Finds You Well

Two: The Tell-Tale

Xavier

I can feel it in my bones. The bookstore awakening after what feels like a deep sleep. I have been slumbering with it, my memories were my only company in the dark. I take in my surroundings, the brick wall concealed behind a layer of cement. The smooth floor with its intricately pentagram painted in its center. The altar within the pentagram with blood stains decorating its surface. I had relentlessly tried to clean off, but to no avail.

There is blood on my hands. There are sins I wish I could atone for. I hear the front door open, had I not boarded it up to keep out intruders? The store shifts restlessly underneath my feet. It can sense my unease and it wants to placate me. I reassure it that I am fine for now. If it is an intruder, I will deal with it myself. The bookstore did not gain its haunted status by simply being named after a story by the great Edgar Allen Poe.

I walk up the steps taking a moment to take a look at myself in the mirror. The bookstore comes to my aide, trading my black slacks for a pair of blue jeans. It keeps my long-sleeved-button-up shirt and black vest. I cannot help but chuckle, wondering if it believes I need to look dashing for our intruders.

The door opens just wide enough for me to slip through it. The voices have grown louder. I can hear him speaking, I am not surprised. He is the Devil, in all the way you can interpret the words. He prays upon those who are down on their luck. He feasted upon my weakness, my desires to keep this place up and running for the sake of my family's well-being. I was not prepared for its consequences. How could I be when I knew nothing of the risks?

I hear another voice join his, the sound of it is feminine, and my curiosity becomes too much. I walk quietly down the hallway, asking the floorboards to keep my presence a secret, and they comply. I send them a silent thank you leaning against the wall. She leans against the counter her hand resting on some kind of device. Her hair is the colors of rubies that have been polished to a pristine shine. It falls in waves brushing against her delicate looking shoulders. Her eyes intrigue me, they're the color of amber. I can see they host sadness within them, a lingering defeat that leaves a mark upon one's heart.

He goes over the ins and the outs of owning the store. The list of vendors she can choose from. The names I do not recognize. Things had been simpler in my time. Her fingers tap on the device in her hand. Her eyes follow him in his black peacoat, black slacks, black wingtip shoes, and black bowler hat. She stops and begins to fidget with something around her neck, a necklace maybe? I cannot see, I am too far away and I fear that if I make myself visible, I will scare her away.

"Do I have time to think this over?" She asks.

He stops, resting his hand on his cane. He did not expect this. A woman was not so brazen in my time. Their characters were shy, almost timid in a way that made me yearn to know what they concealed. My mind dares to attempt to pull me back into the past. The past where I had taught my wife to read after my day concluded. The joy on her face when she finished reading a book on her own. The exuberance in which she described what she read to me.

"I am afraid I am going to need an answer today, Miss Rouge." He pulls his pocket watch out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "I do have an appointment that I must be heading to. I will stop by at its conclusion."

"Sounds good." She says meeting his gaze. I find myself chuckling at her brazen attitude. He walks out the door the bells jingle announcing his departure.

"I do have an appointment that I must be heading to." She mimics his formal tone. "What is this the nineteenth century?"

I snort with laughter. She is bold and fiery just like the color of her hair. She pushes away from the counter the device in her hand buzzes and plays the sound of a bell. She taps away on it and the bell chimes again. What is this device? I would think its constant sound would drive oneself mad. She laughs at something on the screen. Who is this girl, this Miss Rouge? She walks down the aisles her fingers brushing against the titles on the shelves. She occasionally stops taking a book off the shelf and admiring it. She has a respect for the classics I am noticing. She cradles a first-edition of Jane Austen's Persuasion a spark of admiration in her eyes.

She continues to peruse the shelves and I follow her. The bookstore keeps me concealed as I study the woman in front of me. The device continues to ring in her hands. I am able to see the screen finding a name on the screen Sindri Brok. Who are they? Why do they feel the need to make the device in her hand ring consistently. Do they not send letters anymore? What a strange world to live in, that one does not indulge in placing ink to paper.

"Unspeakable Evil, huh?" Miss Rouge stops in front of the rope I placed in front of the steps to the basement. The whispers begin to flood my mind. They hunger with the desire to be free from the ties that bind them here. "It just looks like a regular basement to me."

She unhooks the rope taking the steps down to the door. I cannot allow her to open the door. To release the malice, I have worked so hard to conceal. I follow her down, my concealment no longer needed as I place my hand on her shoulder. She screams, whipping around, and I take this time to pin her up against the wall.

Her pulse quickens underneath my touch, her chest falling up and down in rapid succession. I have startled her and rightfully so. I force my face to remain stoic, my eyes to remain cold, and my voice filled with a glacier frost that will chill her blood.

"Are you illiterate?" I ask the question.

"That is entirely dependent upon who's asking?" She conceals her fear behind a carefully placed smirk.

My eyes widen, her smirk is infuriating. Her ambers eyes taunt me. They coax me into answering her question with the same smirk. Her breath catches and I can hear her heart come to a staggering halt.

"My name is, Xavier Tale." I answer. "I repeat my earlier question, are you illiterate?"

"I am not, I can read just fine, kind sir." She places her hands on my chest giving me a gentle shove.

"If you have the ability, then you should know this area is off-limits." I gesture to the sign.

"Can't blame a girl for being curious about the epicenter of a good story." She brushes me off, taking a moment to think. "You know I think I may just accept Mr. Mammon's offer."

"I would strongly advise that you reconsider, Miss Rouge." I walk back up the steps. She surprises me by following my lead. Her eyes flash in defiance. What have I awoken?

"Oh really?" she puts the rope back up, looking at me over her shoulder. "Why's that?"

"Surely, you have heard the stories?" I ask her.

"Yes, I have." She answers. "I'm not the kind of girl who backs down from the things that go bump in the night."

One can only assume he had yet to show her the contract that she would be signing. The contract that would swap the ownership of The Tell-Tale Bookstore from myself to her. One can only wager that he had yet to speak on what she would need to do in order to keep this fine establishment afloat. I needed to dissuade her from accepting this place as her own. I needed to find a way to prevent her from sharing my fate.

"Miss Rouge, I am afraid I must—"

"Aspen."

She cuts me off, an action that infuriates me. Had she not been taught manners growing up? You did not interrupt your elders; it was common courtesy. Of course, to her I probably looked to be around her age. She places her hands on her hips, giving me a look I knew all too well. It is a look that states she already made up her mind and I was not going to change it.

The door to the store opened as he stepped back inside. His dark eyes came to rest on me, a playful smile concealed quickly into one of charm. Aspen stands up straighter placing the ringing device into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Mr. Mammon, I have made my decision. Where do I sign?" She gives him a devilish grin. This grin makes his falter as he brings out the contract and a fountain pen. Did he not expect this to go smoothly? There was a story in Aspen's eyes. There were ghosts that were haunting her. I want to know what these ghosts were. At the same time, I cannot allow myself to get close to her. While she signed on the dotted line his dark eyes met mine.

"You and I still have an agreement, Mr. Tale. Keep that in mind, unless you want Miss Rouge to pay the price for your hesitancy."