|
main | table of contents Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 4 Conversations At the end of the day, the three archivists went on their separate ways as they each took to their own cars. A block over, Verity spotted a grocery store. As she picked up the necessities for the next week and wheeled her shopping cart to one of the two open lanes, she overheard two women talking. One was a chubby woman in her fifties with curling red hair that was obviously dyed. The other had a hawk-like nose and a perpetual frown. Her frizzled and graying hair was tucked underneath a brown yarn hat. “Two of them this time,” the chubby woman clucked. “I tell you, Maggie, it’s a shame.” “You always think it’s a shame Ada,” said the thinner one. “The same thing happens every year.” Ada only shook her head. “But it was two kids from the college. They were bicycling back to their dorms, just as the newspaper said, and then, they just disappeared. Their parents are going to be frantic.” “Very little chance in finding them, if you ask me,” Maggie replied. “You know, some of the police are actually beginning to believe those stories.” “The stories about those people?” Ada’s voice trembled slightly. The other woman frowned even harder. “I think they’re just getting too superstitious, you know? If any of those people ever existed, they would be long dead by now. There are a lot of bad people in the world, you know, and it’s rather ridiculous of you to equate a random kidnapper or murderer to some make-believe bogeymen.” “You’re probably right,” she said reluctantly. “You know, sometimes a person can get carried away with their imagination, especially in these times when it gets dark early.” “Very inconvenient. In the summertime, I could get here around eight at night, and the sky would still be bright.” “Yes. So do you have your iron crow up yet?” Maggie nodded. “Right on the door. One never knows who’ll come knocking.” “What’s an iron crow?” Verity, Quinn, and Bob were heading back downstairs after lunch in the institute cafeteria. Bob unlocked the door to the archives. “Just a little end of the year tradition for most natives,” replied Quinn. “It can be an iron amulet or a wire-frame sculpture. It doesn’t really have to be metal or iron for that matter, but it does have to be in the shape of a bird. Here, the nameless one is called Aunat the crow. The iron crow is sort of a lucky charm for the coming year.” “Back south, they call the nameless one Gohaven the cat,” said Verity. “There is a similar tradition, but for good luck many people owned real cats instead.” “Do you have a cat then?” asked Bob. “No. I’m not particularly superstitious. Or religious.” She was starting at the older files and working her way up. At the moment, she had a stack of patient documentation from fifty years ago. They were alphabetized which made it slightly easier, but nonetheless, that didn’t negate the need for having everything entered into the central computer database in a particular format by hand. On the third folder, she flipped it open only to linger at a section that said “Transcription: Session One.” Dr. Urich: You must know that as the protector of the city, Aunat would never harm his own citizens. What was the other? Verity entered the patient name and file number into the computer. Perhaps Bob and Quinn could fill her in. The next folder held another “session”, but this time, Dr. Urich was talking to a different patient. Megyeri: I saw it. Verity glimpsed at similar reports the rest of the day until she was aware that something was different. She glanced at the time on her computer. It was only fifteen minutes until closing time. She looked up from her office and saw that a dark figure had entered the archives. It was too tall to be Bob and too broad in the shoulder to be Quinn. She saved her work and got up to walk out of the office. On her way out, she glanced back at the glassed over offices. Quinn was busy staring at his computer and talking on the phone at the same time. Bob was staring at her, mouthing something, and frantically pointing at the wall that he shared with Quinn. Verity shook her head. She didn’t need them to help her as she herself assisted a visitor. “May I help you?” she asked the dark figure who was busy reading the titles of the books on the shelf. The figure straightened up, he was taller than her by a couple of inches, and looked at her. It was the man she had seen at the waiting area on her first day. His gaze had the same intensity which prickled her skin—not exactly in a fear or nervous response—and this time she was close enough to him to see that his eyes were light brown-greenish and they seemed to darken with every second that they were fixed on her. “I don’t really need any help,” he said, “although if you want to help, you’re welcome to.” “Excuse me?” “Nathaniel Gammell.” He held out a hand which she shook. The skin to skin contact intensified that feeling that she knew him from somewhere before even though the name was not familiar to her. “I often come down to the archives to do some research.” “Verity Tage. Pleased to meet you.” I think, she added mentally. “I’ll keep in mind that you’re a regular. I just started working here.” “I know. I saw you on your first day.” “So you’re one of the doctors doing some research for a patient?” He chuckled. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’m one of their patients.” Again, she felt his eyes weighing her, judging her. Was he one of the crazies that Bob had muttered about? “I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he continued. “I’m seeing Dr. Miram Greene.” “He’s into psychiatry, isn’t he?” “My sister says I need therapy.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I need therapy, but I just indulge her. I’m not paying for the visits and Dr. Greene will indulge her since he’s getting the money.” “That’s a rather mercenary view.” “Verity?” Quinn called out. She turned and saw that her co-workers were already at the door, coats on their back. Bob was giving her a worried glance. “We’re heading out. You don’t mind locking up after you help Nathan on his ‘research’ do you?” “No of course not,” she replied. “Good night.” The men waved and pushed open the door, leaving her alone with the self-proclaimed therapy patient. He pulled out a book and headed to the photocopier at the other end of the room. “I hate being called ‘Nathan.’ That’s what my sister calls me. And Dr. Greene. It makes me feel like a stupid kid with a cutesy shortened name.” “Well, what do you want to be called?” “Just Gammell. Or Nathaniel, but most people think that is too long.” He flipped the book open and popped a few coins into the machine. The copier made its customary sounds and two pieces of paper were regurgitated at the other end. He handed her the book and then took the copies, folded them in half, and tucked them into his coat. “Is there anything you need?” She shelved the book and walked back into her office to turn her computer off and to get her coat. “No. That’s all for today, at least.” He stood right outside the office, his eyes never leaving her. “Have you been to Miranda’s yet?” “No. What’s that?” She turned off the office light. “A restaurant right outside the business district on Seadoch. Not far from here. I’m heading there for dinner. I was wondering if you’d like to join me.” Her hand rested on the doorknob to her office just as she closed it. Did she want to have dinner with a crazy? Or more importantly, did she want to have dinner with a man? The previous one had taken away almost every feeling except for the sting of metal on flesh. But try as she might, she couldn’t summon the face of her ex to focus. Gammell was silent, waiting for her answer, and that in itself was enough to make her mind muddled, confused. “All right,” she found herself saying. It was just dinner, wasn’t it? She was new here and hadn’t the opportunity yet to explore Monteport’s business and market districts.  |