Every Sunday, I release a new short story in the ‘Sunday Story Time’ series! I write these stories the day they are published, usually within 2-3 hours. These stories could be about anything, but they will all be brief, 2-3 minute reads. Enjoy!
Ms. Abigail and the Librarian
“Hi, Sam!” came a bright young voice from across the counter.
Three books. Let’s see…Diary of Anne Frank…Houseboat Mystery and…ahha! Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. This must be little Ms. Abigail.
“Why, hello Ms. Abigail, just three this time?”
“Well, yes. Mom says I need to play outside more this summer,” she said, rolling her eyes in the most performative way.
“How did you like the Half-Blood Prince?” Sam asked, preparing himself for the deluge of thoughts that he knew would follow.
“I loved it! But it made me feel bad for Severus Snape because of his crush on Lily. And I didn’t like that Hogwarts isn’t a happy place anymore and I thought that Ron was completely wrong,”
Sam looked over Abigail’s shoulder, she was short enough that he could, and saw a long line was starting to form.
He interrupted, “Ms. Abigail,”
“Yes, Sam?”
“I have to help the next person in line, but it was lovely to see you today, and I can’t wait to hear what you think of Deathly Hallows. Please come back and see me next week, okay?”
“Okay! And you know I really think that Hermione shouldn’t be with…”
Her voice trailed off as her Mom gently herded her out the automatic doors of the Library.
Sam smiled as he began helping the next person in line.
Atomic Habits and… that’s it? One book. That’s odd. Who goes to the library to check out one book?
Sam scanned the book, stamped the inside, and sent the stranger on their way with a sincere if unenthusiastic “Have a great day.”
—
Sam has worked in the Rancho Cordova branch of the Sacramento Public Library for the last 9 years. He got the job straight out of college. He wanted to be a writer and thought proximity to books would surely help him in that endeavor. In just shy of a decade he’s finished exactly zero stories. But he’s started hundreds of them. Sam has a fascination with first lines. ‘Once upon a time’, ‘It was a dark and stormy night’, etc. His best so far was ‘The storm clawed at the edges of the old mansion, as if the night itself were desperate to reclaim the secrets buried within its walls.’ Someday he’d write those secrets down.
It was a dark and stormy night when Sam had his accident. He was riding his bike home from a shift at the library. It was raining pretty hard, but he was accustomed to riding in bad conditions. Sam was passing through a four-way stop sign intersection when he was struck. The driver missed the stop sign. The car plowed into Sam’s left side, throwing him off the bike, where he slammed his head so hard against the pavement that his helmet broke and his skull fractured.
The accident left Sam permanently disabled, wheelchair bound. Spinal cord injury. It also took his ability to recognize faces. His doctors called it prosopagnosia, but Sam explained it matter-of-factly as ‘Face blindness’. It’s a complication of head trauma that only occurs in a tiny fraction of victims.
After the accident, people said to Sam he was lucky to be alive. He didn’t feel that way.
As if life in a chair weren’t hard enough, the face blindness meant that he couldn’t recognize his friends, co-workers, or even his regulars at the Library.
Sam’s world shrank overnight.
—
A week had passed and Sam was expecting to see Ms. Abigail today and to hear all her thoughts on the Deathly Hallows. It was Tuesday after all.
But as the day dragged on, Abigail and her Mother were nowhere to be found.
This was unusual, since the pair were regulars at the library, and Abigail had certainly finished the three books she checked out last week. Most likely within just a few days of bringing them home. Avid wasn’t the word for Abigail. It was more like voracious.
Sam was getting worried.
He flashed his customer service smile at the next person in line. They placed their books on the counter in front of him.
Two, three…FIVE biographies. Davinci, MLK, Bush Sr, Khan, and Gorbachev. It must be Gary.
“Hi Gary, it’s been quite a while. Did you make your way through the last batch?”
“Yep.”
Gary was a retired security guard. He had been coming to this branch since before Sam had started with the Libary.
“Any standouts?”, Sam asked.
“Jobs was an interesting one. Mean SOB.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” said Sam, “you’ll have to tell me what you think of the Khan bio. It’s on my list.”
“Will do,” said Gary “I’ll see you in a month.”
“Oh wait, Gary you mind if I run something by you?”
“Sure, what you got?”
Sam explained the situation to Gary, who listened patiently but clearly thought it wasn’t a big deal.
“It takes a lot more than missing a day at the library to get the police interested,” said Gary, “but if you’re really worried I’d suggest calling the Mom, you’ve got her in your system don’t you?”
Why didn’t I think of that.
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Gary. See you next month.”
The library closed at 6 pm. As soon as Sam locked the doors he wheeled over to the counter and pulled up the phone number in the system. Strictly speaking, this was against library rules, but Sam was by himself tonight, nobody around to see. What if something really is wrong? He thought.
He dialed. The phone rang several times. No answer. He tried again. Nothing. Sam noticed a home address in Abigail’s file. It wasn’t far from the library. He decided he’d have a look on the way home. He was already in this deep.
What’s the harm in a drive-by.
Sam wheeled up the ramp into his van and transferred from his chair to the driver’s seat. He pulled up the address on his phone, ETA 2 minutes.
Turning onto Abigail’s street, he was shocked to see five patrol cars lined up in front of the house. He parked down the street and watched. Officers were going in and out of the house. There was yellow crime scene tape strung through the yard and curious neighbors lining the block.
He rolled his window down to ask a neighbor if they knew anything.
“What’s going on?” He asked.
“You just missed it. They were hauled off in cuffs a half hour ago. Some kind of white-collar thing I think. They were being led by men in suits.”
“What about the girl?” Sam asked.
“What girl?”
“Their daughter. The girl who lived there. About 10 years old?”
“I’ve lived here for years, there’s never been a girl in that house.”
Sam was confused. He pulled further up the street and asked another neighbor. He got the same response. He managed to get the attention of one of the officers who waived him over.
“Sir, you can’t be here.”
Some greeting.
“I just want to know what happened to the girl who was living here. I work for the library and she and her Mom come in all the time.”
“I can’t give out details of an active investigation.”
“So she’s alive?”
“There’s no girl at this address. Move along, sir.”
No girl. How is that possible? Where did she go? Is that woman even her mother? Was this the right address?
Sam was reeling and lost in thought when he heard a noise in the back of his van. He turned to see a mound of blankets he hadn’t noticed before and a small pink Converse sticking out from under the pile.
It was Abigail.
MW 