Look in between. Rianna ran the words through her head on repeat, no matter how much she didn’t want to hear them anymore. Her mother’s words had replaced the lyrics to the latest K-pop song, infectiously and incessantly catchy.
Her mother’s words, a whispered false hope that dementia hadn’t quite stolen the voice that had once been strong enough to call her to supper no matter how far Rianna had strayed in the neighboring woods.
“Look in between,” she muttered, and bit her tongue with a blandly pleasant smile at the woman exiting. Rianna stabbed her badge toward the turnstyle entrance and dropped the lanyard over her head, then headed for the elevators. It doesn’t matter that I know it won’t make sense, I just want to know what she meant.
She nodded to her boss, who barely acknowledged the greeting while barreling toward the building’s coffeeshop. Too dear for Rianna, these days, not with saving her pennies in the hopes that Mama could go into a nicer home when it finally got to be too much for family. And it would, eventually, the doctor and social worker had made that clear.
“Look in between,” sang Mama’s voice to the beat of the migraine-inducing chirpiness that echoed inside her skull. Rianna jabbed her thumb at the button for her floor, glad she was for once alone in the windowless box.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Look in between.
The elevator stopped with a lurch. Rianna clutched the railing and swallowed. There was still power, for now, and it told her the box was suspended four and a half flights above the ground.
Do something. She poked the button for her floor again, with no result, then tried every other button. It took several minutes to pry open the call box, only to find the handset missing.
Look in between. The words were more than an irritant now. She thumped her fist on the door.
The metal pulled back smoothly and silently.
“Oh. Hello.” An elderly man with wispy tufts of white hair greeted her. He was surrounded by shadows, arms were full of books, and an expression of surprise on his face. “I don’t get many visitors to the Library.”
She stepped into the room cautiously, one hand on the doors. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the elevator got stuck and then dropped me off here.” She gave a short laugh and let her hand slip. “It seems to think I’m halfway between floors.”
The man nodded gravely. “Indeed.”
“Er.” Air moved behind her. She whirled to find the doors already closed. “I need to get to work.”
“No,” the man said kindly, and somehow she wasn’t as concerned as she should have been. “Your need must have been very great to find your way here.”
Rianna’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Endless shelves filled the room, as far as she could see. Stacks of books mixed with scrolls, scraps of random paper, and even what might be a clay cuneiform tablet, if she squinted. The scent of old paper reminded her of hours spent in the library, chasing research projects.
The man set his books down and settled behind a heavy mahogany desk, well-scarred and stained with splotches of ink. “Now. What brings you to the Library of Last Resort?”
***
This week’s prompt was inspired by Parrish Baker: The elevator stopped between floors in the last place she thought to look.
My prompt went to Becky Jones: He was a modern-day noir detective, with all that came with it — but the cost of helping her was higher than even he’d suspected.
Find more, over at MOTE! And don’t forget, you can join in anytime. Get a prompt sent to odd prompts at gmail dot com to trade tonight, or snag a spare tomorrow!
