Prospero's Ghost - Part VI: McMaster University - Present Day

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McMaster University - Present Day

Alan Lester moved the mouse, manipulating the icon on the screen and clicking the button to start the next print job. He looked at his watch as the Espresso Book Machine started spitting out printed pages into the collector tray. Titles bookstore had been closed for a couple of hours and he was just over half done the order. All the drama at the library had delayed the transfer of the file, making him pull a late shift to get the copies needed for the students.

He sighed. That poor kid. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the parents must be going through. Didn’t want to. Right now his own son would be out of the tub, a nightly pre-bedtime bath before heading off to visit the sandman. It was the best part of the day for Alan. Stretched out on the bed, his young son curled up under the covers, sharing a story or two. He couldn’t imagine not ever doing that again.

The printer stopped and the carriage hummed to life, ready for the next step in the printing process.

Alan checked his watch again. With over half the order of the book already waiting in receiving, maybe he would get out a couple more copies and then call it a night. It wouldn’t be the entire order, but he could easily come in early and print off the rest. Students never came into the store first thing in the morning anyway.

He was just about to write a note to Patricia Irving, explaining the missing texts, when he heard the distinct sound of shuffling through the book stacks. He frowned, paused in his movement, listened for the sound again. When nothing came, he shrugged it off. He knew he was in the store alone. Had been for hours.

He picked up the pen again, and heard the noise, this time closer.

“Hello?” he called out, turning from the machine, pen still in hand.

No reply. No noise.

He chuckled at his own ridiculous behaviour. He really had to stop reading those horror novels before bed. He stopped when the noise came again.

This time, he didn’t call out, but moved, walking slowly towards the sound.

Alan turned the corner, struck by the sight of an older man, slim and gangly looking in his grey trousers and dark tweed blazer.

“Excuse me sir, how did you get in here?” Alan asked, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice despite the rapid thudding of his heart.

The man turned, revealing a haughty facial expression dominated by dark blazing eyes behind silver rimmed glasses.

“He that dies, pays all debts,” he said in an even voice.

Alan frowned. “Sir?” he asked. “Do you know where you are?”

“In the company of the Bard,” came the reply.

The bookstore employee looked at the sign above the closest bookshelf and realized they were indeed standing in the Shakespeare section of the store.

He thought about it. While the store was cleared out by the closing staff, it was entirely possible for them to have missed one person, quietly loitering in an out of the way section such as this. Hidden away among the stacks, the poor man could have been locked in all night

“We’ve been closed for quite some time, sir. Is there someone I can call to come and get you?”

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

Alan frowned again. It was obvious the man was quoting Shakespeare, but he couldn’t remember which one of the plays the words came from. Despite his theatre background, the Bard had never been his strong suit.

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