Aevorin And Elaine

The library doors stood open.

He pushed through.

Cold met him first. Not the ordinary chill of an overworked air conditioner, but a damp, deep cold that crawled beneath his practice shirt. The library smelled of dust, old paper, and rain. Rows of shelves cut the room into narrow passages. At the far end, a single desk lamp glowed green over the circulation counter.

“Elaine?”

His voice seemed to sink between the shelves.

He moved farther inside, football tucked against his hip. On the nearest table, an open book lay facedown. Its pages trembled though there was no wind. When Aevorin reached for it, the pages flipped by themselves, stopping at a photograph tucked between them.

The picture showed Halden High’s library years ago. The furniture was different. The windows were taller. Students blurred across the frame.

One girl stood near the back wall.

Elaine.

Aevorin leaned closer. Her face was turned away, but the satchel hung from her shoulder. The same one she carried now.

A quiet scrape sounded behind him.

He turned.

Elaine sat in the last chair of the nearest reading table.

She looked as though she had been waiting for him.

Her dark hair fell over one shoulder. The fluorescent lights passed strangely through the edges of her, softening her outline until she seemed made from the pale light itself. Aevorin had noticed that before, but tonight he could not pretend it was a trick of exhaustion.

“You followed me,” she said.

Her voice was low, almost amused.

“You told me to come here.”

“I didn’t say it out loud.”

“You wrote it on my playbook.”

A faint smile touched her mouth. “You kept the page?”

“It’s under my pillow.”

The smile disappeared, replaced by something more careful. “You shouldn’t joke about things you don’t understand.”

Aevorin set the football on the table. “Then help me understand.”

Elaine looked toward the dark windows. Rain streaked the glass, though he had not heard it begin.

“You’re meant to be at practice.”

“I was.”

“And your coach?”

“Angry.”

“He’s always angry.”

“You know Coach?”

“I know the school.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her fingers moved over the tabletop. They did not quite touch it. A thin line of frost formed beneath them, then faded.

Aevorin saw it. Elaine saw him see it.

For a moment neither spoke.

He should have been afraid. Instead, the silence between them pulled at him with an intimacy he had not earned. She knew when he was lying about being fine. She knew which stairwell he used when he wanted to avoid the crowds. She had left three notes in his locker, each one written in the same narrow handwriting.

Don’t take the east stairs.

You’ll miss the pass if you look up.

Library. After practice.

Her warnings had saved him from a falling light fixture, an ugly collision during drills, and a school security guard who had nearly caught him skipping study hall. He had told himself he wanted answers.

That was no longer the whole truth.

“I keep seeing you,” he said. “But nobody else does.”

Elaine’s gaze returned to him. “Maybe nobody else is looking.”

“I asked Mara about you.”

Something tightened across Elaine’s face. “Don’t.”

“She said she’s never heard your name.”

“Then believe her.”

“I can’t.”

“You should.”

Aevorin stepped around the table. The air grew colder as he approached her, but beneath the cold he caught the faint scent of lavender. It clung to her, delicate and familiar, like a forgotten drawer in his grandmother’s house.

“You leave messages for me,” he said. “You show up wherever I am. You know things about me that you shouldn’t know.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t.”

“I know you hate being called a star because it makes everyone expect you to win. I know you rub the tape around your wrist when you’re nervous. I know you pretend not to hear your teammates when they talk about scouts.”

His breath caught.

Elaine looked down at his wrist. The athletic tape was loose, stained with grass.

“You’ve been watching me,” he said.

“Yes.”

The answer was so plain that it unsettled him more than denial would have.

“Why?”

She lifted her eyes. “Because you were the only one who noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“Me.”

The library lights blinked out.

Aevorin heard the shelves groan around them. Somewhere in the building, a locker slammed. Then another. The sound traveled through the walls, growing louder until it seemed the whole school was shutting itself one metal door at a time.

Elaine rose.

“Stay close,” she whispered.

She moved between the shelves. Aevorin followed, his shoulder brushing a row of books. Dust shook loose and touched his cheek. The darkness seemed thicker beyond the pools of emergency light.

“What is happening?” he asked.

“Halden remembers.”

“That doesn’t answer me.”

“It’s the only answer I have.”

A book dropped from a shelf ahead of them. Aevorin flinched. Elaine reached for his hand.

Her fingers closed around his.

The contact was cold, but not empty. He felt pressure, the faint tremble of her grip, the delicate drag of her thumb across his knuckles. His confusion loosened beneath the warmth of being held.

Elaine stopped.

For the first time since he had seen her, she looked frightened.

“Don’t let go,” she said.

Aevorin turned toward her. “I wasn’t planning to.”

The words changed the air between them.

Her hand remained in his. Her face was close enough for him to see the tiny silver flecks in her eyes. He could hear the rain against the windows, the distant ticking of the library clock, and his own breathing growing uneven.

“You’re not real,” he whispered.

Pain crossed her expression.

It was quick, but he saw it.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t cast a reflection unless you want to. You disappear when I ask too many questions. No one remembers you.”

“I said don’t let go.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No.” Her voice thinned. “It’s a request.”

Aevorin’s anger faltered. He had expected mystery, perhaps a warning, even some impossible explanation. He had not expected her to look at him as if his disbelief were another door closing.

He softened his grip. “Tell me what you need.”

Elaine glanced toward the library entrance. The darkness there had begun to ripple, as if someone were walking through it without making a sound.

“I need you to stop searching for me when I’m gone.”

“Why?”

“Because this place notices.”

“What notices?”

“The school. The halls. The things that stay after people leave.”

Aevorin stared at her. “You’re saying the building is haunted?”

“I’m saying you are not the only one being watched.”

The ripple at the entrance stopped.

Elaine’s hand tightened around his.

Aevorin stepped in front of her without thinking. His body knew how to protect a pocket in the field, how to take a hit meant for someone else. He had no idea what he was shielding her from, but he planted his feet anyway.

Elaine looked up at him. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Stand between danger and everyone else.”

“That’s the job.”

“No. It’s the excuse.”

He glanced back. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“I told you. You were the only one who noticed me.”

The words landed differently now. Not like a haunting. Like a confession.

Aevorin turned fully toward her. The cold had faded from the space between them, replaced by the heat of their joined hands. He could feel her thumb resting against his pulse.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Elaine’s eyes lowered.

“I don’t remember all of it.”

The admission seemed to cost her. Her shoulders drew inward, and the brave, teasing edge left her face.

“I remember the library,” she continued. “The rain. A book falling. Then I remember waking up here, and no one could hear me.”

“Waking up?”

“I don’t know what else to call it.”

“Were you a student?”

She looked toward the photograph on the table. “I think so.”

“You think?”

“There are pieces. A locker combination. A song from the old auditorium. Your name.”

“My name?”

“You say it when you’re alone.”

Aevorin felt his face warm despite the cold room. “I do not.”

“You do.” Her smile returned, small and unsteady. “Usually after you miss a throw.”

“That happens less than you think.”

“It happened twice today.”

He laughed before he could stop himself.

Elaine watched him as though the sound mattered. The library seemed to settle around them. Even the darkness beyond the shelves receded.

Aevorin lifted their joined hands. “If you can touch me, then you’re real.”

Her expression changed.

“Not in the way you mean,” she said.

The warning should have stopped him. Instead, he moved closer, slowly enough that she could step away.

“Elaine.”

She did not retreat.

“Tell me to stop.”

Her breath trembled. “I’m not telling you to stop.”

He searched her face one last time. Her eyes held fear, longing, and something that made his chest ache - a hope she seemed ashamed to carry.

Aevorin leaned toward her.

The library clock struck nine.

Elaine vanished.

Not faded. Not stepped away. One moment her hand was in his, cold against his skin. The next, his fingers closed around nothing.

He stumbled forward and caught the edge of the table. The photograph slid to the floor.

“Elaine?”

No answer.

He searched between the shelves, then the aisles, then the space beneath the tables. His shoes struck the floor hard enough to echo. He checked the windows. They were locked. The library doors remained open, but the hallway beyond was empty.

On the table, beneath the green lamp, the photograph lay faceup.

The girl near the back wall was gone.

Aevorin picked it up with shaking fingers.

On the white border, new writing had appeared.

Don’t come looking tomorrow.

He read it twice.

Then, beneath the first line, another sentence slowly darkened across the paper.

Unless you want them to find you.

Aevorin’s grip tightened until the photograph bent.

He had wanted answers. He had wanted to know why Elaine followed him through Halden High, why she appeared only to him, why the sight of her made the rest of the school feel suddenly hollow.

Now he knew one thing with terrible certainty.

She had not vanished because she wanted to leave him.

She had vanished because something had made her.

Aevorin slipped the photograph into his pocket, picked up the football, and walked toward the hallway.

Behind him, somewhere among the shelves, a book opened by itself.

He did not turn around.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters in the full book.