It was the third time I walked by this week. I don’t know what it was about this particular library that was drawing me in. I love a Victorian Gothic library.
There were countless old buildings in this town. I was here to explore. I had been waiting years to finally take a trip, and I finally had life settled enough that I could do it.
I remembered my old friend wanting to go with me to explore libraries around Europe. I never got that chance with her. We both got busy and lost touch.
But here I am now. Not Europe, but finally a chance to leave my country of origin. A chance to pretend for a second that the chaos of being a stupid American was far away.
Not that people couldn’t tell where I was from. I just had to open my mouth.
I had walked in with a tour this time instead of just meandering on the grounds. Checked in my bag and phone, so it was just me, this building, and the 8 other weird tourists interested in history and libraries. These were my people.
The tour guide was also a nice addition to the scenery, I must say. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. But it was the voice that caught me. It always does. I’m a sucker for an accent, and his had a rough-edged warmth that seemed to echo beautifully in the high vaulted ceilings. It gave the whole afternoon a distinctly thrilling edge. It was intoxicating.
At one point, his gruffness made me think he would soon tell us not to go to the West Wing.
A sudden smirk landed on my face as I thought about it, and he caught me with it. I tried to awkwardly smile out of it. It is not like he was saying anything funny at the time, just talking about how the building had survived the 1907 fire.
I tried hiding in the tour after that, going unnoticed for the rest of the time. Just taking in the grandeur of the building. As the tour ended and we grabbed our personal belongings, the tour guide stopped me.
“What did you think about the library and the tour? Did I do a good job of filling your head with the gravitas of the place?”
Was he fishing for a tip? I didn’t bring any money. I suddenly felt bad.
“You did a great job, although it is hard to compete with this building. Sometimes I just love taking it in, thinking about the people that have been here and what this place has seen over the years. You know, I am used to being quiet in the library.”
Sometimes I really need to learn to just shut my mouth. Did I just insult him and say I wished he didn’t talk? That couldn’t be farther from the truth. That accent, which I could tell was not entirely from this place, was doing things to my body and my brain, apparently.
“You know, there is another tour we do at night where we talk about the ghosts haunting the building. Are you still in town tomorrow night? I think you would enjoy that.”
Yes, yes, I would, but it’s interesting for him to assume. Ok, brain, stop putting thoughts into his head.
“I will still be here. Maybe I will check that out. Thank you for the recommendation.”
Walking outside, I tried to smoothly get away before I made a bigger fool of myself. There was something about him. Something familiar, something tempting me.
Of course, I had to come back for the night tour the next day. The area was very interesting at night. It was a part of the city that went dark and quiet after a certain time.
I had found the fountain that the directions said to meet by, but no one was there yet. It was a little unsettling. I hope this tour is going to be good. Not a great start if the tour guide isn’t here 10 min before the start to welcome people. Usually, you see people gathering, too. This place seems completely deserted.
I tried walking around to see if I could find another meeting place. I didn’t want to get too far away from the fountain. Looking in the library showed nothing. It was completely dark.
The quiet inside the library yesterday felt purposeful, but tonight outside the building, it felt wrong somehow. Like turning a corner and losing all the chatter of the city. The street noise was gone, and I was feeling uneasy. There should be someone around. I shouldn’t be alone here. These types of tours were popular. Why is no one around?
The only noise I could hear was from the fountain. Maybe I should go back to it.
As soon as I decided to do that and turn around, I saw something through the glass. Was there someone inside the foyer? Maybe I should wait a second. I tried to get a closer look, but the stained glass windows were not helpful at night.
Just as I was about to give up, I heard a noise, and in that same instant, I felt a hand on my wrist pulling me into the shadows and against a hard body.
I gasped, my heart violently hammering against my ribs as I was yanked backward off my feet and dragged into him and the library. The smell of the city gone, replaced by the smell of old paper, floor wax, and the faint, sharp scent of him.
I knew in an instant that my tour guide had arrived. I was about to open my mouth, maybe he thought I would scream. His body was giving me another reaction, though. Still, he put his hand on my mouth to quiet me.
“Shh,” he whispered, a low, vibrant vibration that rattled straight down my spine. “You said it yourself. One must always be quiet in the library.”
Lisa Gray 