713 Mortisal Street

The old library doors swung to with a series of creaks and whines like a wounded bear crying out, finally drifting closed with a distorted rattle of their uneven brass handles.

Both detectives cringed at the sound, exchanging a glance before straightening and looking to the small man at the desk.

The man blinked at them through large rectangular glasses, almost shyly, shoulders hunched inwards and hands folded over his stomach, long fingers fiddling with the threads of his soft brown sweater vest.

When the detectives did not speak, he swallowed awkwardly. “May… may I help you find something?”

Both men started, the taller detective seeming to remember why they’d come and tugging his badge from his coat to show. “We’re with the Trivet City Police Force. Are you Ethan Priéto?”

The small librarian furrowed his brows, tilting his head a bit. “Are you mistaken, perhaps? This area is not within Trivet City, I’m afraid.”

The taller detective sighed. “The day Lounten County has the population to hire a detective will be a day for sure. We were called in on a special case. Now are you or are you not Ethan Priéto?”

The small man could, of course, say no without either one of them knowing the difference. Ethan Priéto was practically nonexistent on paper - no photos to be found, no home address, no phone, nothing but a birth record to prove he ever lived at all.

His name would never have been dragged up if they hadn't been looking for it, and even then it took some time to find. He was completely off the grid, even more so than the rest of the people in the rural county of Lounten.

One would think that, as the seemingly sole operator of an entire library (even an old, rickety small one), the man would have some kind of records, but no.

No taxes, no pay stubs, no voting, not so much as a sticky note in the twenty-one years since his birth certificate was filed.

-------

“Have you seen this girl?”

“Have I seen her? That’s Scarlett Dawnson, she’s my neighbor’s niece! Comes to visit every summer - such a sweet girl. Although I don’t know that I’d call her a girl, she is driving now.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Detective Peccum resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, knowing it was disheveled plenty already. “When did you last see Miss Dawnson?”

“Oh, let me see… I do believe her and her brother drove down around Christmas for a visit. Brought that cute little dog with them too. Pickles, I think he’s named. A real troublemaker. But that was awhile ago, of course. I don’t believe I’ve seen her since, I’m afraid.”

Peccum made a few scratches on his notepad, biting his lip as he scanned over the minimal information they had gathered so far.

The elderly woman across the table rearranged the string of pearls around her neck. She smoothed out a crease in the pocket of her pastel purple cardigan. She folded and unfolded her hands a few times.

“Will that be all, officer?” She asked finally.

“It’s detective.” Peccum snipped, looking up from his notepad. “And I do have one more question, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Please, ask all you like Detective.”

Peccum wasn’t sure what to make of her short white curls and dark lipstick, the shine in her youthful hazel eyes not deterred in the slightest, the pleasant smile on her lightly rouged cheeks foregin to him under such circumstances.

“You don’t seem concerned on Miss Dawnson’s behalf.” Peccum watched her face closely, only more perplexed when her expression remained unwavering.

“I am not particularly concerned, no.” Mrs. Thompson blinked at him, the sheer innocence radiating off of her almost intolerable. “Should I be concerned, Detective?”

Peccum could only shrug. “I… I just… one is usually concerned when they are suddenly asked when they’ve last seen someone, and by a detective no less.”

Mrs. Thompson simply continued to blink. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Detective.”

They stared at each other for nearly a full minute, before Mrs. Thompson coughed gently into her hand and glanced questioningly to the door.

“I don’t suppose you have any more questions, Detective? I do have to get back home by three; my cat Bellus has to take her medicine. She has an eye infection, you see. The veterinarian said she’ll be back to running about in a week, but I really doubt-”

“Yeah, yeah, you can go.” Peccum waved absently towards the door and reached for his notepad and pen, but once he retrieved them he could not think of how to describe the twisting feeling in his gut without sounding crazy.

As Mrs. Thompson left Detective Indago entered, balancing two paper cups of steaming tea atop a box of old records.

“She was in and out fast.” Indago remarked, leaning so Peccum could collect the cups. “Anything?”

Peccum held his own cup to his lips, breathing lightly on the liquid as steam rolled into his face. “Just another mark on the ‘people in Lounten County are weird’ tally.”

“Well damn.” Indago plopped down in what had been Mrs. Thompson’s chair with the box of files on his lap, outstretching an arm to swipe at the cup that was far out of his reach. “I swear this Dawnson girl must have been kidnapped by a ghost or something. There’s not a single lead and we’ve been here two days already.”

“Tell me about it.” Peccum snorted, taking an experimental sip of his tea - nope, still too hot. He nodded to the box on Indago’s lap. “What’s that?”

Indago was still pawing helplessly in the direction of his tea. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He grumbled.

Peccum rolled his eyes and pushed the cup into his partner’s reach. “You’ve got your leaf water, you child, now what’s in the box?”

Indago held up a finger, tilting the steaming cup into his mouth without any regard for the near-boiling water he was pouring down his throat. With half the cup drained, Indago set it down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, giving Peccum a lopsided smile before removing the lid from the thick cardboard box.

“I’ve been working on the 911 call.”

Peccum perked at that. “I thought the call was untraceable?”

“To an exact phone, that is true.” Indago began shifting folders from the box onto the table. If there was any order to the stacks, only he could see it. “But they could narrow it down to an area, and we know it was a landline. Considering how rural the county is, there aren’t many roads in any given area, and lucky us, there were only three in the call radius.”

“I’m gonna fall asleep here. Get to the point.”

“Yeah, I am!” Indago discarded the empty box and began to finger through the files now sprawled on the interrogation table. “So I went and bothered any shops on those streets, to see if they maybe had security cameras I could go through or-”

“Indago!”

“What?”

“Sometime this century, yeah?”

“Summary is, Scarlett Dawnson was seen three days ago, er, Friday.”

Peccum stared. “M...maybe lead with that next time?” He shook his head before Indago could reply. “No, forget it. Who saw her, where, and what did they say?”

“There’s more though.” Indago patted the folders energetically, as if he couldn’t decide which one to pick up next. “I’ve got the mess of the paper trail here to back up what the guy said. Owner of the gas station on Mortisal Street says Scarlett came in around three in the afternoon with her dog and asked to use the phone. Says he let her use the landline in the office, and that she only took a few minutes before leaving and walking off down the highway.”

“Walking?” Peccum made a face. “She left her hometown in a truck. Where’d it go? And why the hell didn’t the gas station owner try and help her - something was clearly wrong! Well I suppose he did let her use the phone- wait, did you say three in the afternoon?”

Indago nodded slowly, fingers drumming on the folders. “Yes, I did. And as we both know, the 911 call was placed at three twenty-seven in the afternoon.”

“What are you… Indago, that makes absolutely no sense.”

Indago only continued to nod, lips pursed off center, fingers drumming a bit slower but more deliberately. “The call was made by a woman, Peccum. By a woman at half past three in the afternoon, from a landline in a very small search area. Whether it makes sense or not, it’s the facts.”

“But why?” Peccum scanned the folders in front of him, not at all believing their contents could persuade his opinion. “Why would Scarlet Dawnson call in a missing persons… on herself?”

-------

The small man tilted his head a bit further, a bit of a frown smudging his soft, smooth face. “I… I am Ethan Priéto, that is correct. I… I assume you aren’t here to look at books?”

“Afraid not.” Detective Peccum approached the desk, floor creaking under his steps, Indago shuffling at his flank. “We were told you know Scarlett Dawnson?”

“Of course I know Scar.” The librarian’s eyes lit up a little. “We’ve been friends since we were in grade school. Her family owns a shop upstate, but she is here every summer without fail.”

“Yeah, you were childhood pals.” Peccum shoved his badge back into his coat pocket. “We already knew that. What I want to know is what happened last Friday.”

“Last Friday?” The librarian twisted his tie to and fro, eyes wandering. “I do not recall anything out of the ordinary happening that day.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?” Peccum took another step closer to the desk. “Are you sure you remember correctly? Or is kidnapping childhood friends just the norm for you, Ethan?”

“Peccum.” Indago hissed.

Peccum dismissed him with a wave. “Where are you hiding her, Ethan? Or is she even still alive? She’s probably somewhere in this building, what do you think?”

The light had dulled from the librarian’s eyes, and he stared up at Peccum unblinking, face unrevealing, lips in a thin line and warm brown irises now cold and still.

The walls of the old library creaked almost threateningly, the floorboards shifting unbalanced under Peccum’s loafers.

The librarian showed no sign of emotion, blank as though in a dreamless sleep. Softly, rhythmically, he spoke. “I think it’s time you left.”

-------

“Ah, officers, I did not expect to see you again! May I interest you in tea? Coffee?”

“It’s detective.” Peccum followed the elderly woman into the parlor, Indago trailing dutifully behind him. “And no thank you, we won’t be long. Just wanted to ask a few things.”

“Well at least have a seat,” Ms. Thompson settled herself into a flowery armchair and gestured helpfully to the other chairs in the small decorative room. “Do be gentle though, if you may - the furniture in this room was my mother’s.”

Indago claimed the edge of the sofa across from the elderly woman, and after a moment of consideration Peccum took the velvety red armchair between the two.

“Now what questions do you have for me detectives?” Mrs. Thompson asked cheerfully.

“What can you tell us about the library on Moritsal Street?”

“Mortisal… ah, you mean the old town library!” Mrs. Thompson pressed her palms together, cheeks rosy as she rattled away. “Yes, it’s such a shame that it remains in disrepair. Poor Ethan - sweet boy - still keeping up with the place. He used to live on my street, you know, always a good sport. Him and the Dawnson kids built a little treehouse on the edge of my property; I don’t have the heart to take it down even after all these years.”

Indago sat up straighter, eagerly leaning forward. “The Dawnsons?”

“Scarlett and that little brother of hers. Always up to something, those two.” Mrs. Thompson gave a little laugh. “Ah, I do believe you were asking Scarlett’s whereabouts when we spoke last. If anyone would know, it’d be Ethan. Those kids probably still talk, what with those young people and their phones and all that stuff.”

Indago made a face but scratched his pen across his notepad without a reply.

Peccum tugged his own notepad from his coat. “We haven’t come across the name Ethan before. Do you know his last name?”

“Hmm Ethan Priéto? I believe that was his name.” Mrs. Thompson rapped at her chin. “Yes, that’s right. Small boy, blond with odd glasses. Strange to be sure, but always polite. One time he even looked after Bellus for me - I had a funeral to attend upstate, and he was so kind to come by each day I was gone and feed Bellus her supper. She’s an odd cat, can’t eat certain kinds of-”

“Thank you, that was extremely helpful!” Peccum hopped up from his seat, hoping to leave before the elderly woman took another trip down memory lane. “We’ll come see you again if need be, but I think we have what we need.”

“Oh! Well, of course, I wouldn’t keep you detectives!” Mrs. Thompson was on her feet in an instant, low heels clicking as she ushered them from the parlor. “Please, I’m sure you have work to be getting at, I do apologize.”

-------

Peccum could try and deny it all he liked, the truth was that something was terribly wrong with this old library, and it wasn’t anything natural in the slightest.

His instincts were suddenly screaming out danger, his muscles tensed against his will, and he could feel Indago shaking where their shoulders brushed against one another.

He jumped when a shadow moved behind the statuesque librarian, eyes locked on the grey tabby that slinked across the floor and hopped onto the desk to sit, large green eyes staring at him calmly. Around its neck was a startlingly bright red ribbon tied into a neat little bow.

The floorboards were still shaking under his loafers. The shabby bookcases seemed to lean inwards hungrily, the yellow light of the desk lamp shrinking back behind its dusty shade.

Peccum swallowed hard, breathing deeply, doing everything he could to grasp the reins of this unnatural fear that had come over him.

He stared into the cat’s mesmerizing gaze, not registering that the librarian had moved until there was a hand on his shoulder.

“I think,” Ethan’s slender fingers dug into the cloth of Peccum’s jacket and secured their grip on muscle. “That is time you left, detectives.”

Peccum looked to him, finding Ethan’s other hand having a similar hold on Indago’s shoulder.

Maybe it was time they left… wait, what was he thinking? Ethan must have drugged them somehow. He didn’t remember eating anything. Was it in the air? Ethan didn’t seem affected…

“No.” He managed to grit out, catching Ethan’s eyes with his own.

But there was no malice behind the awkwardly large glasses the librarian wore. In fact, there was… pity. It was the look you gave a dog before you euthanized it. The look of sadness that you wear when something terrible is the better of something worse, and therefore what you must do.

The realization only fed Peccum’s fear, and the grasp he’d barely just gotten on it loosened. It slipped free and was running loose. He couldn’t catch it again.

Ethan was turning them around. Leading them back to the door. He let go to reach for the handle, but paused at a sharp mew from the desk.

Ethan turned back to face the cat, but Peccum could not do the same, his muscles locked and refusing to comply.

Ethan tilted his head, that look of pity intensifying. There were footsteps, but the librarian wasn’t moving. They approached, and Peccum caught the shadow of another human figure against Ethan’s.

“They won’t be leaving, Mr. Priéto.” A woman said softly, voice scratched as though she smoked, but also with a ring to her words.

Ethan stepped back against the door, putting his hands on the detectives’ shoulders once more. “Why not, Mrs. Thompson? They’ve only been here a few minutes.”

A soft sigh. “You of all people should know, Mr. Priéto…” Another footstep - Peccum could see her now.

Mrs. Thompson, the librarian had called her, but this wasn’t the strange old lady that they had questioned earlier that day. She had the same nose, the same long but small fingers, but she was timeless and ethereal, her eyes shining a mesmerizing green that was almost too bright to be natural, and around her neck was a startlingly bright red ribbon, tied into a neat little bow.

What the hell kind of drugs did Ethan have them on?

He had to break out of it - Peccum knew he had to, he had to get out, had to get out of this damned library and out of this damned town and away from this damned Ethan Priéto and whatever the hell he was doing…

Ethan was trying to open the library door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Ethan, darling.” Not-Mrs.-Thompson hummed, taking another step forward and resting a soft hand on the librarian’s back. “You know we cannot choose. We can only provide.”

“It’s only been days!” Ethan cried. “Why does it want them now?”

“Why does any creature want anything, Ethan?”

Peccum’s vision was fading out. The walls of the library were leaning in, creaking and clicking like a thousand clocks all set to different times.

Ethan sighed, a defeated sound. He let go of the door. “To survive.”