Chapter 5 #4
The heavy library doors slammed shut behind Lincoln, and he shivered as a gust of wintry air swirled around him. Yet the banging doors and his chattering teeth weren’t enough to bring anyone to the reception desk.
“Yoo-hoo . . .”
Just his echo, bouncing off the walls of the cavernous space. He slung his bag around behind him and leaned over the reception desk, looking for signs of life, and got immediately distracted by all the signs of beauty.
Directly behind the desk was a large open area filled with polished wood tables, study cubicles, and clusters of oversized chairs, all of them dappled with light in various shades of color cast by the sun shining through the stained glass rotunda above.
A grand marble staircase, white marble shot through with blue-and-gold fleck, the same as the reception desk, drew his eye past the study area.
Stacks of books stretched behind the staircase as far as Lincoln could see, and at the top of the stairs, a second level of stacks ringed the open area below.
Every few rows of books up there were parted by another stained glass window that cast more multicolor light around the space.
Lincoln wasn’t sure he’d ever set foot in a more beautiful place on earth.
It was like being in a kaleidoscope or, recalling his first thought upon driving into town, like being in a snow globe.
Apex’s obsession with winter made a lot more sense now.
At the center of campus, with its white marble and filtered light, this building was winter in structural form.
Lincoln’s wonder was interrupted by a ding to his left, from beyond the security turnstiles and around the corner to where Lincoln wasn’t sure.
An elevator lobby, by the sound of it, mechanical doors sliding open followed by booted feet on stone.
A man appeared from around the corner, arms full of files, his gray head bent, and attention focused on the phone in his hands.
“Hello there,” Lincoln said.
The man’s eyes shot up just as he approached the turnstiles. Before Lincoln could shout a warning or an apology for his piss-poor timing, the man’s hip clipped one of the pylons and the already wobbling stack of files went flying, scattering all over the floor.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Lincoln scurried over to help, only to cause the optical turnstile to flash red and emit a high-pitched intruder wail. This just kept getting worse, and he couldn’t figure out how to make it better. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, face burning with embarrassment.
His humiliation was met with an attractive laugh and equally attractive face. The man couldn’t be more than thirty despite his gray hair. “You stay over there,” he said, directing Lincoln back behind the security pylon.
Hands raised, Lincoln stood and reversed two steps, out of the angry Cylon pylon’s range.
The stranger’s blue eyes darted to Lincoln’s left hand. “Of course,” he muttered as he gathered his phone and scattered files.
“‘Of course’ what?”
The man stood, passed through the security gate without incident, and plopped the messy stack of folders on the reception desk. “Two new-to-town hot guys show up the same week and of course you’re married to each other.” He flicked his own bare left ring finger. “Other one had a ring to match.”
Lincoln lowered his hands and glanced at the silver band on his ring finger.
He’d thought it simple last night, but he supposed the braided design wasn’t a typical band.
Why had Carter picked something so intricate for their cover?
Why not a plain band? Maybe this was just what the Bureau had available?
He ran his thumb over the band. No, he didn’t think so.
“So, you’re the other Mr. Polk?” the stranger said, snapping Lincoln out of his thoughts.
And snapping him into his cover. “I am.” He extended his hand. “Lincoln Polk.”
“Jeremiah Kline,” the man said, returning the handshake. “And please forgive my rudeness. Little Kline is just disappointed. Doubly so.”
“Little Kline?”
Jeremiah pointed down, at his cock.
Lincoln half choked, half chuckled.
“Sorry, inappropriate, I know.” He shrugged, not seeming sorry at all. “I have no filter.”
Lincoln cleared his throat and laughed. He’d seen his fair share of characters at Quantico, but this town was like the kooky-sitcom gift that kept on giving. Its current present, a suspender-wearing student hipster. “Good to know.”
“I really am glad you’re here,” Jeremiah said. “I’ve been trying to manage the archives since Harry passed, but I’m just a grad student. I know some about being an archivist but not enough to manage a collection this size. It’s overwhelming.”
A pang of guilt snaked through Lincoln. He’d likely be gone in a week, maybe two, and Big Kline would return to being overwhelmed.
“Oh shit,” Jeremiah said. “What’s that expression for? Are you going to quit already?” He folded his hands as if in prayer. “Please don’t.”
“Just sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” Lincoln replied, hoping Jeremiah bought it. “It’s probably a lot.”
“A lot a lot.” He tilted his head toward the hallway he’d appeared from. “Let me show you.”
Lincoln followed him back through the pylons, which erupted in anger again. So much for tailgating.
“Fuck, I hate these things,” Jeremiah said. “Let me get you a badge.” He circled behind the reception desk, punched in numbers on a beeping keypad, and opened a below-counter safe or drawer that Lincoln couldn’t see from where he stood. Jeremiah tossed a badge over the desk to Lincoln.
Lincoln slid his bag around from where it had drifted back to his side and clipped the badge to his belt. “Do I need the badge to get into the main part of the library too?” There was another set of turnstiles on the other side of the reception desk.
“Yeah, though I have those turned off until the students come back. I can do that for those. Not these.”
Lincoln passed through without incident finally.
Take that, you fucking Cylons.
“And these go to? The archives?”
Jeremiah, arms full of files again, directed him around the corner to the elevators. He juggled the stack so he could point at the buttons. “Up to the offices, down to the archives.”
“Dungeon?”
“Dungeon,” he said with a grin. “Shall we?”
“Happily.” Lincoln returned the smile and punched the down button.
It wasn’t every day he found someone else as eager to shun the light of day as he was.
Lab rats and librarians, and Lincoln’s forensic specialty qualified for both.
He mentally thanked his uncle every day for putting that bug in his ear.
“Did you do your undergrad here too?” Lincoln asked as the elevator slowly descended.
“UVA.”
“And you didn’t want to stay there?” He gave a lecture at Charlottesville twice a year.
It was gorgeous, with its neoclassical architecture.
It felt like a larger version of Chapel Hill to him.
A bit creepy with the whole secret society thing, but he got over that for a day of reveling in college town nostalgia.
“Wanted to come home,” Jeremiah said.
Not a nostalgia Lincoln understood, but one many other people did. “You grew up in Apex?”
“Roanoke, technically,” Jeremiah said as they stepped out of the elevator and started down a hallway. “My parents moved there from here when I was three, but Apex is home. Family goes back generations, and the archives are unparalleled. Having access to those for my thesis has been invaluable.”
“What are you writing on?” Lincoln asked, even as ninety percent of his attention was on the climate-controlled archive rooms on either side of the hallway, visible through double-paned insulated windows.
“The effects of global warming on Appalachia populations.”
“And the archives here have weather data too?”
“Some, but it’s the local farming, crop, and trade records that are most informative. I can see what people were growing, buying, and selling, which tells us a lot about how people were moving through these mountains.”
This kid was good. That was a lesson Lincoln didn’t often teach until halfway into forensics. And if Jeremiah knew how to think outside the box like that, he might be helpful in other ways too. “That might feed into my research. I may have some questions for you.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“Likewise.” He wouldn’t be here long and he still felt guilty about that, but maybe he could be of some help to Jeremiah while he was here.
“Good to hear after the past few months.” Jeremiah swung open the door at the end of the hallway, revealing the main archives work area, four wooden tables arranged in front of rows of stacks that stretched to the back of the cavernous room.
“Your key card will also get you into the private work area over there.” He pointed at a door to the right of the workbenches.
“Harry used it for special projects. Your husband mentioned setting some stuff up for you.”
“Fucking hell.”
Jeremiah chuckled on his way back out the door. “Good luck with that,” he called, voice echoing down the hallway.
More true than Jeremiah knew, proven as Lincoln inspected the private work area.
Papers were scattered across two tables, a pile of microfiche sat next to the reader in the corner, and archive boxes were stacked at random about the room.
He’d been “married” to Carter for less than twelve hours and yet the “Story of my life” that escaped his lips felt like the most truthful thing he’d said all day.