Chapter Five: Walls That Move
By: Devi D.
When I first bounded into the old library building, my only thought was to hide. Nothing could be worse than being chased by a maniac bent on killing me. But you know what? I was wrong!
The library was vast, I could hide anywhere, but I wanted to be buried deep, deeper than even Johnny would follow, so I picked a direction and ran. I passed the librarian's desk without seeing anyone who could help me, or a phone by which to call the police. Why I even looked, I don't know. There are two very good reasons that it wouldn't have made a difference: first, that I wouldn't have had the time to use it, and second, the fact that the police are drooling morons that have yet to even find Johnny's address. How hard can that psycho's house be to find! I gave them all the information they needed months ago and here I was hiding in panicked dread of the freak they should have caught months, even years ago when he must have started killing people.
In any event, to think of this now still brings on chills. There was a pattern to the library; so many rows of shelves would pass until you reached a longer shelf that would block your way. You could choose left or right and go around and keep going. I learned this pattern and ran on it, turning constantly away from where I had been in the hope that I would not see it again until my pursuer was lost somewhere far away from me. The pattern was set in stone, how could it not be? There were far too many books to be moved and surely the shelves were too heavy. I ran into one when the pattern… began to falter, it didn't budge or rattle. I only disturbed a little dust was all.
Twelve rows down then a right or left. Duck between the rows every so often. Was that the echo of my footstep or someone else's? Did that shadow just move? Was that twelve or thirteen? Fourteen? Where is the turn? Everything became blurry after I had been running for twenty or more minutes. I though I was tired, and I was, but I thought that was all, I was wrong. I sat with my back against the end of one great long shelf, trying to dampen the noise of my own ragged breathing. I must have looked fairly pathetic there, sitting like a terrified doll blinking back tears of regret. I regretted ever having gotten close to Johnny, only to have found in him some demonic figure of blood lust and misguided genius. Perhaps misguided is too nice of a word. I can still see myself sitting there at any rate, my backpack beside me on the floor; I'm covered in dust and sticky with sweat. I was a bookend out of hell.
I'm still not sure how long I sat there. I never at the time felt the need to look at my watch. When I got up I did so slowly and quietly, straining to hear if there were any sound that might betray something human behind the last shelf. There was nothing. To be safe I looked around for the most unlikely course to take. I found a spiral staircase to the second floor after some wandering. I had lost the place where I'd sat down but didn't notice, nor did I notice I'd forgotten my backpack. The panic was dying down a little, though it still controlled my every movement, it was slowly replaced by a surreal numbness that I could never hope to explain. I still worried about Johnny finding me, I still thought about the best way to lose him and get out, maybe skip town later that week. I still knew that sweat was rolling down my temples in beads and my lungs were rebelling against my movements and the dust that thickened the air, where did it all come from anyway? I knew all of these things, I was just not aware of them anymore. There was a blanket of passiveness that had been draped over my consciousness that I today still cannot understand. I feel, even now, that if I reached out with my mind, it would still be there, folded up neat in the corner, soft and inviting and tangible somewhere in deep though, smiling back at me. I don't trust blankets anymore.
I drifted up the stairs in a lazy spiral, almost surprising myself when I found their end. I was suprised to find instead of more bookshelves, rows of filing cabnets on this floor. It looked darker and dustier than where I had started, if that makes any sense at all, which it doesn't but the fact remains. Really, as far as I knew, filing cabnets were usually kept in the basements of libraries or in back rooms away from the public space. What was kept in these hidden files I had never cared to guess. Just book cards I supposed, maybe a dead mouse in one that hadn't been opened in a while. Why would they be up here? There was no point in wondering. This place was weird already, this was just more proof.
Sadly, it didn't appear that the cabinets would provide much cover in the event that Johnny was still searching for me. I turned back to where I had left the spiral staircase, because I hadn't gone very far into the web of shoulder high cabinets before thinking that I was still experiencing electric shocks when I touched door knobs and that drawer handles were unsettlingly similar to door knobs. I found though, that where I had thought there was a stair well to take me back down stairs, there were only stairs to take me up to the third floor.
Was I that tired? Had I really come down stairs thinking I was going up? Nooooo. I knew that wasn't right. What the hell happened! I know I didn't wander far from those stairs. Maybe this was just a set that looked similar that led to the next floor. Even so, it nagged at me. It nagged more than my publisher from my job illustrating for Nerve Publishing. I couldn't even focus on how irritating that was at the time because I was in the middle of a panic attack. "Calm down, Devi." I kept telling myself as I started away from the stairs, looking back over my shoulder often to be sure they were still there. It was ridiculous, and I told myself that too but after discovering several minutes later that I was talking to myself, I promptly shut up and began to wonder more about my sanity than my surroundings. By this time, I really should have known better.
Muttering only occasionally, I continued past the filing cabinets and further into the gloom, still looking back over my shoulder from time to time, even if I could no longer see the stairs.
A/N: I took stupidly long to finish this chapter and it has yet to be betaed, but I'm posting it for the sake of keeping any fans that might still be patient with me. Review for crying out loud people! I'm trying to figure out how things are going. Just let me know if this plot is developing too slowly.