Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
RAVEN
“ A nd here’s the last one: Martial Arts for Dummies .” I pass the book to the gentle older woman.
“Thank you, dear,” she says softly and adds it to the stack in her frail arms. Her neck is craned forward, and her shoulders are hunched. Her delicate sweater practically swallows her whole.
“Do you need any help carrying those out to your car?” I offer.
She quirks a brow at me. “I may be old, but I’m not dead.” Giving me her back, she walks slower than a sloth to the circulation desk to check out her new books.
I chuckle at her sass.
She showed up earlier and asked for all the books we had on “kicking ass.” Her words, not mine. I happily looked up the list of books in our system and pulled them for her. Normally, Florence would have helped the woman, but Florence is at a doctor’s appointment.
After scanning the woman’s books, she takes the stack and is on her merry way. Possibly to kick some ass.
I’d pay to see that.
My mind drifts to yesterday at The Wandering Raven and what Griffin and I did in the kitchen.
I still can’t believe we did that, but I can’t find it in me to regret it either.
A book drops on the counter in front of me, causing me to almost jump out of my seat. “I’d like to check this one out, please.”
Every inch of my skin becomes hyperaware, and my hands form fists on my lap. My nails create crescent indentations on my palm as I restrain myself from grabbing Dr. Whitlock’s collar and slamming his face against the desk.
A false smile curves my lips, and I control my tone. “I can help you with that.” I slide the book and his library card closer then begin the process.
“How’s your son?”
The vein at my temple pulses with my rushing blood.
“Great,” I reply, adding phony politeness in my voice.
Dr. Whitlock doesn’t take note of the vibrating rage sweating out of my pores. “Florence told me you’re new here. How are you liking Mystic River?”
“Just fine,” I answer, as I finish with the computer and slide the card and book back to him.
He picks it up while staring at me. “You know, you look familiar.”
The lie rolls off my tongue with ease. “I get that a lot.”
“You remind me of?—”
“Have a nice day,” I cut him off, dismissing him in a backhanded way that southern women do.
He glares but thankfully picks up on the hint and leaves.
A whoosh of air exits my lungs when he’s finally out of sight. I’m going to have to avoid Dr. Whitlock from now on. He was about to recognize me, and that would ruin everything.
The electronic bell on the front door chimes, and a man who looks like he’s had a rough go of it enters.
His pants look like scrubs, and his upper body is covered in a hoodie.
The front pocket is full, and whatever he has in there, it’s heavy.
I can practically see his skull with the way the skin on his face hugs every bone.
He looks like he hasn’t had a proper meal in years.
His profile looks familiar. As if I know him, but that’s impossible. There’s no way he could have gotten out.
Patting his pockets, his eyes jump all over, but when he catches sight of me, he flexes his fingers and doesn’t look away.
“Seth?” I whisper in disbelief.
The bags under his bloodshot eyes are dark and heavy. He runs one of his hands over the buzzed hair on his head. His mouth moves, but he’s too far away for me to hear what he’s saying.
He pulls something the size of his fist out of his pocket and stomps right for me.
I roll my chair backward until I hit the wall, while the man brings his hands together, and a small click meets my ears when he parts his hands again.
Then, with excellent aim, he tosses the fist-sized thing in his hand at me.
It lands on the floor at my feet with a small thump and a roll. The object is dark green and has grid impressions over the whole thing.
It’s like something straight out of a movie. I don’t have time to think. Only act.
Kicking the object toward the desk, I take off as fast as I can. Before I can warn the other people in the library, the circulation desk explodes. The force knocks me off my feet, and I fall onto the unforgiving carpet. Bits of laminate, wires, and plastic rain down on my back.
To say the library turns into chaos would be inaccurate. Screams and cries toll around me. Moms escape with their small children out of the exits with other patrons right behind them on their heels.
But above the wailing, a tune whistles in the air. Searching for the source of the melody, I groan. My body aches from the grenade explosion.
Seth leisurely strolls toward me and sings a nursery rhyme, but it doesn’t sound quite right.
“Hickory Dickory Doc,
The girl got hit by a rock.
The clock struck one,
The girl ran off,
Hickory Dickory Doc.”
Flipping on my back, I crab walk backward as fast as I can. A full smile takes over Seth’s face as he tracks my movements. The red surrounding the irises of his eyes gets bigger as he reaches into his pocket again.
“Hickory Dickory Doc,
The madman threw the rock.
He scared them off,
Got her alone,
Hickory Dickory Doc.”
I jump to my feet and run for the emergency exit in the adult fiction section. When I hear that same click, I know I only have moments before another explosion. The grenade whizzes by me and lands right in front of the exit door.
Making a sharp turn in the opposite direction toward the computers doesn’t protect me from the blast. I’m knocked off my feet again, but this time I land on all fours. More debris hits me then a heavy wooden shelf gets me right in my lower back.
The stench of smoke invades my nostrils, but the alarm doesn’t go off. I know exactly where the extinguisher is, but I don’t think I can get to it with Seth chasing me and fucking throwing grenades all over the place.
Hopping to my feet, I face him and defensively raise my hands. “Seth,” I plead with him. “It’s me. It’s Raven.” But my appeal falls on deaf ears.
He approaches me and whips out his hand to grab mine.
His hand is cold and feeble. His fingers are like thin bands of steel digging into my hand.
With a strength I didn’t think possible, he applies pressure, and an agonizing pop jolts up my arm.
I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out in pain.
I pull at his wrist with my free hand, attempting to get him to let go, but he doesn’t budge.
“Please, Seth,” I try again. “Remember me? I gave you my vanilla pudding.” It was only one time, but I’m praying he recalls the gift.
It’s like my words don’t register whatsoever. The deranged smile is still plastered on his face as he reaches back into the front pouch of his hoodie.
No, no, no. I’m not dying here like this.
With my free hand, I stiffen my palm and thrust upward at his face.
The flat of my hand connects with his nose, and a reverberating crunch rings out.
The force of my hit whips Seth’s head to the side, throwing him back.
He lets go of my injured hand, and I take off for the children’s section.
Crouching down behind the last row of books, I look around, forming a plan in my head.
Maybe I can just run for the front door. I’m not sure where Seth is, but I need to get out of here. Who knows how many more grenades he has on him.
Whistling continues and gets closer. Another click, another bang. This time, coming from the entrance to the library.
“Hickory Dickory Doc,
The girl stopped the rock.
The clock struck two,
The girl ran off,
Hickory Dickory Doc.”
A chill trickles down my spine. The lyrics of the remixed nursery rhyme feel like a message; however, decoding it will have to wait. But the “got her alone” line makes my stomach turn into a tight ball.
I can get through this. I just need to make it to an exit. If I find an exit, I’ll be okay.
There’s a clank against the windows, and a few moments later, the glass shatters into tiny pieces, shooting in every direction. Tucking my face into my knees, I cover the back of my head with my hands.
My jaw clenches when a sharp object slices through my hand. A thick, warm liquid dribbles through my hair and down my neck. When I peek up, I find a piece of glass sticking out of my broken hand.
Seth’s whistling resumes, now closer than before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. His shoes appear at the end of the aisle. He stops, easily spotting me on the ground. His nose is crooked, and blood flows over his lips, down his chin, and drips onto the floor.
The expression on his face is positively giddy. When he smiles this time, his teeth are covered in red.
“Hickory Dickory Doc,
The madman gave me the rock.
The room was blown,
Got her alone,
Hickory Dickory Doc.”
My limbs shake, and my breath gets trapped in my lungs.
“Freeze! Texas Rangers!” Two men in white dress shirts, slacks, and cowboy hats stand on both thresholds that lead into the children’s section. Their feet are planted and both men have a gun raised at Seth, but he doesn’t pay either of them any attention.
“I said, freeze!” the one on my right orders.
Seth pulls out another grenade, and each ranger acts fast. Seth stumbles backward with each bullet that pierces his body. When he is riddled with bullet holes, he falls backward onto the child-sized bean bag.
One ranger cautiously approaches the body, his gun still fixed on Seth, and the other rushes to my side. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?”
But I can’t move. I can’t speak. All I can do is stare down at the bleeding body of the man who used to be a scared boy. A patient of Mystic River Psychiatric Hospital.