Chell hated winter. She was never unaware of the fact, but when walking home at 5:30 meant walking home in the dark, she couldn't help but be reminded. It was a particularly cold 5:30, too, and several streetlamps were out, making perfectly innocent side streets look like sets from horror movies.
She hesitated at the turning into an alley that was much darker than usual. Chell wasn't a coward by any means, but the alley looked decidedly unappealing. She mentally calculated how much time she would spend going the long way around.
Not loving the idea of ending up as a case for the Winchester brothers, she thought, debating.
Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of her pocket automatically.
Doug 5:47pm
What are your thoughts on Polidori?
Me 5:47pm
Not familiar with the name. I'll look it up when I get home. Currently plucking up the courage to walk down a dark scary alley
Doug 5:48pm
What? Chell, that doesn't sound safe
Me 5:48pm
It's probably fine, it's just that there are usually more lights than this. For some reason I'm stalling
Doug 5:48pm
Can I call you?
She blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. He'd never asked that before. A second text came through as she was contemplating her reply.
Doug 5:49pm
I don't want to freak you out, I just thought it might be helpful to stay on the line
Me 5:49pm
That's kind, but I can't exactly talk
She hadn't raised the topic of her mutism, too comfortable in communicating with written words, where her silence couldn't make things awkward. Part of her had known that the subject would come up if she wanted to prolong the friendship, but she'd hoped it would last longer.
Ah well.
Doug 5:50pm
Because of your throat? That's fine, you don't have to say anything. I won't either, I'll just stay on the line until I hear you get home. Okay?
Chell found herself surprised again. She hadn't considered that he'd have assumed she meant her cold was the cause.
And perhaps it's for the best if he doesn't speak either. I don't want a one-sided conversation to be the first time we communicate outside of a text.
She was tempted to turn him down. The alley was most likely empty. She was being ridiculous because she was tired and hungry and had had a trying day. But it was precisely because she was tired and hungry and had had a trying day that she answered the way that she did.
Me 5:50pm
Ok
For a moment she waited, still lingering under a streetlight, feeling strangely apprehensive. When her phone buzzed in her hand, she actually jumped.
Incoming call: Doug
With a hand that didn't seem entirely steady, she swiped to answer and pressed it to her ear. There was near silence on the other end, just soft, quiet breathing. She started walking, eyeing the shadows as she passed. Vaguely, she wondered whether the breathing should have seemed…creepier. But it didn't. If anything, it was reassuring.
Her footsteps echoed against the brick walls either side of her, making her cringe. If there was anything in the shadows – as unlikely as that was – she would rather not announce her presence to it.
She reached the end of the alley without incident, turning onto a better lit street. Deep down she'd known she'd be fine, which left her feeling a little embarrassed at her hesitation, but there was always the threat of 'what if?'
Doug moved something, perhaps paper, and she heard the faint tap of a cup being set down on a coaster. It made her smile for some reason, and she hoped she wasn't disturbing him too much. She quickened her pace. She had basic human needs to take care of.
As if reminded of the fact, her stomach gave a demanding growl. She thought she heard a faint amused huff, and her cheeks grew warm.
Surely he didn't hear that.
She hurried down the additional two blocks, finally reaching her front door. One-handed, she fumbled with her keys, clicking on the light as soon as she'd pushed the door open. Once it was closed, she leaned her back against it, lowering her arm and watching the call time increase second by second. Feeling a touch awkward, she ended the call and fired off a quick text.
Me 6:03pm
Home, if you couldn't guess. Thanks for the back-up
Doug 6:04pm
It's no problem, glad you made it
She smiled, shoving her phone in her pocket so she could shrug off her coat. It vibrated again, and she fished it back out.
Doug 6:05pm
Oh, and get some food
Chell let out a silent laugh, her embarrassment colouring her cheeks a second time.
Me 6:05pm
Oh god, I can't believe you heard that!
Doug 6:06pm
I think your entire street heard it
Me 6:06pm
You're the worst
Doug 6:07pm
Sometimes
Shaking her head, smiling, Chell returned her phone to her pocket and headed for the kitchen.
Wouldn't want to disturb an entire street.
Doug set his phone down on the table next to him and reached for his peppermint tea. He wasn't sure how to feel. He'd been happy to help Chell, determined even, but it had taken all of his courage to suggest calling her. Part of him had been relieved when she'd said she'd lost her voice. Not talking had certainly taken the pressure off.
Still, the simple call had his pulse racing. The huff of her breath, the sound of her footsteps, even the faint growl of her stomach…it had all made her seem so real, more than she ever had been before. It wasn't that he hadn't known she was real, of course, but knowing it and hearing it with his own ears were two very different things. She existed. Was existing at that very moment. Hopefully in her kitchen.
Her texts had made it easy for him to craft a voice for her in his mind. Not for the first time, he wondered how well their conversations might flow in the real world.
Not half as well, he thought, sipping his tea. You'd be terrified.
No, they couldn't meet face to face. She'd undoubtedly be disappointed, what with his awkward manner, too-lanky frame and too-large nose. Not to mention the quirks that came with his condition. It was far better to stick to texts, where he could interact with her smoothly, even pretend that he could have a normal conversation with someone without the help of his meds.
He knew all of that, and it was perfectly logical to boot, but he still couldn't soothe the pang of regret. He liked talking with her. Over the last month or so, she'd become an integral part of his life. She was smart and funny and thoughtful, and he wasn't so foolish that he didn't realise he was well on his way to losing his heart to someone he'd never seen or spoken to. The simple truth was that he cared about her. He cared about her far more than he should, and it terrified him.
You still don't know she's not a serial killer, he countered lamely. But then that could be true of anyone; his neighbours, his co-workers, strangers on the street.
Poor argument, Rattmann.
But even that made him smile, because he knew she wasn't. And not just because it was statistically unlikely.
Shaking his head, Doug returned his cup to its coaster, turning his attention back to his painting. It didn't do to dwell. He needed to try and remember that.
Chell sat back in her chair and let herself laugh for a moment. She'd been looking from her computer screen to the clock so often, she was sure she must look like a spectator at a tennis match.
Still an hour until lunch, looking an extra six times isn't going to make those hands move any faster.
Repeating the mantra to herself, she reached for the next book to check, typing its reference number into the database so she could make sure its information entry was correct. System upgrades were such a pain in the ass. Rosie shot her a look from behind the pile of theology text books she was stamping for a stressed-looking student.
"You all right?"
Chell nodded, signing, 'Just tired'.
"Want your break early?"
She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was a longer afternoon. 'I'm good.'
Rosie smiled in acknowledgement and pushed the pile of textbooks across the desk. "Back in two weeks, hun."
"Got it, thanks."
Chell smiled sympathetically as the student struggled away with their burden. Her phone vibrated, scooting a few inches across the desk. She reached for it, smile widening.
Doug 11:28am
[1 attachment]
New edition of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Look at the cover art!
She took in the photo, the pristine new book with its suitably Gothic cover, the intriguing glimpse of a paint-stained hand. She blinked. He hadn't managed to snap the entire thing, cutting off the bottom, but she could clearly see a corner of obtrusive, familiar neon pink on the book's spine. It wasn't a store book, it was a library book.
A hint of suspicion and possibility wound its way through her mind.
No, she told herself firmly.
And yet…
Feeling simultaneously confused and enlightened, Chell glanced down at the book in her lap, focusing on its pink identity tag. She felt her heartrate speed up.
Calm down, Chell, a lot of libraries probably use this colour.
She looked back at the photo, this time studying the background. It was blurred brown carpet and nothing more.
This is ridiculous. A lot of libraries probably have brown carpet.
Still, the thought wouldn't leave.
It's a coincidence. And even if he is here, neither of you has ever talked about meeting up. It would be a mistake for sure, why ruin a good thing?
Inwardly nodding firmly at her inner voice's wisdom, she set her phone aside and turned back to the database. But the possibility was like a woodpecker, jabbing at her thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate.
Damn it.
Picking up her phone again, she stood, sending her wheeled chair backwards. Rosie was thankfully too busy to notice. Buzzing with sudden apprehension, Chell made herself walk calmly in the direction of Classical Poetry.
I'm just going to confirm that there's no one there, she told herself, unsure if it was an attempt at convincing or a downright lie.
Round the corner of Self-Help, between Religion and Travel.
You're such an idiot, Chell. He's probably not even in this city.
Past Plays, around another corner and…
Empty.
She stood still for a moment, trying to decide if she was disappointed or relieved. The little poetry corner looked undisturbed, its table free of clutter. On a whim, she drifted closer, examining the shelf. There were a few unhelpful gaps. A couple of old, battered Coleridge collections. Nothing conclusive.
Well, so much for that.
Biting her lip, she returned to the front desk, still unsure how to feel. She knew her reactions were indicative of something, but as to what that something was, well…
Rosie was serving the last person in her line, and was free from distractions enough to shoot her a curious, slightly judgemental look. Chell cringed at the obvious way her supervisor leaned sideways to peer around her customer, and she glanced at the floor to avoid her gaze.
"Thank you, sir. Have a good day."
"You too."
The customer turned away from the desk, and Chell narrowly avoided hitting him with her shoulder.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
Thankfully he didn't wait for a reply, and Chell had a quick, strange impression of a colourless man – dark coat, dark hair, pale skin – before he was past and out the door. Shaking her head, she returned to her seat, signing to Rosie that she'd had to go to the bathroom. Shoving her foolishness aside, she typed a return text.
Me 11:43am
Looks like a nice edition. Where did you find that?
She deleted and rewrote the last question twice before deciding to let it stand. Despite everything, she was still curious. Not that she expected him to tell her where he'd been. Not by name or location, anyway.
Doug 11:45am
Are you implying you don't know a library book when you see one?
She couldn't help but laugh at the irony. Maybe one day she would tell him what her job title was.
Me 11:46am
How dare you, library books and I are the best of friends
It was a good reply; light, flippant, absolutely devoid of any hint of the rapid emotional rollercoaster she'd sent herself on.
It's for the best, she told herself. And yet…
Yep, that was definitely disappointment she was feeling.
Damn it.
Much, much later, it occurred to her that she could have searched the database for outgoing Coleridge, but she fell asleep before the thought was fully formed, and had forgotten entirely when her alarm went off the following morning.
A/N: Happy new year!