Prologue
Murray
My shadow falls overthe photocopier. The young man using it looks over his shoulder.
“Sorry, mate. I’ll just be a sec...” he says nervously.
He looks at me. One curl of my lip would send him scurrying out of my way, but that’s not me now. That’s Old Murray. New Murray realizes this is a public library, nods and says, “No worries.”
No worries?
I sigh.
What the hell has happened to me?
I rest my backside on the table behind me. I turn over the envelope in my hand, staring at the scarlet postage stamp from the local sheriff court.
“Young man!”
The words prick at the edges of my consciousness.
“Young man!”
It takes me a second to realize that the librarian is talking to me. Or rather, screeching at me.
She glowers at me, her pupils circles of glinting steel behind her stoutly framed glasses. If she is pleased to have obtained my attention, she does not allow her face to display it.
“Yes, you, young man!” she squawks. “Get off that table.”
I look down.
“I’m not—” I begin but think better of it. “My apologies, madam,” I offer.
“Yes, well, take more care in future. We can’t just go lounging on public furniture like that. It is there for everyone to use.”
Old Murray would not have stood there and been scolded like a schoolboy. I’m in my forties, for goodness’ sake. But New Murray holds his hands wide.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more...aware...next time.”
“Well, we would all appreciate that very much. Thank you.”
She purses her lips together and bustles off to the reception desk, where she releases some of her ire by stamping some books vigorously.
Her colleague asks her a question and the librarian answers without lifting her head. The colleague looks over at me, frowning at first, but when she catches my eye, her face breaks into a small smile. She gives me a tiny shake of her head, then turns back toward the librarian. Whatever she says to the older woman works, because the librarian’s cardigan-clad shoulders fall from her ears and she stops stamping the books quite so heavily.
I watch as the colleague goes about her business. She’s petite, with curves for days, and soft, rose-pink lips. Her white shirt struggles to contain her full bust and gapes slightly as she leans forward. I should look away—I try to look away—but my eyes are drawn to the wiggle of her hips in her black pencil skirt as she busies herself stacking books onto a cart.
She crouches, slotting books onto the cart’s bottom shelf, and my cock stirs at the perfect roundness of her bum. I imagine taking her soft cheeks in my hands, hearing her moan as I knead them...
“All done, mate.”
I blink, dragging my attention back to the man using the photocopier. I nod, barely noticing as he gathers his papers and takes his leave. I shake my head, fighting to gather my thoughts.
I grimace as I open the envelope and pull out the document. I lay it face down on the glass plate of the copier.
I need to focus. I’ve got a new life to build.
I stare at the copier, neglecting to close the lid as my document copies, noticing only when my eyes protest at the brilliant light.I look away, wincing at the burning in my retinas. As my vision slowly returns to normal, I see the librarian dump a pile of books into her colleague’s outstretched arms. The librarian dictator says something that makes her colleague frown. The crease of her brow stirs something in my chest.
Maybe Old Murray isn’t completely dead after all.
I grit my teeth.
No.
I want to change.
I have changed.
I grab my copy, flip the photocopier lid shut, and leave the library.
I don’t look back.