I'm trying to do you a favor."

Gilan mimed locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

"Thank God," Crowley muttered. He motioned for Gilan to follow him to the staff room. There, he tested Gilan on arranging books according to the Dewey Decimal system, for both fiction and non-fiction.

Pauline arrived thirty minutes later, her vision unfocused as if in a daze.

"Pauline, where have you been?" Crowley pulled her aside, so their conversation remained private. "We opened fifteen minutes ago."

Not that anyone but Gilan had come in.

"I … I have a date tonight," she said.

"Tonight's inventory."

"Oh!" Pauline put her hand to her forehead. "I knew I was forgetting something. I need to cancel with him."

"No, no, don't cancel. You deserve a fun night." Crowley managed a half-smile and was grateful Pauline didn't see it wasn't genuine. "Gilan's here. About a job."

Pauline glanced in the staff room. "Gilan? I thought he was arrested."

"Clean as a whistle, it sounds. I'll make a couple calls to be sure, but he seems qualified. At least, he seems like he actually wants to work here."

"Whistles are disgusting," Pauline said quietly. She looked from Gilan to Crowley, the latter of whom was fussing under his breath about the placement of the Halloween book display. "You sure he's here for just the books?"

"Why else would he be here?" Crowley turned away, as his face heated up.

Pauline waved at Gilan when he looked up. He waved back with a grin, then motioned to the books on the cart and gave a thumbs up.

"No reason," Pauline said. "Are you sure you can do without me tonight?"

Crowley nodded. "It's not like anyone asks to see the inventory numbers. Gilan and I will do what we can, and we can finish tomorrow. Have fun tonight."

Will was wound tight as a spring all through the school day. He wore an itchy sweater that made him more uncomfortable. His father had thrown out all his dark, hooded sweatshirts last night, along with his cell phone. Will had barely slept; his room had been in a state of disarray, and he'd ended up sprawled on his covers on the floor. Gilan's room was in worse condition, with all of his clothes, books, magazines, and everything else strewn on the floor. Gilan hadn't come home last night; Will wished he'd had that option.

People avoided him in class and the halls. Every time the intercom fizzed before someone spoke, Will imagined it would be his name called to go to the principal's office where he would be promptly arrested and imprisoned for life. He still didn't know what for, but everyone was convinced he was guilty. Of something.

Hal's seat was empty. Will hadn't visited him in the hospital yet. It didn't feel right to go; people might think he was visiting his accomplice, which wasn't exactly false, so he kept away.

He was alone now, heading to his locker to get his sack lunch. He thought he'd eat up on the roof, so he wouldn't have to be the spectacle of the school. The roof was easy to access, though no one was supposed to be up there. He breathed in the fresh air.

"Hey, O'Carrick!" Alda came at him from behind, Bryn and Jerome from the left and right.

Will ducked the fist to his face. He couldn't avoid Alda's henchmen grabbing his arms and shoving him against the massive air conditioning unit. Bryn and Jerome were thick in the head but thick with muscle, too. Will had no way of escaping their grips.

"I thought I told you to do something for me last night," Alda said. "A simple thing. Real easy. Are you lazy along with being a criminal?"

Will kept his mouth shut. Of course he hadn't done what Alda had asked. Anything Alda wanted him had to be bad.

"Answer me!" Alda's fist connected with his cheek. Will's head bounced against the air conditioner, and his eyelids fluttered. "It would have taken you a minute, and you wimped out like the goddamn little bitch you are." He slapped him this time, the other cheek, and a cut opened beneath Will's eye.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air. A shadow fell overtop the boys. Will's eyesight was fuzzy, and he thought he saw Robin Hood on a raised section of roof there to save him, bow nocked and drawn.

Alda sneered up at the shadowy figure, backlit by the sun. "Are you really going to do that, forester? Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is? You hurt me, and you have the second-richest man in town on your ass. You think you can cash that check?"

"Put it on my tab," Halt said and loosed the arrow.

Alda howled as if in pain, but the arrow had buried itself in the roof beside his foot. He scampered away from the spot and put the air conditioning unit between himself and Halt, who already had a second arrow on the string. Bryn and Jerome dropped away from Will and joined their leader.

"My father will hear about this!" Alda shouted.

"You think I give a rat's ass about your father?" Halt hopped beside Will. His bow was still out, but not drawn. "Can you walk, boy?" He pulled his arrow from the ground.

"Yea," Will said, careful not to move his head much.

"Get to the nurse, then."

Will staggered toward the door down into the school. Once he was back under the fluorescents, he realized he hadn't said thanks.

Pauline ran through alleys. She hopped over low fences and ran through backyards. Still, Foldar drove after her down the small streets of Old Town New Gorlan. He knew where she lived. He had to know, she reasoned, because the town was small and everyone knew where everyone lived. Shivers coursed through her body, and not only because she didn't have her cardigan. She'd sacrificed it, shedding it while Folder had gripped her arm. Her only saving grace was the fact that she ran four miles every day. While her flats weren't made for this exercise, and her feet would hurt in the morning, she wasn't winded.

She lost sight of his car two streets over from her house. Was he still going to her house? Would he get there before she did?

"I shouldn't go home," she said to herself. But where else would she go? Crowley was crammed into a one-bedroom that functioned as a two-bedroom for himself and Alyss. Gilan slept in his car. Halt … he was too far away. There were other people she could go to, but what would she say? She would have to go home eventually.

Pauline pushed on until she was in the backyard of her little Queen Anne. She retrieved the back door spare key from the knot of an old oak. When she tested the back doorknob, she found it was unlocked. She swallowed thickly. She never kept the back door unlocked.

She needed a flashlight and took out her phone. Her phone! I should have called someone, she thought reproachfully. When she flipped it open, the screen was black. Dead. She still had time to leave and go somewhere else and leave her home for another day.

Headlights scrolled down the street, on the front side of her house. She recognized Foldar's sleek, dark car. He paused in front of her lawn. Pauline held her breath and waited. Then, he drove off, his tires squealing.

Pauline sighed. She almost forgot that her back door was unlocked. Maybe she had left it that way in the morning. She wasn't infallible, after all. Mistakes were possible. She entered her house quietly and left the back door cracked.

Leaving the lights off, she slid open her junk drawer until her fingers found the old cannister of pepper spray her aunt had given her. The bottle was pink and sparkly, and it made her feel like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Pauline moved through her small home and saw no other sign of a break in. She didn't know who would want to break in; she had little of value. She took the stairs slowly, avoiding the creaking third step. Upstairs, she checked her bedroom first, then her bathroom.

Her guest bedroom was last. The door was ajar. Pauline steeled herself and recalled the exact position of the light switch. What if whoever had broken in had cut her electric? Her heart stopped. No, she told herself, her oven clock had been on and correct.

She pushed the door open and flipped on the light.

A black-haired man sat on the bed. He rose quickly, arms outstretched.

Pauline screamed, and Halt took a face-full of mace.

The shower turned off, and Pauline hoped that, finally, Halt had rinsed away the mace. Pauline had apologized profusely while Halt had tried not to show how much in pain he was. She didn't feel guilty, which surprised her. She felt powerful. She hadn't needed anyone's help to subdue her intruder. Though, why had Halt intruded?

Halt cracked open the bathroom door, and coils of steam escaped. "Pauline?" His voice was raspy. "Can I borrow a shirt? Mine's … peppery."

She averted her eyes and held out a sweater. He grunted his thanks, and the door closed again.

Pauline leaned against the wall. She felt like a schoolgirl again. She was jumpy and excited: a boy was in her home, had used her shower. Her memories from high school were weak, watery things, but she had a vague recollection of Halt. He was four years younger than her, having entered his first year of high school when Pauline had been in her last.

Halt had always been a rough figure. Mistrustful of authority and not afraid to show it. Pauline thought it was a wonder he had ever graduated.

The door opened, and Halt emerged, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

"Are you feeling better?" Pauline asked.

"As good as I can," he said in that gravely voice that Pauline could listen to all day. "Good aim, by the way."

"Thanks. Sorry, again—"

Halt held up his hand. Pauline's borrowed sweater — cable knit and kelly green — flopped over his fingers, and he pushed the sleeves to his elbows.

"Stop apologizing. Please. I take it you thought I was someone else."

"It doesn't matter. Are you hungry? I could go for some pizza. Or cake. I think I have some ice cream."

"Pauline."

She stopped at the top of the stairs. Halt hadn't moved, and his attention was wholly fixed on her.

"What happened, Pauline? You look like a rabbit just escaped from a fox."

"It's … can I tell you over food?"

"Do you have coffee?"

"I have tea."

Halt grumbled that tea wasn't coffee, but he followed Pauline downstairs. She made her strongest black tea and took out her semi-frost-burned ice cream.

"So, what happened?" Halt's black hair curled at the ends as it started to dry.

Pauline kept her hands busy chipping away at the ice crystal in the pint container. She told Halt about the date with Foldar and tried to keep as much emotion out as possible.

"Thank goodness he just drove by," she said.

"Foldar is a damned son of a bitch. Do you want me to shoot him?"

"No!"

Halt shrugged. "Wouldn't be difficult. He deserves it."

Pauline liked the visual of an arrow stuck in Foldar, but she shook her head. "You already have your own troubles. Don't add more on my account."

"Don't worry about me. I'll deal with it."

"With what? Halt, please don't go after him on my account."

"Not that," Halt said. "I … may have almost shot a child with my bow."

"Halt!"

He glowered at her. "Don't give me that look. I didn't actually shoot him. I just wanted to scare him. And, when I say child, I mean high-schooler. Little bastard's nearly an adult."

"That doesn't mean you can shoot him."

"I didn't shoot him!"

"Do the police know?"

Halt chuckled. "It was that goddamn Teezal boy. The police know. The mayor knows. I'm sure the judge is happily writing a warrant for my arrest as we speak."

"So you come to my house?"

"Where else would I go?" Halt sipped the tea and winced. "Do you have honey?"

"Above the stove. Halt, what does that mean? You have friends in town. If you needed, you could hide in the woods until this blows over."

He poured honey into his tea until he drank more sugar than water. "I can hide in the trees, yes, but that doesn't mean I want to. I don't hear much out there, and …" He rubbed at the skin around his eyes.

"And what?"

"Do you ever feel like you've lived this life before?"

"Deja vu?"

"No, not the same moment. The same life? Do you have memories of things that never happened?"

Pauline slowly shook her head. "I don't think so."

Halt motioned for her to wait in the kitchen. He ran up the stairs, quiet as a feather, and returned in seconds. He put the battered metal fragment on the table. "That's a scrap from a rocket that exploded. A rocket made by Will O'Carrick and Hal Northolt."

"When did a rocket explode? Hal was found with explosives, yes, but not …"

"Exactly. I have a distinct memory of giving this to Will."

"Where did you find it?"

"My cabin. I don't know where I picked it up. I feel like-like I've lived this day before, but differently." Halt sat and sipped at his tea. "I don't understand what's going on, but it's unnatural is what it is."

Pauline ran her fingers over the rough engraving on the metal. "Halt?"

"Hm?"

"Why were you skulking in my spare bedroom?"

"I don't skulk." He saw her raised eyebrows and elaborated. "I was waiting for you to return home."

"Behind a closed door without any intentional sign you were there?"

"I left the door unlocked."

"Hence why you were pepper-sprayed."

Halt winced and rubbed his nose. "I wasn't skulking."

"Halt, are you pouting?"

"Of course not!"

"Right, I must have been mistaken." Pauline leaned back in her chair and felt at peace with the moment. She wondered if Halt would stay for breakfast. Which meant he would stay the night. Her face grew warm.

Halt noticed the red rising to her face. "Pauline? Are you alright?"

"What? Fine."

She yelped at a loud knock on the door. Halt reached for his bow, but it was upstairs.

"Stay here," she said.

Pauline took her steaming tea cup in hand and went to the front door. She checked the peephole and saw Sheriff Deparnieux on the other side. She opened the door as far as the lock chain allowed.

"Sheriff?" She said loudly. "Sheriff Deparnieux?"

"That would be me. How are you, Miss Mouse?"

"I'm … what brings you here?"

"There was a report of a scream? Someone said they saw someone sneaking around the back of the house."

"That was me. Sorry. I was out late and forgot my key to the front."

Deparnieux nodded slowly. He withdrew a paper from his pocket and offered her a grainy picture of Halt's face. "You're acquainted with Halt, are you not?"

"I … know … of him."

"Pauline," Deparnieux said with a patronizing smile, "everyone knows about Halloween twelve years ago. I think you know Halt a little better than 'of him.'"

Pauline reddened further, and she spared herself a moment by drinking her tea. "W-whatever you and the rest of this town thinks happened didn't."

"Regardless, Halt is a wanted man. If you weren't aware, he savagely attacked an unarmed child. There's a warrant out for his arrest. He is considered armed and dangerous. If you see him or have a lead on his whereabouts, give us a call."

"I will."

"Have you seen him recently?"

"No, not at all."

Deparnieux frowned. "You're sure?"

"Extremely." She held her innocence on her face as Deparnieux searched for the lie. Though Pauline didn't remember much of her childhood, she knew her parents had been strict to the point of controlling. She could fib with the best of them.

"Sorry to bother you so late, ma'am," he said. "If Halt does attempt to contact you, please let us know. We wouldn't want him using an old relationship to his advantage."

He left, and Pauline shut and fully locked the door. Halt wasn't in the kitchen, nor was he out back. She checked upstairs and didn't find him or his gear.

"Halt?"

She heard a tap on the bedroom window, from the outside. The latch was undone, though the window itself was closed. Pauline pushed it open. Halt was sprawled on the gabled roof, with his bow and quiver lashed to his back.

"How did you—" She moved out of the way for Halt to climb inside, then she closed and locked the window. "That, Halt, is the definition of skulking. What were you doing?"

"I thought he might search the house."

"Then you heard what he said?" She offered him the wanted picture.

Halt grimaced at his photo. It was several years old, and his hair had been unflatteringly short. "Was it really Halloween, that day? I remember it being later."

Pauline avoided his eyes. "There was an early snow."

"Right. And your car died. What were you doing out in the woods?"

"It doesn't matter."

"There was nothing out there except …" Halt cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised.

"It's all in the past. And it-it's late. I have the spare made up, if you want to stay." Pauline couldn't look at him while she said that. It had been years since she'd spent the night alone with a man. Twelve years, she realized.

Halt nodded. "If it's no imposition. But do you have a different shirt or sweater I could borrow? If I need to suddenly 'skulk' again, bright green isn't my first choice."

Pauline searched her closet and returned to him with a thinner brown sweater and a mottled gray cardigan. "This should keep you warm enough to get — oh."

Halt had shed his bow and quiver and tossed the borrowed green sweater on the bed. Pauline hadn't seen him shirtless in over a decade, and he'd grown into more of a man since then. Through the dark hair on his chest and arms, she noticed a handful of pale scars on his skin, some thin and one, in particular, knotted and rough.

"Those are better, thanks," he said.

"It's no, um, it's no problem."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not at all." She pushed the clothes into his hands. She thought she ought to give him privacy to dress, but he didn't seem concerned, so Pauline allowed herself the indulgence to watch him.

Halt buttoned the wooden toggles on the cardigan. He grabbed his bow and quiver. "Do you have my number? In case?"

"You have a phone?"

Halt gave her a baleful look. "Yes, I have a phone."

Pauline took down his number; once her phone was charged, she'd enter it under 'Pest control.'

"I'll see you in the morning, then." Halt nodded to her from the doorway.

"Halt?"

"Hm?"

"I was planning to go shopping in the morning. What brand of coffee do you like?"

He shrugged. "I'll drink anything, as long as there's honey."

Thanks for reading!