The library was quieter than Harrison remembered.
He had asked Jacob to show him back to the room after lunch, claiming he wanted to find a book for an assignment. But the truth was, his thoughts had been consumed by the spark he'd seen days ago. He needed to know if it was still there.
"I'll pick you up before class," Jacob had said, leaving Harrison at the entrance.
Now, standing just inside, Harrison ran his fingers along the familiar edge of a table. The scent of old books filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of an air conditioner. It was the kind of silence that felt alive, brimming with potential.
Taking a deep breath, he began to explore.
---
He moved slowly, his cane tapping gently against the carpeted floor. He trailed his fingers along the spines of books, their textures and patterns forming a patchwork of impressions in his mind. The library seemed endless, the shelves stretching far beyond what he could map in his head.
And then, as he turned a corner, he felt it again.
The violet spark.
It flickered in the darkness, faint but unmistakable. Harrison froze, his breath catching in his throat.
It was there, in the far corner of the room.
For a moment, he considered calling out. But something about the spark—its quiet, pulsing energy—made him hesitate. Instead, he moved toward it, his footsteps careful and deliberate.
As he approached, the spark began to expand.
What had once been a single point of light now seemed to unfurl, spreading like the petals of a flower. Harrison could feel the air around him shift, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
And then he heard it: the soft, rhythmic sound of pages turning.
The sound was faint but clear, like the whisper of wind through leaves. It seemed to come from the very center of the spark, drawing him closer with every step.
"Hello?" Harrison said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The pages stopped.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a sudden snap, a book somewhere nearby closed.
The sound echoed sharply in the stillness, sending a shiver down Harrison's spine.
"Who's there?" he called, louder this time.
But instead of a reply, he heard footsteps.
They were soft, retreating quickly into the distance. The spark, too, began to fade, shrinking back into the darkness until it vanished completely.
Harrison stood there, gripping his cane tightly, his heart pounding in his chest.
The footsteps had been real. The spark had been real. And whoever—or whatever—it was, they were gone now.
"Wait!" he called, but the library remained silent.
For several minutes, he stayed rooted in place, listening for any sign of movement. But all he heard was the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant rustle of paper as someone turned a page far across the room.
---
When Jacob returned to collect him, Harrison said little about what had happened.
"Find anything good?" Jacob asked, his tone light.
"No," Harrison replied quietly. "Not yet."
---
That night, as he lay in bed, the memory of the spark replayed in his mind.
He had always thought of blindness as a constant—a dark screen that never changed, never shifted. But now, for the second time, something had broken through that screen.
And this time, it had moved.
Harrison clenched his hands into fists, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. Why had they run away? Were they afraid? Were they hiding something?
He didn't know.
But he knew one thing for certain: the spark wasn't just a trick of his imagination. It was someone.
And he was going to find out who.
