Deep, restful sleep was elusive for Blanche prior to her meeting with Beverly. She twisted in the sheets, trying to get comfortable, thoughts passing in and out of her fitful dreams making it impossible to reach that peaceful state her mind craved. She desperately needed just a few hours of rest and a reprieve from the never-ending stream of thoughts and ideas. The clock on the end table, glaring at her, was a constant reminder of the few hours available to her for some sleep, it seemed to mock her and gave her brain just one more thing to think about.
When morning finally did come, she felt more exhausted than she had the night before. With her body yelling 'no' she literally rolled from bed, first landing on her knees, then placed her hands on the bed for support, she pushed herself to a standing position. If there was a joint or muscle that was not stiff or sore she didn't know where it was. She managed a quick, very hot shower, which did little to wake her up but did make her aching body less obstinate.
"Been too long since I've run," she thought as she toweled herself off, hoping that she could find time in the near future to get a workout routine going again.
Blanche wrapped the towel around her head and returned to her room but within minutes the humidity brought a fine mist of moisture to the surface of her skin. The towel was used one more time, extended between her hands, she used it like a shoeshine rag, buffing her skin and bringing it to a pink hue. Once completed, she dressed in something a bit less conservative than usual and prepared for the day.
The guests were already enjoying their homemade biscuits and gravy by the time Blanche made her appearance.
"Good morning," everyone said in unison.
Blanche looked around and noted that Mr. 'Wonder' was not among the seated guests.
"What happened to 'Clueless'?” she asked, more out of surprise than care.
Ms. Carmichael jumped in, "He was suddenly called away to Washington on some very important, hush-hush business."
"Or so he said," included Mrs. Muir, continuing to sop her toast in the white gravy. "What's a guy like that doing with connections in Washington?” pausing only momentarily then continued, “I guess it shouldn't come as any great surprise though, I mean just look at the mentality of most of our elected officials."
"Still kind of rubs me wrong, the way he lit out of here with not so much as a good day or thank you," said Caroline.
"What was it he said he did?" the young librarian asked.
"Oh, he said he was in marketing or something like that, never really clarified what he was doing here, always changed the subject when asked directly. Seems more weird now than it did at the time," said Mrs. Muir.
Blanche joined the group and covered her plate with one biscuit, no gravy, a round of sausage and a cup of fruit. Everyone at the table watched as she readied her breakfast before continuing.
"Looks like you had a rough night sweetie," her landlady perceived. "Wasn't our newlyweds was it?"
"No, just too much on my mind, had a hard time getting to sleep," Blanche informed her breakfast companions.
For the next few minutes everyone sat in silence and concentrated on finishing their meal. Blanche was trying to remember what she'd done with the list of condos she'd prepared the afternoon before at the local Internet cafe, when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Good morning everyone,” came a voice from behind her. It sounded somewhat familiar and then it dawned on her. It was the voice she’d heard coming through the wall the past few days. She pivoted in her chair to get a better view of the young couple. They appeared a little different this time around, less shock and surprise on their faces and much less skin showing.
The young bride was even more attractive than Blanche remembered her from the bathroom incident, her black hair framing her face and accentuating her cheekbones and full lips. She was petite but curvy in all the right places and her behind, though very round, looked like you could bounce quarters off of it. Blanche watched her wiggle her bottom around the table and into a chair opposing her own. Her husband was stout and looked like he could pick his wife up with one arm and pack their entire luggage with the other. Not really attractive from Blanche’s perspective but he was fit with a manly, commanding voice.
Hellos were exchanged and introductions made for those that hadn’t had the pleasure. Blanche tried not to meet their eyes, just too embarrassed, knowing what she did about their ‘activities’. As irritated as she was with them, and the impact they had on her sleep the past few days, she had to admit that they looked extremely happy and excited about starting their life together. She was more than a little jealous, the easy smiles back and forth, the hands on the knees under the table, the knowing looks exchanged even with all these people in the room. Ever the hopeless romantic, it still was driving Blanche crazy that they had each other and she had nothing but her books and her dreams of ‘Mandingo’.
Mrs. Muir was the only one brave enough to put forth a challenging question, “So, you two just look so happy. You must be having a great time. What do you think of our little town?”
The young wife just about choked on her sausage but managed to say, looking down into her lap, blushing slightly with her response, “Well, to tell you the truth, we really haven’t seen much of your beautiful little city but we are still finding things to do and we’re having a great time.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” thought Blanche, sarcastically rolling her eyes and hoping that nobody noticed.
Caroline, wanting to clarify their reservation, jumped in, “Have you decided how much longer you’ll be staying?”
The husband took a drink of his juice before answering, “Looks like we’ll need to get going later today. We’re so close to the Okefenokee Swamp that we decided to head over to Waycross and see what’s going on over there, but we have enjoyed our stay with ya’ll.”
“I don’t think there’s any question of that,” Blanche almost said aloud, but what did come out of her mouth was most likely worse, “Yes, young love can be so exciting, learning all the ins and outs can be trying but worth the sacrifice, if you know what I mean.”
With nothing further to say and no retort from the guests, Blanche excused herself and left for her room. As an afterthought she said, while climbing the staircase, “By the way, really enjoyed sharing the bathroom and the ambiance with you.”
Her meeting with Beverly was to be at 10:00 a.m. so she tidied up her room and spent a few more minutes looking over the list of condos she wanted to look at that day. When she’d talked with Bev earlier in the week the house hunting didn’t sound very promising. There were a lot available but nothing that really fit her needs or budget. She had to remind herself that she was still early in the hunt and not to get discouraged, surely something would come along that would be well suited for her. The trick was not to get too impatient and settle for something less than desirable. The units that Mrs. Carmichael had mentioned to her looked promising but there wouldn’t be enough time today to drive out to look at them hopefully next week.
With her room in order and nothing else to do for a couple of hours she lay back on the bed and picked up her book. Before long she was back in the ‘Old South’, the words on the page going in and out of focus, she placed the book upon her abdomen, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
She awoke with a jolt, her eyes searched for the clock and the time alarmed her, 9:45 a.m. in bright red, illuminated numbers. Blanche scrambled to get the few things together that she needed for the day, checked her looks quickly in the mirror, adjusted herself in her bra, and dashed from the room, down the stairs and out the front door, nearly knocking Mrs. Muir over in the process.
“Well, I never!” she exclaimed, looking on as Blanche ran down the street toward the bus.
The stop was about two blocks from the B amp;B, normally a pleasant, peaceful walk along azalea-fronted homes, but not today. She could see the bus moving down the street. Lifting her feet a little more quickly she raced for the stop, waving her hands and trying to grab the attention of the driver in hopes that he would wait for her, but it was to no avail. She arrived at the bench in time to see the bus turn the next corner and it was gone.
“Just frickin’ great!” she said, slamming her things down on the bench and placing her hands on her hips, walking in circles trying to catch her breath. Rifling through her purse she retrieved her cell phone and placed a call to Beverly at her office. Ring, ring, ring…, no answer.
“What else is going to go wrong today!”
She tried Bev’s cell number, “Hello Ms. Davis, this is Blanche, I have an appointment with you right now but I’ve missed my bus. Would it be possible to reschedule?”
“Don’t be silly, where are you? I’ll just come by and pick you up,” Bev enthusiastically belted into the phone.
Blanche gave her the approximate address and the realtor indicated she’d be there shortly.
“That was one crazy run for the bus there lady,” a young man half hollered, followed by a different voice.
“Yeah, would sure like to see some of that action again. You interested?”
Blanche lifted her umbrella in case she needed a weapon and turned to confront the verbal assailants. Three young men in their late teens were walking toward her, skateboards in hands. Each had a different baseball hat sitting askew on their head with dark glasses covering their wandering eyes. Jeans worn very low, crotch between their knees and skater type shoes on their feet.
The presumed leader spoke, “Yo, mama, you's lookin’ so fine dis moanin’. You need some hep with somethin’? We’s sure we got what ya could use.”
Looking at each other they laughed and shook each other’s hands in some secret combination. The creepy young guy strutted closer to Blanche, looking her up and down. A tattoo curled from the inside of his t-shirt, up and around his neck and terminated in a snake’s head on his Adam's apple.
“Listen, why don’t you boys just mind your own business and be on your way?” the increasingly frightened Blanche said, through clenched teeth.
“How ‘bout you come wit us then, bootiful.”
They circled her, cutting off any possibility of escape except it be through them. She lowered the umbrella and issued another warning, “I don’t want any trouble, I’m just trying to get through my day, so I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.”
More laughter, “Yeah, Mikey, leave the poor little woman alone,” they taunted.
“I’ll leave her ‘lone aw ight once she takes care a sum buidness fer me.” Mikey extended his arm and ran his hand over her shoulder.
Reflexively, Blanche spun the umbrella, knocking his hand away and swung the object in a circle pushing the teens beyond an arm's reach.
“Grab dis bitch so I’s can get a feel,” the startled leader yelled. As the two accomplices circled Blanche looking for an opening their attention was drawn to the road.
The sounds of squealing tires and locked up brakes startled the group who turned in the direction of the incoming sounds. A yellow Datsun could be seen on the opposite side of the road making a quick turn, jumping the meridian; a dark figure huddled over the wheel.
“What’s this sheeeit?” Mikey said, stepping ahead of the others, bringing his skateboard up in a defensive stance.
The little truck came to a screeching halt, only meters away from the skaters, and a very large, agitated black man squeezed his way out of the truck.
He took two quick steps toward Mikey, puffed up his chest and said, “Miss Delaney, these punks giving ya any trouble?”
Blanche quickly sidestepped the trio and ran behind Jasper. “Rescuing me again? I must say you have impeccable timing.”
Mikey was not discouraged, “Lady, yo pet gorilla don’t scare us none, do he boys?” There was no reply, “Right boys?”
He turned to see why his partners were quiet and could only make out the back of their hats as they bounded over the fence of the nearest house. With his head turned, Jasper moved to action, grabbed the skateboard with both hands, wrenching it away from the thug, dropping Mikey to his knees in the process.
“Man, we was jus havin' some fun wit her, we wasn’t goin’ to hurt her or nothin’,” he pleaded.
“You little creeps are giving Valdosta a bad rep, how ‘bout you get on your way ‘fore I do something terrible,” Jasper hissed, arms and shoulders towering over the quaking Mikey.
“Gimme back my board, man.”
“Oh yeah, right!” Jasper took the skateboard with his hands positioned at opposite ends and extended the board as if to hand it to the troubled youth. Mikey stretched forth his hands to accept the board, but before he could, Jasper lifted his powerful leg and brought the board down with a mighty thrust, breaking the board in half across his thigh. Splinters and wheels twirled through the air.
“There you go (handing the board back to Mikey), now get out of here you scumbag.”
The hood took a couple steps backwards, threw half of the remaining board at Jasper who brushed it aside like a mosquito, before turning and running at full speed across the space and over the same fence his friends had used as an avenue of escape. A moment later a defiant finger raised in belligerent triumph appeared above the top of the fence.
“Punks” Jasper spewed, then turning his attention to the quivering librarian he said, “You okay?”
“Just about peed myself but I’m okay, lucky you showed up when you did,” Blanche replied, still shaking from the ordeal.
“I was just on my way out to the job site and saw you was in trouble,” he said compassionately, putting both of his strong hands on her shoulders to help steady her. “Been meaning to drop by your place anyway to give you the details on that competition I was telling you about.”
He provided the information which Blanche put into her phone, promising to attend, after all he had been her rescuer on two separate occasions and he was really, really buff and quite sweet for a ‘gorilla’. Jasper promised to stay with Blanche until her ride showed up so they sat on the bench and enjoyed a minute or two of small talk before Blanche saw a BMW turn the corner and accelerate toward them.
“Looks like my ride,” Blanche said, tilting her head in the direction of the oncoming car.
“Too bad, I'd have enjoyed some more time with my damsel in distress,” Jasper said, as he stood and took her hand to help her up. She was still trembling from the fright she’d received at the hands of Mikey and crew. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, but thanks, you are just so sweet.” She wrapped her arms around his thick neck and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek. “Thanks again, don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
The BMW skidded to a stop at the curb and Bev’s head popped out of the sunroof, “Blanche, you need me to call the cops, this guy bothering you?”
“No, no, nothing like that, he just saved me from a bunch of thugs.” Once again, Blanche committed to attending the upcoming competition. They hugged and Blanche was on her way comfortably seated in the front of Bev’s B’mer.
“That’s quite a hunk of man you’ve found yourself there?” Beverly’s voice suggested more of a question than a statement.
“Jasper? Yeah he’s been my hero on more than one occasion since I hit town. Lucky for me he was close by this morning. Don’t know how long I could have held off three horny teenagers with an umbrella,” Blanche said, trying to laugh, her voice still quivering.
It was obvious to Beverly that her client was in no condition or state of mind to do any house hunting so she suggested a quiet location with hot coffee, padded seats and delicious donuts. After finishing her first cup of white-hot chocolate and glazed donut, Blanche began to feel somewhat better. The tremor in her hands had ceased and her voice was much less shaky but her anxiety level was still elevated as Beverly tried to console her.
“Men, and boys for that matter, walk around with their brains in their penis with no thought for anyone but themselves,” Beverly suggested, polishing off her third donut, this one covered in white frosting drizzled with maple. “Believe me, I’ve known my share and most are idiots through and through. Even the ones that you think are semi-normal turn into some sort of sex crazed alien the minute they get a hard on. Take my deceased husband, the one I was telling you about with the spoiled rotten son, he was a genius when it came to money and real estate. I learned so much from him about the markets, when to buy, when to sell, that sort of stuff, but the minute I’d show him these.” Taking her covered breasts in both hands, making sure not to get any icing on either one, she bounced them slightly; drawing stares from some of the locals seated a few tables over. “He’d turn into a babbling fool, unable to make a coherent sentence until he’d gotten his rocks off, pardon my French.”
Bev was enjoying having someone she could spout off too. Her favorite subject as of late was the abuse she’d received at the hands of men in general but more specifically from the son of her dearly departed.
“Did I tell you the latest? Did I?” she asked, not waiting for a reply she pressed on. “Well, I’ll tell you what darlin’, that little son of a bitch is still screwing with me even after the courts awarded me my fair share. My stepson, some kind of aid to a high falootin’ congressmen up there in Washington, has got it in his head that I’m just gonna roll over and let him push me around and give up my millions,” she continued in her over the top Southern accent. “That pompous piece of shit really gets me going. First it was momma this and momma that, now that some money is involved he treats me like a two bit whore that was screwing his daddy just for his money. I’ll show that little pipsqueak what this mommas got in store for him,” she said rather loudly, drawing more looks and quiet whispers from customers throughout the shop.
Blanche nodded when she felt it was appropriate and tried to act understanding, but wasn’t it her that was the victim this morning and not Bev? It was sweet that she was trying to take her mind off the skaters but she was kind of ranting and Blanche was not enjoying the additional attention.
“So tell me about the job the oldest one has, he really works for a congressman, a US Congressman?” Blanche politely asked.
“Yeah, little kiss ass that he is, worked his way into this job with the help of his daddy. From what I gather he does all the congressman’s dirty work. Does all the hiring and firing and finds little trollops for the congressman to screw when his wife ain’t around. I ‘spect Jeremy gets his fill of that office poontang as well, takes after his daddy in that respect,” the agitated real estate woman fumed.
“That’s his name, Jeremy?” Blanche asked.
“Yeah, Jeremy ‘Kiss My Ass’ Marshall and the worse thing is he keeps sticking his nose in my business here in Valdosta. Don’t know why he can’t just leave well enough alone and worry about his father’s estate and getting this behind us. Some of my friends in the business tell me he’s prodding around about some land that is soon to be developed just north of here. Probably needs my millions to secure some financing for something he’s got in the works, most likely very underhanded if I know Jeremy and the way he operates.” She paused long enough to fill her mouth with another bite of donut.
“You must be sick of hearing about my troubles, honey. What’s up with you other than fighting off a pack of boys after your goods?” she said, pointing the half eaten donut at Blanche’s front, leaving powdered sugar on her friend.
Blanche didn’t want to get into much with Bev after hearing the realtor go on and on about her woes so she tried to bring the subject back around to her housing needs. After approximately thirty minutes of condo talk and another cup of cocoa, the women left the donut shop, all eyes on them as they hurried through the doors and into the BMW. Beverly was good enough to swing by the library for Blanche then sped off, anxious to meet with her lawyer and cuss for another couple of hours about her stepson. In her mind she’d worked hard for those millions and he was not about to take that away from her. No frickin’ way she was going to let her stepson screw her, that was for sure.
Blanche’s workday began like most once she got to the library. She was relieved to see that there were only a few items in her assorted boxes and no skulking teenage boys prowling among the shelves. She’d had her fill of testosterone driven madness for one day. Mr. Marcus was busy tinkering with some shelving units on the upper floor when she arrived and she had not yet had an opportunity to speak with him, but he was making some incredible ‘worker man’ noises that echoed throughout the library. Thankfully, it wasn’t busy and no one seemed to care that the occasional clang or bang could be heard, followed by a random cuss spoken harshly by the maintenance man. Two hours into the racket and just before Blanche was to take a break to get some lunch the little custodian ambled down the steps from the second floor. Sweat ran down his cheeks and a white, stretchy headband ran around his forehead in an effort to keep the salty solution out of his eyes.
“Sorry about all the commotion up there this afternoon,” he offered. “Those new shelving units they sent for the magazines didn’t quite go together with the ease that the instructions indicated. Never do for some reason, anyway, got them together and they look nice. You’ll have to mosey up there when you get time and take a look.”
She always looked forward to the random interactions she got to have with the personable, little man throughout her day. Kind of reminded her of her dad and brought back some fond memories of her childhood. He was always quick with a compliment and a smile and today was no different.
“That’s quite the outfit you’ve got on there today, really highlights your figure, you’ll have the boys in the back fighting over who gets to help you with the coding this afternoon.”
Blanche knew the remark was intended just as it was given, a sincere observation meant to compliment with no creepy overtones or insinuations.
“Why thank you Marcus, just a little something I haven’t worn since I started here and thought I’d give it a go.” Blanche blushed slightly, making her face glow with appreciation.
“Well, you did good, anybody in particular you ah, um, how do I put this tactfully? You got your sites on a particular target with this?” He gestured with his hands, indicating her figure in the tight, thin sweater stretching a little lower than her usual attire and the slacks a bit tighter in the seat than anything she’d worn to date.
“Now, now Marcus, you know you’re the only man around here that I’ve got an eye for,” she said, with a wink of her striking blue eyes and a pat on his shoulder.
They both laughed but Marcus had his suspicions. Blanche was like the daughter he never had and he enjoyed her personality and the fun banter they exchanged on a regular basis, but he strangely felt a certain obligation to watch out for her best interests as well.
“Marcus, Mr. Marcus, you got that shelving unit up yet? My heavens with all the noise going on up there one would have thought you were putting together a tank or something,” the words arrived almost before the director as she scurried up to the front desk.
“Yes ma'am, was just telling Blanche here how nice they look. You should get up there yourself and have a gander,” Marcus replied.
“Well I shall, once I get the new items for the museum cataloged and put into place. I just can’t seem to keep up with it all. Thank goodness we’ve got Blanche to look after the library for us. Heavens dear, you trying to attract every man within a ten mile radius?” Ester inquired sarcastically, eyeing the curvaceous, young librarian.
“I hope it’s not too much,” Blanche squeaked out, crossing her arms over her bosom.
“Perhaps we should endeavor to keep your assets a bit more under wraps in the future or we’ll never get these high school students to stop talking about you,” the director smiled politely, turned on her heels to walk away but said over her shoulder. “On second thought maybe we need to put the donation sign on the desk right in front of you today, dear, might be the best day we’ve had in years. See what you can do with that, will you?” And with that she was gone, calling for Mr. Marcus to follow her without turning to address him directly.
* * *
Blanche sat on the bench immediately in front of the library under a large magnolia tree, its glossy leaves providing a haven of shade from the afternoon sun. It had rained for about 30 minutes an hour prior but now the sun was shining and the rainfall had given everything around her a brilliant, clean luster that accentuated the shrubbery and flowers. She did love it here, the city itself was beautiful, the people in general so genuine and caring, her job was a breeze and she loved the people she worked with but most of all she was content.
The poor night's sleep seemed less significant as she sat and looked around at the pretty little square and the laid back atmosphere that seemed to encompass the town and the South in general. The worry of finding a place to live, for whatever reason, seemed less important at this very moment. She was feeling something she hadn’t felt for quite some time, happiness.
“Yes, that was it!” she thought, reflecting on the past few weeks. She had not been able to quite put her finger on it this afternoon but she was sure that this is what true happiness must feel like. Being able to look beyond the events of the day it was interesting to her that such an epiphany was possible, but there it was right in the middle of her chest, that burning sensation that speaks to one’s soul that all is well and life is good.
As she was basking in her new found realization Blanche noted a gentleman approaching the steps of the library, cane in his right hand and a bit slumped over, but she thought he seemed awfully young to be walking with a cane and hunched over in that manner. She watched as he reached the steps, straightened up slightly, and looked around as if expecting to meet someone. Blanche noted that rather than looking through his glasses, he tended to tip his head so he could see over them.
It was what happened on the steps that struck her as odd. He seemed to be having a hard time judging the distance to each step. He would take a step, pull his glasses down his nose, look over them then take the next step. On the final step he failed to perform the same operation and tripped sending him falling. Rather than hitting the concrete as expected, he reacted with cat like reflexes, regained his balance without the use of the cane. Once secure that he was steady, he put his weight back on the cane, bent over and proceeded through the main doors.
The incident hung in her thoughts for only a minute or two chalking it up to her father’s favorite saying, ‘It takes all kinds’, before her thoughts returned to the beauty of the day and the happiness she was feeling. She wanted to remember the way she felt right at that moment, capture it, bottle it up along with the sunshine’s comforting rays before she had to return to her duties inside.
Earlier in the day the burglar had tossed numerous ideas around. Perhaps he should just use the Internet to help him hone his ideas and provide new ones, after all he’d been told to be creative, however, ‘creative’ was not on his resume. Breaking into a home without detection, yes it was on there, not getting caught was on there, but breaking into a home, not getting caught and making a statement for all to see, that was definitely not included in his skill set. He’d had second thoughts about using the Internet; it would be traceable. All they’d need was his list of searches in conjunction with his IP address and they’d be knocking on his door. He’d seen it happen before and didn’t want to be a part of that.
Most of the morning he wrote list after list of what he thought were good ideas only to come full circle with the understanding that most of the schemes sucked. After the press and the police had turned his first outing into a bit of a laughing matter, giving some phantom college student the credit for his well orchestrated crime, he needed something with some pizzazz. Something that says ‘Holy Shit’ to the unsuspecting public, something that will really get their attention without drawing undue attention to himself or the ultimate goal. He obviously needed some help and he knew the trip he’d planned for the library must take place, however, he didn’t want to go as himself just in case they had security cams scattered about. It had been years since he’d visited a public library and he had no idea what to expect, except for an old maid behind the counter and dusty books on the shelf.
Several options for a makeshift disguise presented themselves but he settled on a Gulf War vet with a back injury. His father’s old cane would suffice as a prop and an old baggy, green army issue jacket would complete the ruse. To enhance the look he filled his hands with hair gel and smoothed it through his straight black hair, pulling it back, exposing his forehead and uncovering his ears in the process. Perfect, he had thought, looking in the mirror, and to top it off he pulled a pinch of chewing tobacco from a tin his father had left behind and put it between his cheek and gum.
“Not so bad,” he thought, as the juices filled his mouth and he swallowed.
Big mistake! He couldn’t get to the toilet fast enough and he’d spewed tobacco and his breakfast all over the bathroom floor. It had taken him until almost noon to get things cleaned up and his disguise completed again minus the tobacco. Instead he settled on an old pair of glasses, also left behind by his father, who used them for reading in his later years. They made his eyes look funny in the mirror, kind of magnified and larger than life but he could manage to see through them well enough to get around. The distance vision was poor so he wouldn’t be able to drive with them on but the near acuity was acceptable so he shouldn’t draw any undue attention to himself, especially in a place where everyone would be reading. Before leaving on the appointed mission he stood in front of the mirror admiring the work he’d done.
“Me own mum wouldn’t recognize me,” he uttered under his breath in a funny little accent, and with cane in hand he had headed for the Valdosta Public Library.
Blanche returned to the main lobby of the library to find a donation sign positioned squarely in the middle of the desk with a canister nearby to accept cash and coins. She chuckled lightly before addressing the items filling her ‘to do’ boxes. Seated at the desk she could see a fair portion of the library but failed to see where the green clad fellow had gone.
“Must be upstairs. Hope he didn’t hurt himself,” she thought, returning her attention to the damaged books she was mending with strapping tape on the counter with the assistance of one of the young men from the school program.
She noted that he was having a very difficult time focusing on the project at hand and made a mental note not to wear this sweater again. Too distracting at work but would possibly work wonders under the right circumstances. Once the few mending jobs were completed she excused the young man with the wandering eyes and made her way around the library, checking on the facility and making sure that all was well. The later afternoon patrons tended to be younger and that was the case today. In the far, back corner of the lower level a group of college students were huddled together working on term papers.
Must have been a group project as each appeared to be throwing his or her own ideas into the ring and a cute young redhead was moderating. Blanche approached the group surrounding one of the longer tables, stood at the shorter end and tried to get their attention to no avail. Placing both hands on the flat surface she leaned forward extending her torso closer to the cluster of youth and drummed her nails on the tabletop until they all looked in her direction and stopped talking.
She quietly whispered in a hushed tone, “I know you’re working on something as a group but we’ll need you to keep it down just a bit more than you are now, okay.”
The students responded with a flurry of responses indicating that they understood and would be quieter. A good looking guy sitting next to the redhead must have paid too much attention to the shapely librarian and as Blanche turned to walk away, the redhead gave him a swift elbow in the ribs and a look of scorn for good measure.
Working her way up to the second floor it appeared to be deserted except for a lone patron wearing a green army jacket seated in front of a computer monitor and a stack of books scattered on the table beside him. Blanche's curiosity was peaked so she wandered through the upper level appearing to be busy with adjusting books on shelves, straightening things up as she went, gradually working her way closer to the unusual stranger.
He seemed intent on what he was reading, both on the screen and the books, as he thumbed through them. The curious librarian eventually found herself directly behind him only separated by a bookshelf with his back to her. She quietly slid a handful of books aside and removed a few others to clear a path so that she could see what he was doing. He wouldn’t be the first that they’d had to reprimand for viewing illicit content with a library computer but that was not the case here. She could see the books stacked near him and each appeared to be crime related, Helter Skelter, The Stranger Beside Me, and other popular true crime novels, each with torn pieces of paper holding place throughout the titles.
The individual was also working with a notepad he held on his lap, periodically making notes then returning the pad, out of the view of others that may be passing by. It did not appear he had any idea that Blanche was behind him as he googled ‘bizarre crime stories’ and ‘shocking crime stories’.
“Must be a lover of non-fiction crime genre,” Blanche thought. “I wonder if he could use some direction.”
She left her hiding place and stepped around the end of the shelving unit to stand directly at the side of the stranger. In her most professional librarian whispered voice she said, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
It became readily apparent that he’d had no idea that the librarian was even on the same floor as himself, let alone right next to him. He bounced in the chair as if it had been electrified, sending his notepad skidding across the floor and the mouse cord being yanked from the back of the computer tower. Blanche reacted with a slight giggle but maintained her librarian demeanor in the process.
“I’m so sorry, I thought you knew I was standing next to you,” she lied.
“Holy hell lady, you about gave me a heart attack. You work here or something?” the disheveled reader reasoned.
“Yeah, I’m in charge around here in the evenings. I saw you were looking up some non-fiction material. Is there anything I can help you find?”
“No, I uh, I think I’ve got what I came for but thanks for the offer.” He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander up and down the frame of the attractive librarian.
Blanche looked directly in his eyes through the thick glasses that made his iris's look like large, green saucers. It was somehow strange that he was looking at her but not engaging her eyes directly, however, she couldn’t help but notice when those over-sized saucers looked her up and down, then came to rest back on her face with an approving smile on his lips.
Her curiosity pushed her to say, “I couldn’t help but notice you having some trouble on the steps outside. Did you get hurt?”
“No, just a little stumble was all, ever since I got injured in the Gulf War I’ve had to put up with a bum leg and bent spine.” He hunched over a bit to make his point.
“Oh, I see, sorry to hear that. Is there anything more we can do to make your experience with us more pleasant or comfortable? We love to support our troops both past and present. Will you please let me know if there is anything we can do for you?” she said, in the most pleasing way possible.
His mind was trying to process a thousand things at once. "She's getting too good a look at me, have got to distract her and make an exit. Do I have everything I need to advance our agenda? Is my disguise still holding up? Can’t see very well but don’t remove the glasses. Don’t remove the glasses! Damn this librarian is hot, reminds me of Virginia May, filthy slut. Nothing like what I expected — no dusty shelves and a tasty treat as a librarian. Focus damn it, focus!"
He tried to get his thoughts sorted and his tongue under control before he said something stupid or telling.
“That’s really nice of you but I think I’m finished and I’ll be on my way shortly.” Is what he said but what he was thinking was, “Hell yes, there is something you can do for me, set yourself up here on this table and let’s have a go.” The wicked thought brought a smile to his face as he let that little fantasy play out in his mind, if only for a moment.
“Do you want to take these books with you?” Blanche said, pointing to the pile of books on the table.
“No, I just wanted to take a look through them for now and I don’t have a library card anyway,” he replied.
“We can take care of that if you like, come with me and we’ll get you a card,” she said reassuringly, as she scooped up the books in an effort to help him.
He suddenly thrust out his hand and slammed the books back to the tabletop. Blanche stepped back in shock at his reaction to her assistance and he could tell she was upset.
“Don’t mind me, just don’t like folks helping me if you know what I mean.” Motioning to the cane.
“I see, would you like me to take these and put them away for you?” she said, relaxing a bit but still on her guard.
“I can get it, don’t like to make work for anybody. I’ll just get my things and be on my way.”
He stood using the cane to steady himself and retrieved the notepad from the floor. Blanche, still trying to be helpful, plugged the mouse back in, then instructed the odd character to leave the books on the end of the table and she’d make sure someone put them away. He smiled but she could tell he was determined to clean up the items he’d used and be gone. She retreated to the main desk just as the students were leaving for the day and offered a cheerful goodbye to each as they waved on their way home or elsewhere for the evening. A moment later she could see the hunched over man descending the stairs leading to the foyer. One hand wrapped tightly around the notebook he seemed to prize and the other manipulating the cane as he worked his way down the steps.
She felt a certain degree of pity for him; the sacrifice of those in the service of their country had always held a soft spot in her heart. She had family members who had served and offered the greatest sacrifice of all to defend her freedoms and she respected those that were willing to serve. Her heart filled with appreciation for this crippled individual as she struggled to understand him, if only in a cursory way. He passed by the desk, tipping his eyes to look over the lenses at her, gave her a friendly nod and shuffled toward the exit. A tear came to her eye as she felt true compassion for his plight and that’s when something struck her as unusual, no, different.
Looking at him from this angle it looked like he was holding the cane in his left hand and limping with the right. Her mind flashed back to the image of him climbing the steps earlier. She was sure he had used the cane in the right hand and limped with the left. Watching him carefully now, he stopped at the exit door, tucked the notepad under his left arm and used the right to open the door, leaving the cane in the left. With the door open he returned the notepad to the right and limped his way out the door, dragging the right leg.
“What the hell?” she thought. “It’s not Halloween so what’s this dude’s game?” she mused.
The thought had not completely vanished from her mind before the door swung open and an excited Seymour hustled through it and approached the desk and Blanche.
“Hey Ms. Delaney, how ya doing?” he said, as he tried to catch his breath.
“I’m good Seymour, what’s the rush?” the librarian replied.
“The bus was late so I had to run from the drop off.”
The war vet was still in the back of Blanche’s mind and she asked, “Did you see the guy with the green army jacket before you came in?”
“Yeah, ‘bout ran him over at the bottom of the steps. Why — what’s up?”
“He was in here doing some research and just seemed really weird. I would swear one minute he was using the cane with the right and limping with the left, then when he exited just now, it switched and he was using the cane with the left and dragging the right. Just seems kind of out there to me. Didn’t appreciate me offering him any help either, almost acted like I was stepping on his toes,” she said.
“You offered to help him or something?” Seymour asked.
“Yes, thought I could be helpful seeing how he’s a bit crippled and a vet.”
“That was nice of you. Was he deaf, dumb and blind as well?” he questioned sarcastically.
She laughed, “Why do you think that?”
He continued, “That’s the only thing I can think of that would prevent him from accepting help from the best looking woman in Valdosta.”
“Well Seymour, you’re making me blush, but thanks anyway.”
The outfit Blanche was wearing had not gone unnoticed by Seymour. His pulse continued to be north of 100 beats per minute and not because he’d been running. On the few opportunities he had worked with Blanche he had learned a number of things about himself. Firstly, he had a hard time expressing what he really wanted to say without tripping over his tongue and twisting his thoughts into a jumbled mess before they came out. Blanche had picked up on this and found it somewhat sweet and endearing. Secondly, he found it increasingly difficult to focus when she was around.
He had no illusion that he was infatuated with the beautiful librarian and there was no doubt he loved being around her. She was so pleasant, with such a wonderful listening ear and people skills that were genuine and caring. He was impressed and enchanted with Blanche after watching her interact with the staff and public. Increasingly he found himself thinking about her during the day, at school, losing track of where he was and what he should be doing, but he just didn’t care because the thoughts of her smile and timid laugh made him feel good, right down to his toes.
“What’s the deal with the sign?” he asked, pointing at the donation sign still prominently displayed on the counter.
“Oh that, I almost forgot it was there,” she replied, leaning over the desk to get a better view of the sign and in the process sending Seymour’s heart rate ten percent higher.
“Mrs. Anderson was giving me a hard time about my outfit and thought it would generate a few more bucks for the coffers if we had it on the desk.” She paused, and with a sly grin continued, “What do you think?”
Without saying a word, Seymour pulled his wallet from his back pocket, took a $20 bill and put it into the receptacle. His point made, he kicked himself mentally, “There’s my lunch money for the rest of the week but I think it was worth it.”
“Why thank you my good man,” Blanche said, “Lean over here.” She planted a tender kiss on his cheek, after he leaned in.
Two hours into the shift, Seymour basically had his responsibilities taken care of and was anxious to do some work on the assignment given to him earlier by his instructor, Pink. There had been no further news regarding the photo taken of Thelma or a follow up among the college students and no one had come forward to claim responsibility, but he was fascinated by the prospect that it wasn’t a joke and there perhaps was someone out there that was somewhat disturbed and doing these types of things.
Blanche was seated at the desk looking over a list of books that the local chapter of The Southern Ladies Society had put together and wanted to donate. Some of the titles evaded her recollection but the dates of many were impressive and would add some wonderful flavor to the historical section of the library.
“What’ve you got there?” Seymour asked, stepping around the desk and coming to stand next to Blanche.
“Oh, some ladies want to give us some books and I’m just looking to see which we want and if there are any duplicates we already have on the shelves.” She looked at her watch, “You finished very quickly tonight, is everything done?”
“Yup, hustled my buns so I could work on something, if that’s okay with you.”
“As long as you’ve got everything in order I don’t see any reason why you can’t have some time. What are you working on?”
Seymour took a breath to organize his thoughts so he didn’t sound like a moron and said, “You’re familiar with that weird thing in the paper a week or so ago? The guy in that woman’s house that took the picture of himself?”
She nodded in the affirmative.
“Well, I’m taking a course at the college about criminal deviant behavior and Mrs. Wild, the instructor, wants us to do some research about this type of aberrant behavior and how it can escalate into more troublesome crimes.”
“That sounds really quite interesting. Myself, I’ve never given it much thought, not really my cup of tea but there seems to be quite a bit published and those are some of the books that are checked out most often both here and where I’ve worked in the past.”
Seymour summoned his courage and almost shyly asked, “If you have a few minutes tonight would you mind helping me out? I’m not that great at researching and finding material and I suspect you’re a pro.”
“I don’t know if I’m a pro at anything Seymour, but I’d be happy to help. Why don’t you get started and see what you can come up with and bring what you find here to the front desk and we’ll work on it. Is there anyone else in the library right now?” she asked.
“There’s just some geezer in a lounge chair reading old Life magazines, but that’s it.”
“Good, I’ll be here getting some stuff taken care of while you’re collecting your sources,” she cheerily added.
Seymour thought to himself, “that was much easier than I expected, wish I could come up with something more exciting than looking at old books with me.” Then under his breath as he headed up the stairs he whispered, “at least it’s a start.”
The librarian thought she heard Seymour say something as he trudged up the stairs but couldn’t make it out. He really was cute and she found herself more attracted to him each time they worked together but she just couldn’t get past the age difference, even though it sure didn’t seem to matter to him. It was pretty obvious, to the more seasoned of the two, that he was flirty with her and she undoubtedly was flattered by it, but she just wasn’t sure if it was a big sister kind of caring or something deeper than that. For now, at least in her mind, she decided not to fight it and just take it as it comes, “can’t have too many friends” she thought.
Over the next thirty minutes Miss Delaney watched as Seymour scurried from one shelving unit to another and from one floor to the next, leaving magazines and books at the front desk, as he hurried by without disturbing Blanche with her responsibilities. Several customers entered while he was chasing about but they didn’t seem to care, the place was still very quiet and a little commotion helped to keep some of the patrons from falling asleep in the comfy chairs. Satisfied that he had enough to start with he returned to the main lobby and the pile he had created.
“What do you think?” he said, doing his best Vanna White impersonation and waving his hand in front of the books.
“Looks like you’re going to be spending the night. That’s a lot of material,” she said, scanning the books.
She picked up the top couple of books, looked them over, flipping to the inner front cover and reading the synopsis. She did the same with one of the magazines, noting that it was from the 60’s. Looking through the items Seymour had collected it dawned on her that she’d seen several of these already tonight.
“Seymour, is there a chance that the guy you ran into outside tonight is in your class at school, the deviant behavior class?”
“No, why? I know all the students by face if not by name and he’s definitely not in that course. Is something wrong?” he asked, with a hushed tone.
“No, I’m sure not, but it’s just kind of a strange coincidence that the books he had pulled and was researching are almost exactly the same ones you’ve got sitting before us,” she said, trying to wrap her head around a possible explanation.
“He probably saw the same thing in the paper and wanted to have a look just like your teacher suggested for you to do. No big deal, I just find it rather odd, especially considering his behavior.”
“Yeah, well, nothing we can really do about it, right?” Seymour indicated, pulling a chair up before the reading material and as close as he dared to Blanche.
They both jumped in looking for common behaviors and threads making their own lists to compare later on to see if they had any similarities. Blanche was intrigued by some of the names and crimes she was reading about and she found herself periodically looking up from the information, half expecting to see a madman run through the entryway with a chainsaw buzzing overhead. Feeling increasingly uneasy, the librarian inched a bit closer to Seymour as they did the research, finding comfort in the touch of his arm and thigh.
Seymour had heard about many of the figures he was finding in the readings but knew just bits and pieces about them. He had no idea there were so many crazed killers and nut jobs running around the streets of America, but here was proof before him that truth was absolutely more bizarre than fiction. As they both moved from one bit of information to the next their lists increased, looking for things that were common among serial rapists, killers and the like. What was it about their upbringing, their early crimes, the escalation in their patterns that were similar and their overall psyche?
The criminology student had noted as well that Blanche was much closer than when they started and he was not sure if it was flirtation or fear, as he was also feeling a bit on edge after reading some of the more detailed killing sprees. In either case, he was enjoying the moment and the wonderful smell that was permeating the space between and the light touch of her leg against his was almost more than he could take. He hoped she hadn’t noticed the goose bumps on his arms and the hair standing straight up, as she was certainly having an affect on him like no other woman had before.
Just before closing and after they searched the library for any couples making out in the bathroom or any old timers sleeping the night away, they compared notes and found some commonalities which Seymour highlighted and condensed to the following list:
Bed-wetting
Animal Cruelty (Sadistic behavior in general)
Arson
(Triad above forms a triad of events that may be experienced as a child)
Sadistic daydreaming as a child with a violent twist.
“I’m just a little freaked out after looking at all that stuff tonight, how ‘bout you?” Blanche asked.
“Nah, but I’ll bet I have strange dreams, that’s if I can sleep. Hope I don’t wake up with some nut standing over me taking pictures of himself in my mom’s bra and panties. Eee Gad, just the thought of that makes me nauseous. Come on, I’ll walk you to the bus and ride with you to your stop and make sure you get home okay.”
“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said.
“Listen Blanche, after the day you’ve had I’d be a jerk not to make sure you get home safe and sound.”
The pair left the library, walked toward the stop and talked of anything but serial killers and deviants. A short distance away and parked obscurely at the end of a service lane a grey van sat, engine idling, and the driver taking pictures of the strolling couple with an expensive high powered telephoto lens. The photographer was already imagining what the librarian’s pictures would look like added to his growing collection.