Lurker

He was back again, pulling into the library parking lot in the same old, red, beat up truck, with the questionable dent on the driver’s side door. I knew the sound of that truck like the back of my hand, and it never failed to pull into the same parking spot whenever it decided to show up. It made a loud, odd, clicking sound anytime he made a hard right. I guess you could say that the sound of that truck was like my own personal alarm, warning me of his arrival. I impatiently drew my hands back from the box of books that I was supposed to be sorting, to watch him function through the glass front doors. The rain outside didn’t seem to bother him, nor did the fact that it was running over his feet, undoubtedly soaking all the way through.. My overwhelming sense of curiosity kicked in, and I couldn’t exactly tear my eyes away from the old, red, monster, and it’s operator. He walked slowly, his balance never once wavering as he carried a stack of books as tall as the Eiffel Tower under his arm.

I had become accustomed to him turning in a mountain of books all at once. They would all be in perfect condition, in alphabetical order, with the card stamps still stuck in them. He’d check out ten at a time, stay gone for a month, then faithfully come back again. I was honestly impressed at his level of responsibility, and comprehension when it came to books. I had been watching long enough to know.

His book choices were so varied that he confused me sometimes. I was normally the type to be able to call someone’s taste, but he always left me baffled. Sometimes he’d get books on how to build things, or other times he’d get literature classics that nobody his age would normally be interested in. After seeing someone consistently, you’d think that I would instantly know what his taste was. Sadly, it was always a surprise with him, and for some reason, that really dug underneath my skin. I just could not seem to figure him out. I once tried to ask him why he chose to read old books, but he simply shrugged his shoulders, and hurried out of the store. He didn’t even appear as though he wanted to converse with me, and for some reason again, that also really bothered me.

This time around was no different. He pushed open the glass door with the crooked, neon, open sign, and strode up to the counter with his usual pile of books. I took notice of the bad bruise forming around his bicep. The air about him today was something different, and I wanted to know what it was.

“I want to turn these in,” he said quietly. His eyes never left the floor as he slid his book card across the counter towards me, the name Steven Gains showing proudly. My fingers grazed him as I picked up the card, feeling him flinch from my touch. It wasn’t exactly fire, but something about his touch sent a jolt of electricity through my entire body that left me wondering what the fuck had just happened. His nails were chewed down to the bed, and some of them even looked to be running red as we spoke. As I swiped his card through the scanner, I could feel his eyes on me, watching as I scanned every book, and placed them on the cart behind me. This was one of the few times he would actually look at me.

He only ever did it when he thought I wasn’t watching.

I was always watching him though.

I calmly handed back his card, and smiled.

“You’re all good to go Steven.”

I knew his name, but he didn’t know mine, at least he never said it. I strained to listen as a quiet “Thank you,” slipped from his lips, and he disappeared down the ‘Classic Literature’ section almost at the speed of light.

It was always the same quiet thank you, and off guard glances with him. The mystery behind Steven fascinated me so much that I even contemplated following him home one day after closing. That particular day, he had a sense of light as he smiled at me for the first time ever. I wanted to see that smile again.

I found myself following after him, pretending as though I was ‘stocking’ shelves, when in reality, I was just rearranging the books, and making my work load twice as heavy. His eyes wandered over a couple of books, before he lifted up a pale hand, and grabbed a copy of ‘Arabian Nights’.

That was one of my personal favorites for a lot of reasons. I too could relate. The king would get bored of his many wives, and kill them at the end of each day, until one wife outsmarts him by telling stories. Steven was like the wife in my story, I wanted to keep him.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, but I also couldn’t think of a way to make my closeness to him any less obvious. I wouldn’t consider myself to be a stalker, but in this instance I felt like I was. I continued to play around with the books, and stole glances, until I felt his eyes on the back of my neck in a deadening stare.

Did he know I was following him?

The stale air of the library stopped moving, almost making me feel like he and I were the last two people on earth. The library was small enough to make one think that anyway. This wasn’t part of our usual routine, and I didn’t know if I should be happy, or scared about that. All I knew was that the feeling was exhilarating. It felt like a rush.

I stopped what I was doing, and turned around, to find him already looking back at me. This was the first time in a while that I had seen those brilliant brown eyes trained on me. His mouth was fixed in a straight line as he opened, and closed his lips, debating on what to say. Brown eyes started into brown eyes as an unspoken message passed between us.

He was either acknowledging me, or he had caught up to me.

I almost missed his words as I lost myself in studying him as best as I could, while I still could.

“Did you get any new arrivals Sara?” It almost came out like a whisper, too soft, and too low to be heard. I shook my head, as I tried to come back from inhaling how shocked I was.

He knew my name.

How did he know my name?

Steven has brilliant brown eyes, with a shaggy mane of brown curls to match. His skin was pale, but I could tell that he worked in the sun, because of the slight tan he always kept. He stood taller than me, almost an extra two feet compared to my five foot six stature, and I always wondered what on earth kept him so built. What work could he be doing?

“At the front, the rack on the right.” I sputtered. I didn’t even realize that a stiff moment had passed since he last spoke.

“Can you show me?” I collected myself, and motioned for him to follow with my hand.

“If you ever want to see what’s new, we put it out on the front rack. Just stop there, and look.” He nodded, clutching the two books that he had picked out, like they were his life line.

I had never noticed his true appearance until today. As he browsed the front rack, and occasionally looked up at me, I saw how tired he looked. His eyes were sunken in, and he had a nervous tick. Something was bothering him today. He wasn’t all there.

“You’re acting weird-” I blurted, feeling the color drain from my face as I heard my own statement aloud. I immediately slapped my hand over my mouth as I saw the whites of his eyes grow twice their original size. We were finally making progress, and I had royally messed it up.

“I’m fine.” He said, as he slammed the three books he had chosen on the counter.

“Can I just get these?”

Normally he would get ten.

“You usually get ten.”

“I’m in a rush.”

“Where to?”

“Business,” He replied, with nothing more.

One after the other, I scanned the books, and passed them back to him, feeling the unspoken void widen between us. He snatched them from the counter, and sprinted out of the store without a goodbye, or even so much as a glance back. I looked after him, so badly wanting to call him back, but I knew better than to push him too far. I didn’t know what to say as I watched him walk, but not towards his truck. Instead, he took a right and headed towards the coffee shop across the way. I had never seen him go there before.

I stood for a moment, trying my best to fight my own thoughts.

Maybe I was crazy, or maybe I was just curious, but something was not right.

Before I knew what was happening, my hands were pushing against the glass frame of the front door, triggering the deafening welcome bell. I was fully aware that what I was about to do was wrong.

“Irma I’m going to go outside for a second,” I yelled behind me. If this all went wrong I’d never see him again.

I had to see him again.

I needed to see him again, I wasn’t done with him.

“In the rain?”, a disembodied voice called back. I didn’t bother responding, and I headed out into the gloom that had taken over the town today. It felt like I was being pelted by a ton of needles on the back of my neck, while my socks soaked up enough water to fill a pitcher twice. The red truck sat there, almost beckoning me towards it, and I complied. If he came back, I’d just use the excuse that I was admiring his truck. Of course I didn't actually think that excuse would work, but it was worth a shot. I wanted a closer look.

The truck looked well taken care of up close. Maybe it was just the rain, but it looked like he had just put some serious elbow grease into scrubbing that thing clean. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins,giving me what I needed. As much as I knew that I was crossing a line, I didn’t care. It was as if a primal urge was driving me to continue, even though I didn’t know what I was going to find. If I found anything anyway. I looked out towards the coffee shop as I rushed up to the passenger side window and peaked in. Crushed up paper towels lined the seats, almost to the point where I could barely recognize the black leather beneath it. He was messy, a direct contradiction to what I had once thought. The center console was decorated with odds and ends, but by no means was it organized.. A pack of cigarettes sat comfortably in the passenger seat, and a large, purple, duffle bag sat in the passenger floorboards.

The sound of footsteps cut my look short as I shot up instantly, looking across the street. There was still no sign of Steven, however, there was no sign of the disembodied footsteps I had just heard. I’m sure whoever it was, was seconds away from calling the police, but I was so close to finding my closure. I couldn’t stop now. I made my way around to the bed of the truck, concealing myself horribly behind an oak tree.

I leaned out, the rain soaking through my shirt, and sliding down the small of my back. There were a million things I could be doing, but instead I was here, and strangely enough,I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

As I looked, I noticed that there was a large tarp covering something in the bed. My curiosity peaked, and I suddenly had no boundaries for privacy. The object was long, cylindrical even, and it was laying vertically. The tarp was almost tucked underneath, as if to keep the wind from blowing it away.

What was he covering?

Tools?

Work equipment?

At this moment I had a choice. I could either mind my business, or lift that tarp. It’s not a matter of if I have morals or not, I just wanted to know what the damn problem was with this kid. I did what any person would do in my position, and I lifted the end of the tarp.

The seconds ticked by, but not a single thing moved. Time had slowed enough to where all I could think about was the mistake that I had just made. It was like I was being controlled, but somebody had made a wrong decision and they were desperately trying to figure out how to go back. They were button mashing, and my character was freezing under the pressure. There was nothing in this world that could prepare me for what I saw.

I let the end of the tarp go, and booked it back into the library. My hands were shaking, and suddenly the fact that I was drenched didn’t matter anymore. I welcomed the cold clothing. It was doing an exceptional job of keeping me from passing out. Irma was waiting for me at the counter.

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don-’”

“Irma,” I interrupted, “If Steven comes back, tell him I quit.”

“You quit?”

I grabbed my bag from behind the counter and continued to walk, ignoring Irma’s probing questions, and protests for me to come back. I wasn’t coming back, in fact I didn't even plan on coming on this side of town ever again. I pushed up against the glass door, straining to focus, as I made eye contact with Steven. He was back at his truck, but he hadn’t gotten in. Instead, he was standing there, watching me. He had two coffees in his hand, but there was no second person with him.

Was this some kind of sick joke?

Did he know that I knew?

That lifeless look that he once had, had turned into something that I couldn’t quite describe. I knew Steven like the back of my hand, but in this instance, I didn’t know him at all. I had been wrong about him the entire time. His lips were turned up slightly at the corners, and in that moment I knew why he was the way that he was.

I wasn’t the stalker.

Steven was.

Steven was a killer.

Steven was the king, and I was the next wife waiting in line.

We started at one another, his eyes scanning my every slight move. The rise of my chest. The fall of my chest, and the ceasing of my breathing.

Did he come to the library for me?

Was I going to be the next body in the back of his truck?