Chapter 79: One who’s watching
The countdown continued to tick in the corner of my vision.
23:41:11
23:41:10
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t distracting.
It simply existed, as though the System wanted to ensure I never forgot that someone else was moving through the city at the same moment I was.
I looked down at the brass key resting in my palm.
It had become warmer.
Not hot enough to burn.
Just warm enough that I could no longer convince myself it was ordinary metal.
I slid it into my pocket and looked out of the apartment window once more.
The memorial still stood beneath the old oak tree.
Silent.
Unmoving.
The flowers beneath Margaret Holloway’s name swayed gently in the evening breeze.
Everything appeared perfectly normal.
Yet Detective Hale had seen nothing except an empty stretch of grass.
I closed the curtains.
Something about leaving the memorial in my sight felt wrong, as though looking at it for too long would eventually cause it to look back.
The thought should have sounded ridiculous.
Instead, it felt inevitable.
The notebook suddenly flipped open by itself.
No wind.
No movement.
Its pages turned slowly this time instead of all at once.
One.
Two.
Three.
Until they stopped near the middle.
Fresh ink spread across the paper.
Not words.
A drawing.
At first I thought it was another map.
Then I realised it was a floor plan.
A long corridor lined with tall shelves.
A circular room at the far end.
A single door stood opposite the entrance.
Beneath the sketch appeared three handwritten words.
Eastbridge Central Library.
I frowned.
The city library?
I had expected something hidden beneath another abandoned building.
Not one of the busiest places in the city.
Another sentence appeared.
The lock remembers.
The building does not.
The notebook snapped shut.
A quiet knock echoed through my apartment.
Three knocks.
Exactly three.
My entire body tensed.
The same rhythm Elias had used.
Slowly, I approached the door.
I looked through the peephole.
Nobody.
The hallway was empty.
I waited several seconds before opening the door.
Still no one.
Only a small envelope lay on the floor outside.
Unlike the last one, this envelope was white.
Perfectly clean.
My name had been written across the front.
Not Adrian Cross.
Simply...
Witness.
I looked both ways down the corridor.
Empty.
No footsteps.
No closing doors.
Nothing.
I carried the envelope inside and locked the door again.
Inside was a single library borrowing card.
Yellow with age.
The stamp at the top read:
Eastbridge Central Library
Borrower’s Name:
Elias Ashcroft
The issue date had faded almost completely.
Only the year remained visible.
1988.
Below that was a handwritten note.
Never return the last book.
My pulse quickened.
No title.
No call number.
Nothing identifying which book Elias had borrowed.
Only that cryptic instruction.
A vibration interrupted my thoughts.
This time it wasn’t my phone.
It came from the brass key.
I pulled it from my pocket.
Tiny vibrations travelled through the metal like a heartbeat.
They stopped after only a few seconds.
Then the key pointed.
Not literally.
But instinctively.
As though every part of me suddenly knew exactly where it wanted to go.
The library.
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes I dreamed of shelves.
Infinite shelves stretching into darkness.
Books without titles.
People walking silently between them carrying candles instead of flashlights.
None of them had faces.
Only blank shadows where their features should have been.
Whenever one of them passed me, another book disappeared from the shelves.
Not removed.
Forgotten.
I woke before dawn with my heart racing.
The notebook lay open on my bedside table.
I didn’t remember opening it.
Across the page were seven words.
Someone entered while you were sleeping.
I immediately searched the apartment.
Bedroom.
Kitchen.
Bathroom.
Closets.
Nothing had been disturbed.
The windows remained locked.
The front door was still secured from the inside.
No signs of forced entry.
Nothing missing.
Yet something felt different.
My backpack.
It had been resting beside the desk before I went to bed.
Now it stood beside the apartment door.
I knew exactly where I had left it.
I always did.
I slowly unzipped it.
The photograph Elias had given me was gone.
In its place rested another photograph.
This one was newer.
Colour instead of black and white.
It showed the interior of Eastbridge Central Library.
Rows of bookshelves.
Study tables.
Students reading.
At first nothing seemed unusual.
Then I recognised myself.
I stood near the history section wearing yesterday’s clothes.
Except...
I’d never been there.
Someone had photographed me inside the library before I had ever entered it.
I turned the photograph over.
A familiar sentence had been written on the back.
You’re already late.
By eight o’clock I was standing outside the academy waiting for Noah.
He arrived carrying two coffees.
"You look worse than yesterday."
"I don’t think I slept."
"I know the feeling."
He handed me one of the cups.
"What happened?"
I hesitated before showing him the photograph.
He studied it carefully.
"When was this taken?"
"I don’t know."
"You’ve never been here?"
I shook my head.
He looked at the back.
His expression darkened.
"’You’re already late.’"
"What does that even mean?"
"I wish I knew."
Noah looked toward the city centre.
"The library opens in forty minutes."
I stared at him.
"You were thinking the same thing."
"I was."
"How?"
He reached into his satchel and removed an old photocopy.
It was a newspaper article.
The headline immediately caught my attention.
Historic Library Renovation Begins.
Date:
May 1989.
"What am I looking at?"
"Read the article."
I scanned it quickly.
The renovation had lasted only three weeks.
Officially, the workers had replaced damaged flooring beneath the history wing.
Nothing unusual.
Until I reached the final paragraph.
Construction was briefly halted after workers reported discovering an undocumented stone chamber beneath the eastern archive. City officials later dismissed the report as a misunderstanding involving old utility tunnels.
I looked up.
"The chamber."
Noah nodded.
"I checked city records this morning."
"And?"
"They’ve been edited."
"What do you mean?"
"The newspaper still mentions the chamber."
"But the official renovation report doesn’t."
"The engineers’ notes don’t."
"The architectural plans don’t."
"It’s as though..."
He smiled bitterly.
"...someone forgot to erase the newspaper."
I felt the notebook pressing lightly against my back inside my bag.
Pieces.
Scattered pieces.
The warehouse.
The memorial.
Now the library.
Each one preserved part of something the rest of the city had forgotten.
A police car pulled to the curb beside us.
Detective Hale stepped out looking even more exhausted than the previous day.
Without greeting us, he held up a thin folder.
"I found something."
He opened it.
Inside was a personnel photograph.
Library employee.
Archive Department.
Year employed:
1988.
The man in the picture smiled calmly at the camera.
Silver hair.
Dark overcoat.
Unchanged by time.
Lucien.
Hale looked between Noah and me.
"He worked at the library for eight months."
"Then resigned."
"No resignation letter."
"No employment records after that."
"No forwarding address."
"No identification documents."
He closed the folder.
"I interviewed the only librarian still alive from that period."
"What did they say?" Noah asked.
Hale’s expression became strangely distant.
"They don’t remember meeting him."
"But..."
"They remember missing him after he left."
None of us spoke.
How could someone miss a man they couldn’t remember?
Hale looked towards the city skyline where the old library stood above the surrounding buildings.
"The library opens in thirty minutes."
He slipped the photograph back into the folder.
"I don’t believe in coincidence anymore."
"Neither do I."
I looked at the brass key in my pocket.
It had begun vibrating again.
Stronger this time.
As if whatever lock it belonged to...
Had just realised I was finally on my way.