(no subject)
Title:WIP#3 pt. 1
Genre: "Urban Fantasy" a la Anita Blake... only not, at all
Characters: Collin
Word Count: 1614
Rating: up to R
Summary:
The door opened stiffly, the weight of real wood and etched glass straining the old hinges. I wrinkled my nose at the strong scent of air conditioning. It overpowered the small foyer of the library, a building just as old as the doors suggested. I balanced the two styrofoam coffee cups I held on top of each other as I entered. I glanced half heartedly at the bulletin board mounted perilously against the old bricks of the left wall. It rarely changed, but it didn't hurt to look.
A patch of fluorescent pink caught my attention. Odd, I thought, the PTA-Mom types that usually made use of the board tended to go for pastels. “Baltic High School Poetry Club” it proclaimed in large swirling letters beside a picture of a classic swashbuckling pirate, the local high school's mascot. He looked considerably less intimidating in the neon pink. I made note of the supposed meeting day and reminded myself not to be here.
The wrought brass handle to the main building was chilled from the excessive amount of air conditioning in the foyer. A shiver crawled its way up my spine at the touch of the cold metal, causing me to hesitate slightly. I shook off the chill, ignoring it. The front of my pale hair escaped from the high ponytail that held it away from my face fine silvery wisps floating in front of my eyes. Blowing an irritated breath at my hair, I pulled the door back and abruptly regretted it.
The sharp chemical scent of the A/C was immediately drowned in the heavy smell of fresh death. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to stop myself from gagging. It was unexpected and I was caught off guard, nearly dropping the coffee in my surprise. I breathed carefully, shallow breaths through the fabric of my T-shirt, now pulled up to cover my nose and mouth. Even so, the stench of burned flesh and blood made the air nauseatingly thick. I paused inside the door, carefully taking in my surroundings.
It helped that I was as familiar with the library as I was, it made identifying peculiarities easier. The interior of the library was furnished in a style reminiscent of the years of the building’s birth, something from the nineteenth century and screaming of southern plantations despite the northern location of the small township. Much of the furniture, from the comfortably worn armchairs to the wooden tables whose varnish had long since been stripped away, was done in dark colors accented with blues and greens. It was a harbor town and the people took pride in it.
Most of the wood was of a light finish, walnut or oak I wasn’t sure which. The lightly colored wood contrasted sharply with the dark carpeting, but sections of pale blue-grey berber edged the halls, interupting the deep blue plush. A sizeable alcove just to my right may have once been a conservatory, now the glass walls and ceiling surrounded a sitting area. Book clubs and the like often met there, and the regulars would sit and chat. A tattered black leather armchair circa 1970 resided in one corner with a small table beside it. I smiled fondly at the old chair, it was my favorite.
Across from the alcove were shelves and stands with periodicals and newspapers, all of the current stuff of course. The building itself was an L shape. The corner to the left, past the reception desk, housed the children’s area. The hall that extended nearly straight ahead of the doors, only slightly to the left, ran down to the reference section as well as a few group study rooms.
This early in the morning there would only be one librarian on duty so it was no surprise that the large desk to the left of the door was unoccupied. But with this nauseating smell of death I was suddenly fearful. I took another step into the quiet of the library and shuddered again. It was not only death that hung in the air, but the lingering hum of magic as well. My eyes widened and I was suddenly on higher alert.
It was the magic that pricked the hair on my arms and made my pale skin flush with goosebumps. Power lingered here raw and unfettered, it would be enough to make a lesser being dizzy with the strength of it. Who would waste this much power? I shivered slightly at the thought of it.
“Miriam?” I called out my voice hoarse with the effort not to vomit. Silence. I glanced behind the desk. No Miriam. Carefully I set down both her coffee cup and mine before moving forward so I could see down the hall to the right, into the fiction area. Nothing seemed amiss. Leaning to the left to look down towards the group study I noticed some of the flourescent lights flickering ominously and a cart of books that was sitting in the middle of the hall. I made my way down the hall, my steps wary. The small study rooms, all of which were fronted with glass, were empty and dark. I continued along to the back wall, casting my gaze down the rows of books.
“Miriam?” I called again, not expecting to find her, not alive anyway. The smell was stronger here and a chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the A/C. Magic hung over the large room like a blanket of negative energy, probably that had been what blew the lights bulbs. In the dim light it was nearly impossible to differentiate too much of what may have happened. I did notice gaps in the shelving where it looked as though large sections of books had been taken as though their captors had been in too much of a hurry to bother looking at the books.
The light was brighter at the back were more windows looked over the small patch of shoreline. Not too much brighter though, it was a dull grey light, the kind we get on feeble mornings before storms blow in off the vast expanse of Lake Superior. Before I reached the back wall, however, I heard a quiet squelching sound, almost inaudible over the buzz of the A/C.
The black carpet with its flecks of blue and teal was saturated with blood. I lifted my sandals carefully off of the wet carpeting, gentling my steps to avoid spattering any blood. Gods, The carpet was still wet. Probably a side effect of the AC being on so high, a part of me observed with detatchment. The rational portion of my mind told me to turn around. That same part that noticed the A/C wanted, nay, needed to know what had happened; to see it with my own eyes.
I looked down at the dark carpet, gleaming wetly in the grey morning light. Another step and my sandals would be covered with far worse than just blood. I cautiously took one more step, peering around the last shelving unit. Her body sprawled the length of the aisle flesh torn, even burnt in some places. Her old frail bones piercing the skin and sending blood to spray the walls and bookshelves. The blood droplets glistened like rubies when the light flickered, the drops small and round and perfect on the walls as if frozen there before they could drip. Not frozen I realized, once again noting the burnt flesh. Burned… carmalized onto the walls. If I reached out to touch the little glittering gems of blood would they be smooth like polished stones?
I shook my head, hard, dispeling the covetous thoughts. I turned my gaze back to the floor where Miriam’s body lay, taking up a larger expanse than I would’ve thought possible for the tiny woman. The precise drops made it look as though there was less blood than I knew there to be. The ceiling and rear wall had a thick spray and the Biographies of the last portion of the alphabet would all be useless. That’s when I realized the disturbing lack of books on the last unit. The back wall was merely that. On the opposite side of Miriam the shelf, a good twelve feet long, was nearly bare, a mere smattering of books on the blood clogged shelves.
When I realized precisely what section it was that had been purloined I chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the A/C. I turned making my way back to Miriam's desk. This was very bad and there was no getting around the need for the police but there were others that would need to be informed of this ere the blood was put on my own hands. I leaned over, picking up the shiny black handset. The buttons glowed blue as it left its cradle. I punched out 911.
The voice that answered was barely recognizable as female, age and tobacco giving it a harsh edge. “911 what is your emergency?” I swallowed thickly, trying to find my voice through the stench of death that permeated the library.
“Yes, I'm at the Baltic city library. There’s been a murder.” The woman didn’t miss a beat, likely she didn’t even know where Baltic City was. “Alright sir. I have that address as…” there was a pause while she waited on her computer to respond. She rattled off the address quickly and I confirmed it. “I have police on the way. Can I get your name sir?” I hesitated for only a moment before responding with the name I had adopted for more than the last half century.
“Collin Locke.”
Genre: "Urban Fantasy" a la Anita Blake... only not, at all
Characters: Collin
Word Count: 1614
Rating: up to R
Summary:
The door opened stiffly, the weight of real wood and etched glass straining the old hinges. I wrinkled my nose at the strong scent of air conditioning. It overpowered the small foyer of the library, a building just as old as the doors suggested. I balanced the two styrofoam coffee cups I held on top of each other as I entered. I glanced half heartedly at the bulletin board mounted perilously against the old bricks of the left wall. It rarely changed, but it didn't hurt to look.
A patch of fluorescent pink caught my attention. Odd, I thought, the PTA-Mom types that usually made use of the board tended to go for pastels. “Baltic High School Poetry Club” it proclaimed in large swirling letters beside a picture of a classic swashbuckling pirate, the local high school's mascot. He looked considerably less intimidating in the neon pink. I made note of the supposed meeting day and reminded myself not to be here.
The wrought brass handle to the main building was chilled from the excessive amount of air conditioning in the foyer. A shiver crawled its way up my spine at the touch of the cold metal, causing me to hesitate slightly. I shook off the chill, ignoring it. The front of my pale hair escaped from the high ponytail that held it away from my face fine silvery wisps floating in front of my eyes. Blowing an irritated breath at my hair, I pulled the door back and abruptly regretted it.
The sharp chemical scent of the A/C was immediately drowned in the heavy smell of fresh death. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to stop myself from gagging. It was unexpected and I was caught off guard, nearly dropping the coffee in my surprise. I breathed carefully, shallow breaths through the fabric of my T-shirt, now pulled up to cover my nose and mouth. Even so, the stench of burned flesh and blood made the air nauseatingly thick. I paused inside the door, carefully taking in my surroundings.
It helped that I was as familiar with the library as I was, it made identifying peculiarities easier. The interior of the library was furnished in a style reminiscent of the years of the building’s birth, something from the nineteenth century and screaming of southern plantations despite the northern location of the small township. Much of the furniture, from the comfortably worn armchairs to the wooden tables whose varnish had long since been stripped away, was done in dark colors accented with blues and greens. It was a harbor town and the people took pride in it.
Most of the wood was of a light finish, walnut or oak I wasn’t sure which. The lightly colored wood contrasted sharply with the dark carpeting, but sections of pale blue-grey berber edged the halls, interupting the deep blue plush. A sizeable alcove just to my right may have once been a conservatory, now the glass walls and ceiling surrounded a sitting area. Book clubs and the like often met there, and the regulars would sit and chat. A tattered black leather armchair circa 1970 resided in one corner with a small table beside it. I smiled fondly at the old chair, it was my favorite.
Across from the alcove were shelves and stands with periodicals and newspapers, all of the current stuff of course. The building itself was an L shape. The corner to the left, past the reception desk, housed the children’s area. The hall that extended nearly straight ahead of the doors, only slightly to the left, ran down to the reference section as well as a few group study rooms.
This early in the morning there would only be one librarian on duty so it was no surprise that the large desk to the left of the door was unoccupied. But with this nauseating smell of death I was suddenly fearful. I took another step into the quiet of the library and shuddered again. It was not only death that hung in the air, but the lingering hum of magic as well. My eyes widened and I was suddenly on higher alert.
It was the magic that pricked the hair on my arms and made my pale skin flush with goosebumps. Power lingered here raw and unfettered, it would be enough to make a lesser being dizzy with the strength of it. Who would waste this much power? I shivered slightly at the thought of it.
“Miriam?” I called out my voice hoarse with the effort not to vomit. Silence. I glanced behind the desk. No Miriam. Carefully I set down both her coffee cup and mine before moving forward so I could see down the hall to the right, into the fiction area. Nothing seemed amiss. Leaning to the left to look down towards the group study I noticed some of the flourescent lights flickering ominously and a cart of books that was sitting in the middle of the hall. I made my way down the hall, my steps wary. The small study rooms, all of which were fronted with glass, were empty and dark. I continued along to the back wall, casting my gaze down the rows of books.
“Miriam?” I called again, not expecting to find her, not alive anyway. The smell was stronger here and a chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the A/C. Magic hung over the large room like a blanket of negative energy, probably that had been what blew the lights bulbs. In the dim light it was nearly impossible to differentiate too much of what may have happened. I did notice gaps in the shelving where it looked as though large sections of books had been taken as though their captors had been in too much of a hurry to bother looking at the books.
The light was brighter at the back were more windows looked over the small patch of shoreline. Not too much brighter though, it was a dull grey light, the kind we get on feeble mornings before storms blow in off the vast expanse of Lake Superior. Before I reached the back wall, however, I heard a quiet squelching sound, almost inaudible over the buzz of the A/C.
The black carpet with its flecks of blue and teal was saturated with blood. I lifted my sandals carefully off of the wet carpeting, gentling my steps to avoid spattering any blood. Gods, The carpet was still wet. Probably a side effect of the AC being on so high, a part of me observed with detatchment. The rational portion of my mind told me to turn around. That same part that noticed the A/C wanted, nay, needed to know what had happened; to see it with my own eyes.
I looked down at the dark carpet, gleaming wetly in the grey morning light. Another step and my sandals would be covered with far worse than just blood. I cautiously took one more step, peering around the last shelving unit. Her body sprawled the length of the aisle flesh torn, even burnt in some places. Her old frail bones piercing the skin and sending blood to spray the walls and bookshelves. The blood droplets glistened like rubies when the light flickered, the drops small and round and perfect on the walls as if frozen there before they could drip. Not frozen I realized, once again noting the burnt flesh. Burned… carmalized onto the walls. If I reached out to touch the little glittering gems of blood would they be smooth like polished stones?
I shook my head, hard, dispeling the covetous thoughts. I turned my gaze back to the floor where Miriam’s body lay, taking up a larger expanse than I would’ve thought possible for the tiny woman. The precise drops made it look as though there was less blood than I knew there to be. The ceiling and rear wall had a thick spray and the Biographies of the last portion of the alphabet would all be useless. That’s when I realized the disturbing lack of books on the last unit. The back wall was merely that. On the opposite side of Miriam the shelf, a good twelve feet long, was nearly bare, a mere smattering of books on the blood clogged shelves.
When I realized precisely what section it was that had been purloined I chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the A/C. I turned making my way back to Miriam's desk. This was very bad and there was no getting around the need for the police but there were others that would need to be informed of this ere the blood was put on my own hands. I leaned over, picking up the shiny black handset. The buttons glowed blue as it left its cradle. I punched out 911.
The voice that answered was barely recognizable as female, age and tobacco giving it a harsh edge. “911 what is your emergency?” I swallowed thickly, trying to find my voice through the stench of death that permeated the library.
“Yes, I'm at the Baltic city library. There’s been a murder.” The woman didn’t miss a beat, likely she didn’t even know where Baltic City was. “Alright sir. I have that address as…” there was a pause while she waited on her computer to respond. She rattled off the address quickly and I confirmed it. “I have police on the way. Can I get your name sir?” I hesitated for only a moment before responding with the name I had adopted for more than the last half century.
“Collin Locke.”