Date: Fri, 12 Oct 2001 05:26:51 +0000 From: Darren Talbot Subject: the library, chapter fifteen (final chapter) the library chapter 15 *all cautions regarding the legality of this story in your area and the fictionality of it's contents are applicable. This is the final chapter, and I just wanted to say to everyone a very heartfelt thank you for supporting me and this story. I hope that you're not too angry at me, but all stories have to have an ending. It's the wanting them to go on and on that makes us love them. I hope that you've all at least enjoyed spending some time with these characters. And, maybe, at least a few of you, have loved it. That's my dream, anyway. ________________________________________________ The unconscious mind plays does interesting things. In that dark world, the only thing I can be sure of is that I watched it, the burning of the Library at Alexandria, through the eyes of a young Celt kidnapped from his home and taken by the Roman's. I had been bought as slave for an old man who turned out to be a great historian. And I had fallen in love with him, only to watch him die in that fire with his beloved treasures. He wouldn't leave them. He relased me from his service and made me swear to live. But stories like that are often lost in the back pages of history. No one reads them. As he'd died, his face had become Mort's. I awoke with a start and a sudden intake of air. Then came the coughing fit. I sat up, doubled over myself and kept hacking. I was almost going to throw up when I finally got some air. It was then that I realized that I wasn't at home, nor was I layed out on the cement at the school. I was in a hospital room. And I was not alone. There was a woman sitting in the orange chair near the window. Long, dark brown hair, limply hung from her scalp. Her hands were gathered infront of her and he head was down. When she looked up, I was pierced by her blue eyes. "Hello?" I croaked. She stood up, slowly. There was something stately about how she moved, even in jeans and a t shirt. She set her purse down in the chair and stepped to the end of the bed. There was something very familiar about her face, but I couldn't place it. I was about to ask, when she said, "Your name is Daniel Walcott?" She asked. "Yes." I groaned out, clutching my throat. That seemed to answer a question inside of her. Her lips pursed and her eyes closed to nearly slits, then returned. She put her hand on her upper arm. "My name is Nadine," She said, paused, then, "I'm Josh's mother was my sister." I stopped breathing. When I got my breath back, "I'm sorry. He never mentioned you." "That's because he never knew about me. I just found them about a week ago." I layed back, my head resting on the wall, "I'm sorry. This is a bit of a shock." She nodded, more to herself than me, then continued, "The doctor said it was alright to tell you, you've been out for about a week and a half." I couldn't move. I stopped breathing again. "How?.." I trailed off. "They said it had something to do with the ammount of alcohol, the ammount of stress, and the fact that Rig kept kicking you in the kidney when you went down." I had already started to feel the stiffness in my lower back, but now it came raging to me, "A week?.." I trailed off again. "And a half, give or take a few hours." She said, walking back to her purse and pulling out an envelope, setting it aside. She hesitated for a minute, unsure whether or not to bring it to me, then decided to leave it. "Is josh okay?" She exhaled loudly, "Did you have sex with him?" she asked. I just stared for a moment, but I could see in her eyes that she knew, "Yes." was all I said. Her eyes closed, "Why?," she asked, but before I could even try to answer, "he's just a kid, Mr. Walcott. Just a boy. Why would you do a thing like that?" I didn't have an answer for her, but I could see she didn't want one, "I finally found them through the private investigator and got here as quick as I could, and when I walked into that house and saw what I saw.." She broke up at that point, losing the battle she'd been fighting against it since starting to speak. I wanted to touch her hand and to let her know that it was okay, but I figured that would be the last thing she'd want. I found. also, that alarm was rising in me to a fever pitch. What now? "He begged me not to do anything and Rig was threatening me with a gun. I guess it was at that point that the local sherrif got word that you were in stable condition and was just rolling up. There was no way to hide what he'd been doing to Josh...and little Chrissy was locked in his room, clawing the door. He clawed his little fingers bloody." I had lots of questions, but I couldn't get my breath to speak them. "They hauled Rig off and two days later found all the tapes and com..." she broke up, then "computer files." "How long ago was that?" I finally got out. "Four days ago. They've already set the trial date." "And the boys?" "Finishing their packing as we speak. We leave for Spokane tomorrow." The hollow in my chest stretched miles that moment. I tried to speak. My mouth kept moving, but nothing was coming out. I clutched myself with my hands. I was starting to cry. "There's a treatment center just outside the city for boys like Josh. He'll be well taken care of. My husband and I...we can't have kids of our own. This is a blessing in it's own way." She said, more to the window than me. "But what will..?" I started to ask. "Please, don't. Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Mr. Walcott," she said, going to her purse and bringing back the envelope and hesitating, then handing it to me, "We will be leaving tomorrow. Please just let him go. What happened never should have, and you know that." "But I..." I started "Mr. Walcott, please. Just let him go. He's going to be a long time getting well, and he can't do that with yet another man having sex with him. He asked us not to press charges against you because he thinks he's in love with you." I hadn't thought the pain could get much worse. It did. With that, she turned, picked up her purse and walked to the door. "Please, wait. How will I..?" I asked, reaching for her. My lower back was screaming in pain. She stopped. Without turning around, she said, "You won't. I mean it, Mr. Walcott. Let him go. If you don't..." She said, then let it trail off. She was out the door before I could even think of a response. At the end of the bed was the envelope. I knew what it was the instant she'd pulled it out. I didn't want to reach for it, because that would be final. That would be the end. While it still sat there, unopened, I could still pretend. I reached for it reluctantly. It was just an ordinary white envelope with 'Daniel' written on the outside in sloppy letters. Black pen. Inside was two sheets of yellowed legal pad paper, the five by seven sheets. The edge still frilly with the torn holes. It was covered in tiny, rough print. Black pen, also. 'Daniel, This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Nadine saved our lives. Dad had gotten passports and was going to take Chrissy and I off to someplace in South America. A guy who bought the tapes was offering him big bucks to bring Chrissy and I there to live. I tried to stop him from hurting you, Daniel, I really did. He was just too big. Nadine promised me that she'd tell you the whole thing. I hope she did. . She paid some investigator more than a thousand dollars just to find us! Dad moved us around a lot; I didn't even know mom had a sister! We're safe, now, with her and her husband. He's a great guy. He reminds me of you, a lot. They say that with the evidence they have, and with the assualt on you, that they can put my dad away for a very long time. I hope so. Nadine wouldn't let me visit you. She explained to me why, and I guess it kinda makes sense. The lady they brought in to talk to me says that what I was doing with you is called Trauma Reenactment, and that it's very bad for me to do to myself. But I love you, Daniel. I do. They keep telling me that I don't know what love is, so I don't really love you. But I do know what love isn't...and I know that you never were like that to me feel like that. Ever. All you ever did was good things. But they say that I won't be able to heal myself if I just keep reenacting trauma (I don't even know what that means). I know this has got to be hard for you, and I'm so sorry, Daniel. But Chrissy and I are safe. Nadine and her husband are awesome, Daniel. They have so many pictures of my mom and so many stories about her. Nadine even kinda looks like her. I'm going to miss you so much. Maybe, one day, I'll find you again. I hope you're not too mad at me. I love you, Daniel. I always will. Josh P.S. I finshed the book. It was so sad that he killed himself at the end. He could have just changed.' And with that, he was gone. It was signed in a shaky scrawl. I brought the pages to my face and kissed them. I was crying hysterically when the nurse came in to see why my pulse had jumped up so much. They had to sedate me. --epilogue-- So, that brings me to the end of the story of Josh. And why books make me think of him. And why I have a white envelope slowly growing yellow in my safe right next to Melville. And the other book, that was so silent long ago. What about me? Eventually, after a few years, I moved on. I got some help for myself and eventually, closed up my shop, The Library. I moved around some, finally settling here, where the sun is nicer. And a young man recently graduated with his Masters in English Literature. I got one more letter from Josh, around Hannukah last year. He wrote that he is doing well, in a relationship of his own with a young man he met in college. He thanked me for loving him and for showing him that new world. The one that had seemed like watching the sun from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.