The Library of Lost Things

Chapter 4

5:00PM
Elias stepped out of the examination room, a wave of relief washing over him. The first hindrance was crossed, and finally, the exam was done. Now, he had only to present himself before his parents.

He dreaded what amounted to an inevitable inquisition-the thinly veiled disappointment, the comparisons. The very thought chafed his stomach.

He muttered to himself, "No," steel in his gaze, "not tonight; I cannot do it."

He would not go through that torture tonight. He needed time, time to clear his head after the strange encounter at the bookstore, time to gather his wits and courage.

He turned away from the path that would lead him toward his parent's house and turned toward the student dorms.

"I'll just tell them that I have to crash at Mark's," he mumbled, having rehearsed this lie. "Yeah, big study session for that history exam... that'll work."

He fell silent, his face flickering with guilt. "Hope he won't mind me using him like this. I'll make it up to him. Maybe buy him a coffee or something."

Elias muttered to himself, forcing a wadded uniform into his bag. "Always complaining about how much he has to study. Perfect alibi."

He shrugged, zipping the bag. "It's not like they'll actually call him to check, anyway. They're too darned busy comparing me to "someone" to actually care about what I'm doing."

He then proceeded to walk towards his dorm, intending to stay there for the night-a temporary reprieve from the smothering atmosphere of his home. He caught the door of his dorm room creaking open with a groan-like an old man's sigh.

It was small and cluttered, a world away from the sterile perfection of his parent's house. Still, it was his-a small space of his own amidst the vast universe of the university.

He collapsed onto the bed, its springs groaning in protest. The encounter with him in the bookstore replayed itself within his mind: those piercing eyes, the chilling silence.

"What was that?" he whispered into an empty room, words echoing against the silence of himself. "Was it real? Am I going crazy?"

Whether any of it had been real; whether it was some sort of hallucination, he couldn't say, the product of his imagination. But real was the fear-the cold that had lingered.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the shadows dancing in the dim light. It was quiet-the only sounds the odd creak of the building and hum of the city blocks away.

He shut his eyes, willing the fear, the anxiety, the weight of expectations to recede. But they clung to him like a shroud, smothering.

"Come on, Elias," he muttered to himself, his tone tight with frustration. "It's getting to you. It was nothing."

He kicked and twisted, entangling his legs in the sheet. Sleep was a dream of luxury not to be indulged. The hours crawled, long eternity of dark outside, heavy silence.

He sat up, his heart pounding.

"I cannot stay here," he almost whispered. "I got to get out of here."

He couldn't stay, trapped in his room, with his thoughts and fears. The need to be outside seeking some peace had hit him like a scream. He rose and went to the window as the cool night air brushed against his face.

The city lights twinkled below-a vast expanse of concrete and steel. He looked up to the sky where the stars shone like diamonds strewn upon a black velvet cloth. The moon hung low, a pale crescent in the vastness of the night.

"Maybe... maybe Grandpa's place," he whispered, and suddenly, a spark of hope lit up in his chest.

He felt a strange tug, an ache to get out there into the world beyond this city, beyond his problems. Turning away from the window, a decision began forming in his mind.