The Dismantled Alter of Life

iv. in the devil's footsteps

"Have you been here all day?"

Mary looked up with a start, eyes wide as they met those of Douglas, who stood peering over her shoulder. As soon as she snapped back into the present, aware of her immediate surroundings, she knew she should have been aware of him by the scent of his cologne and soap alone. The moment she drew her attention from the comings and goings of others, she noticed the signs of his presence. His gaze skated over the library editions of Woolf and Hemingway and Chaucer, laying on the table among essays and notepads with coffee stains. Mary put an ink-blackened hand to her chest and breathed out shakily. "Don't frighten me like that."

He leaned back with an amused smirk and pushed his hands into his pockets. His jacket was hanging loosely around his arms and chest, the shoulders puffed too squarely for his frame. It used to fit him nicely, but now sagged as though borrowed from a larger man. "You look like you've been camping here for days." His hair, which had been oiled that morning, fell messily over his brow as an indication that his homework had him mussing it again.

She tossed the copy of Beowulf that she had in one hand to the table, causing her teacup to rattle in its saucer as though disturbed by an earthquake. "You try getting through these books in a reasonable amount of time. You know, I think you could swap out one brick from the Great Pyramid with War and Peace and no one would notice?" Her round face and softly angled eyebrows gave her the appearance of a gentle, wide-eyed, naïve woman, but behind the deceptive features he knew there was an immense store of anger and frustration towards her professors.

Douglas stared at her, trying to remember if War and Peace was the one by Dostoyevsky or the one by Tolstoy. He soon gave up, taking a seat at Mary's table. She sat in a dark corner of the Cornerstone Café, where she could see everything in the dining room. He knew there was no coincidence to the location of her study session. Ever since Gale Smith's death had been announced, ever since it was proclaimed to be a death by poison, she had been doubly aware of the people around her. The moment the news had spread, her mind had instantly begun pinning the guilt of the crime on every face she saw. From her perspective, any one of the seemingly innocent college students could be a ruthless killer. "What are you doing here, Mary?"

"Preparing for the three papers I have due next week." She grumbled, wiping ink off a bibliography page with a napkin. She wasn't looking at him, but rather staring at the people around them, scanning the faces who entered and approached the counter. Her hand reached distractedly out for her teacup and skimmed over the top of it, tipping it over in its saucer.

Her friend caught her hand by the wrist, righted her cup—which was empty—and took up the teapot, pouring her some more. The tea that streamed into the cup was tepid and room temperature. He heaved a great sigh, wondering why she hadn't gone for more hot water while she was trying to nonchalantly stake out the café. "That would probably go better if you were actually reading." Douglas commented, picking up the Hemingway and flipping through it. His eyes were still burning from the three hours he'd just spent buried in his own textbooks, so he didn't see any of the words.

Mary turned to look at him, bitterly shoving a notepad at him and accidentally pushing two pencils off the table as a result. "Then what are these notes from, I wonder?" The notepad was covered in carefully scribbled notes regarding Beowulf, the pages indented by the force of Mary's pen. They were nice to look at, but Douglas couldn't begin to understand the chaotic scrawl of Mary's penmanship. He blinked down at them only for a second before bending over and retrieving the fallen writing utensils.

He pushed the notepad back. "And what are you going to do when the weekend is over? When you have to go to class and you can't sit here for twelve hours watching people?"

Mary rolled her eyes at him and dropped her chin into her hand tiredly. She had been there since the café had opened, early that morning. "I'm an English major, Douglas, I can skip a few days of classes." Her eyes floated away from him and went back to watching.