His Idol

Chapter 18, Trauma dumping

Cyrus had the determination, but not the courage, to go anywhere near St. Grey's. When his eyes drifted to one of the library windows, the night outside had turned pitch black. He didn't want to venture out in the suffocating darkness. It was mid-fall, and though colorful leaves fell from the trees, they only deepened the shadows. Cyrus took a long, shaky breath, trying to steady his nerves. In truth, he wasn't brave enough to keep going, let alone walk. His legs felt like they were made of Jell-O, ready to give out at any moment.

His legs began to tremble uncontrollably, each step threatening to buckle beneath him, as if his body instinctively knew something his mind refused to accept. It was as though every muscle was rebelling, warning him not to venture any further. Cyrus stood frozen for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his thoughts spiraled out of control. Fear clouded his mind as countless scenarios played out, each one worse than the last. What if he uncovered something he couldn't handle? What if the danger was real, lurking just beyond his reach? He didn't even know what awaited him, yet the uncertainty gnawed at him, making him doubt everything.

His breathing grew shallow, and the sensation of second-guessing every decision sank deeper into his chest. He tried to push those thoughts away, but they clung to him like shadows. With shaky legs, Cyrus forced himself to move, wobbling toward the library desk. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the very room was urging him to turn back. His gaze settled on the brass nameplate in front of him, where the name "Ms. Harper" was neatly engraved. The familiar sight should've been comforting, yet it only heightened his unease. The desk, once a place of safety and order, now felt distant, almost ominous, from his findings.

Cyrus averted his gaze, focusing intently on the stack of newspapers and archives he was holding as he approached the librarian. "Can I borrow these?" he asked, his voice barely audible and tinged with nervousness.

Ms. Harper looked up from her desk, her eyes briefly scanning the assortment of brittle newspapers and thick archival folders. Her expression remained impassive as she considered his request. After a moment, she nodded, her voice carrying a firm but polite tone. "You can, but make sure to bring them back by next Tuesday," she instructed, her words carrying the weight of a strict deadline. The deadline was clear—he had exactly one week to sift through the historical documents and news clippings before he needed to return them.

Cyrus felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. The archives and newspapers held pieces of the puzzle he was so desperate to solve, but the ticking clock added pressure. He watched as Ms. Harper returned to her work, her attention shifting away from him. With a resigned sigh, he gathered the materials closer, aware that he now had a limited window of time to uncover this confusing jumble of clues, that would tell him what would happen.

As Cyrus carefully set the newspapers and archives down on the cold, tiled floor of the library, he reached for the old, ragged backpack he'd used for the whole weekend that he had gotten in middle school. With a deep breath, he opened the worn leather straps and began transferring the papers into it. The backpack, though battered and faded, was surprisingly sturdy, and he hoped it would hold up until he could switch everything to his high school backpack the next day. For now, it was his only option.

He unzipped the backpack slowly, the familiar metallic sound of the zipper cutting through the quiet of the library. Inside, he found the contents he'd packed for emergencies: a small pocket knife, its blade well-used but sharp, a sturdy flashlight with a few spare batteries tucked into a side pocket, and a set of batteries meant to keep the flashlight running. He took a moment to ensure everything was in place before starting to stuff the newspapers and archives into the backpack. The crinkling of the old newspapers filled the air as he carefully arranged them, making sure they fit without tearing or damaging the fragile pages.