The Unlikely Resident of Room 313

Chapter 18

The library at two o'clock in the morning was a pleasant place. There was a camaraderie amongst the souls hunched between bookshelves and spaced throughout the cafes and study rooms. During the day, there was more room for random bursts of obnoxiousness from those who chose to hang out in the library of all places to catch up with their friends between classes.

At two o'clock in the morning?

Everyone was there for one single purpose: to get it together before class later that morning.

Roy insisted on keeping me company while I studied and I welcomed it. But soon, he grew restless, and as I studied for my Art History midterm exam later that morning, Roy kept his distance, too wrapped up in whatever ghosts did in libraries.

The library at two o'clock in the morning is a pleasant place.

Except for all the strange noises you hear while you're there.

Sitting on the fourth floor, nestled between bookshelves dedicated to historical records, I'd had enough. Rubbing the exhaustion out of my eyes, I noticed the strange, tickling sensation in the back of my mind again. This time, it felt like an itch right at the juncture of my spine and my skull, and I absently scratched at it. At first, it disappeared. Now, after twenty-four hours, it was constant.

"Okay, show yourself you heathen," I said to the bookshelf directly across from me. It rattled, as though my words spooked it, and I waited, pen drawn to my side like a dagger, for whatever or whomever stood behind it.

"Heathen?"

"Eric!" I gasped when he rounded the bookshelf. "I thought you were—nevermind! Hi!"

Under the fluorescent lights of the library, Eric's eyes were hypnotizing pools of light blue. He made his way to my table, book in one hand, energy drink in another. "What does the Classical Literature section have to offer you tonight?"

"Is this Classic Lit?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I didn't realize many people used physical books for their papers. Thank you, online databases. "I thought it had something to do with stuffy old men."

"A lot of things in here have to do with stuffy old men. What are you doing here so late?"

I gestured to the papers spread across the desk. "I'm playing catch-up on my Art History notes. I didn't realize we'd be reviewing so much material for this exam. I've been here four hours and I'm only halfway through everything."

"Don't sweat it, Rusiska. You'll do fine."

I wasn't so sure. I thought I did fine on the last exam and I ended up with a C. I don't know what I would do if I got anything below a B+ in the class. "Thanks." Eyeing the book in his hand, I asked, "What about you?"

Eric made a face. "I have to write a paper about our good friend, Plato. I get the guy had some great ideas but he also believed in eugenics, so I'm not sure."

"I prefer Socrates."

Eyebrows raised, he asked, happily surprised, "Really?"

"No." I ducked my head. "I couldn't tell you the difference, honestly."

"They all seemed pretty interesting the last time I read them. Maybe I'll give you a lesson."

"You would?"

Eric's brows furrowed. "I would what?"

I shook my head. "You said you'd give me a lesson?"

"A lesson on what?"

"Plato and Socrates."

My words did little to mitigate his confusion. "You want me to teach you about Plato and Socrates?"