Chapter 3
Nora
I t’s been a week since my watcher spoke to me.
In the time since, he hasn’t approached me again, but he doesn’t seem to mind if I see him standing in the shadows, observing.
That’s the strange thing, I thought after he dared to come into the library then that would be it. But he’s still there… watching.
As a result, I eagerly volunteered to work the day shift today. I don’t want to lose my nights alone in the comfort of the library, but logic also tells me that I should change up my routine. Hopefully, my stalker will grow tired and find someone else to watch.
The library is busy today. My colleague, Mike, and I have been rushed off our feet. I’m tidying up after just finishing story time in the kid’s corner when he comes over, holding a steaming cup of tea.
“Thanks,” I say gratefully, taking it from him and warming my hands with it.
Winter’s approaching and there’s a distinct bite to the fall air. Even with the heating on, the large, drafty library never manages to get warm enough for my liking. I grew up on the Golden Coast where snow was a freak cold snap rather than a regular occurrence.
“How did story time go?” Mike asks me, sipping his own cup of tea.
“It was good. The kids were hyped up but aren’t they always?” I say with an indulgent smile.
“You’re good with them,” he says, looking at me with the gooey eyes of someone imagining me as a mother.
I like kids; they’re innocent, safe. They say what they’re thinking, and they rarely have ulterior motives beyond trying to get candy or stay up late.
That being said, I don’t know if I’ll ever have children on my own.
You need to find a man for that, and I can’t picture myself ever finding someone I love and feel safe with.
“That’s because I get to hand them back over to their folks after an hour. I’ll pick my cat over kids any day,” I joke.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” Mike asks hopefully.
Mike and I work largely similar shifts in the week, with me finishing later than him, and more often than not we get weekends off while the older part-time workers or high schoolers take the weekend shifts.
He’s been subtly trying to ask me out for a while now, but I always rebuff his advances no matter how innocent.
I like him as a friend and I don’t mind hanging out occasionally, but that’s as far as it goes.
I know he wants to be more than just friends and it’s hard turning him down without making things awkward at work.
Fortunately, for once I don’t have to lie or make up some lame excuse.
“Yeah, I’m going out with my friend Nadya,” I reply. “What about you? Any big weekend plans?”
“Is she the one with the pink hair and piercings?” Mike asks, wrinkling his nose and ignoring my question. Clearly, he doesn’t have plans.
“Yep,” I reply.
Mike knows exactly who Nadya is—she’s my only friend and the only person to have ever visited me at work.
Despite being only a year or so older than me, he’s quite old-fashioned in his ideas.
He doesn’t approve of her, which I can only assume is him judging a book by its cover since she’s the sweetest person under her tough girl exterior.
“Nice girls like you should keep better company,” Mike says as if he’s paying me a compliment.
Admittedly, we do make an odd pair, but there’s no way I’m going to let anyone say a bad word about Nadya.
She was there for me after Josef, my neighbor and cat’s namesake, died.
He’d been the only friend I’d had for the first two years living here.
I was a frightened seventeen-year-old in a strange city and my only friend was an elderly man.
When he died, I’d never felt loneliness like it.
Not long after, Josef turned up, and while my cat is good company, he’s not much of a conversationalist. That’s when I met Nadya, an eighteen-year-old runaway.
I was only nineteen, but I felt this maternal instinct to protect her, to help her the way I had been helped.
Her friendship was the thing that kept me going.
“You know nothing about her,” I snap. “And frankly, who I choose to spend my time with outside of work is none of your business.”
“Sorry, Nora. I—”
But I don’t let him finish, I’m too annoyed by his judgmental attitude to hear a lame apology. “A customer is waiting for assistance, you should go help them,” I say, gesturing to the reception desk that Mike is manning today before turning my back on him and finishing my tea.
***
The second my shift is over, I grab my bag and coat and race out without stopping to chat with Mike like I normally would.
“Bye, have a good weekend!” I call out over my shoulder as I head for the exit, ignoring the wounded expression on his face.
I’m vaguely surprised to notice that the man Mike went to help earlier is still there, sitting in my new favorite spot with his face obscured by the book he’s reading, The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells.
Not what I expected from a man whose hands and neck are heavily tattooed. I quickly admonish myself for doing the exact thing I accused Mike of doing, judging someone based on their appearance.
Any other time I’d have considered stopping to chat about the book.
I love classic gothic horrors, and the unexpectedness of such a large, muscled man absorbed in reading is enough to intrigue me.
But I don’t have much time to get home and change before I meet Nadya, so I head out and the stranger is soon forgotten.
As it so often is, my apartment is cold and dark when I get home.
I flick on the light, which strobes a few times before settling.
Despite having lived here for five years it still doesn’t feel like a home.
I’ve tried to make it as homey as possible with books and artwork, yet I can never seem to rid the place of the slightly musty smell that lingers no matter how many scented candles I light.
My cat, Josef, stretches and jumps down from his spot on the top of the fridge, winding himself around my ankles and whining plaintively, demanding food.
Shit. I was supposed to buy him some cat food on my way home.
“Sorry, Josef, I completely forgot. Maybe we’ve got a can of sardines or something,” I say as I walk into the kitchen.
Josef is a former stray that followed me home often enough that I finally relented and let him move in, so he’s not overly fussy about what he’s fed as long as he eats.
Although he does have an aversion to dry kibble.
I keep telling myself to order his food in bulk so this doesn’t keep happening, but despite the ‘BUY CAT FOOD!’ sticky note that permanently sits on the refrigerator, I always seem to run out.
My pantry is bare, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t give a cat ramen. As a last-ditch effort, I open the cupboard under the sink where I keep his food, hoping to find a forgotten can in the back. To my surprise, the cupboard is stocked full of Josef’s favorite food, seafood Fancy Feast.
“Huh, guess I must have gotten it and forgot,” I say, opening up a can and dumping it in his bowl.
If I ever bothered to keep my receipts or used a credit card—I get paid in cash and don’t have a card to my name—I could check when I got it. It’s annoying I can’t seem to recall getting the food, but the proof is right there.
Josef mews in agreement, happily digging in. I stroke his fur, pleased to note there’s only one remaining bald patch that stubbornly refuses to grow. He looks completely different compared to five years ago.
With Josef satisfied, I take a quick shower and get dressed.
I opt for a pair of jeans and a chunky oversized sweater that hangs off the shoulder.
Knowing Nadya will scold me for not making an effort, I put on some makeup and blow out my short hair to give it extra volume.
My father always made me wear my auburn hair long and refused to allow me to dye it, so that was the first thing I changed when I moved here.
I cut it off to just below the chin and got honey-blonde highlights.
Nadya keeps trying to convince me to dye it a crazy color or bring out the vibrant red, but my goal is to blend in, not stand out.
I throw on a pair of heeled boots, grab my purse and trusty leather jacket, and head out.
“Don’t wait up, Josef!” I call out to the only man I’ll ever have to say that to.