PROLOGUE !
IT WAS A classic morning as Cynthia rushed to her job in the rain, clutching the umbrella handle tight. "Definitely still in Britain," she grumbled to herself, practically sprinting to her destination.
Cynthia Simons, a regular girl with a regular life. Working part-time at a bookshop and writing a half-assed romance novel. Not to mention her successful younger brother who did YouTube, Twitch streaming, and managed to attend college all at the same time.
But, that's besides the point.
Blonde dyed hair which her brown roots have long overgrown into and dark blue eyes—sometimes mistaken for black. Her dark brown overcoat slapped against her left leg as she pushed her way through the slightly crowded streets, slightly tugging at her black face mask and her old beat-up Vans hit the concrete sidewalk in a rhythmic pattern.
Busy morning, she mused, catching glimpses at the other adults passing by her. Finally, the slightly boxy and vintage bookshop appeared in her peripheral vision. Gratitude washed over Cynthia as she took a sharp turn into the alleyway, aiming to enter through the back door.
After speed walking to the back entrance—a sad place with old, soggy books kept in a large cardboard box stationed at the foot of the stone staircase leading up to a big metal door—she shoved a hand into her coat pockets, trying to find her key to actually gain access to the bookstore.
But, despite checking both pockets—both inside and out, she wasn't able to find it.
The wave of gratitude that overcame her a few moments prior was swapped out for a feeling of panic.
She fumbled for her phone and sent a quick text message to her coworker, typing with her thumb and holding the umbrella close.
oliver evans 📖
iMessage
Today 10:49
evans lemme in
don't have my key
thru the back
Read 10:49
gotcha
A sigh of relief left Cynthia's lips and she slid her iPhone back into her coat pocket, waiting patiently for the metal door to swing open. Soon enough, the metal creaked softly and a head popped out from the behind the door.
Fluffy black hair peeked out along with wide gray eyes. A pleased look passed over the stormy eyes when he saw Cynthia and a guy stepped out, holding the door open wider.
Oliver Evans, eighteen and almost 6'3", was Cynthia's coworker. He stood awkwardly, wearing a green hoodie and dark blue jeans. His gray Converse dug into the beige carpet and a black surgical mask was hanging from one ear.
Cynthia, someone who's been working at the Book Attic for almost twelve months, has known Oliver for five. The first time the two met, Cynthia thought his name was Evans but that's his last name. Since Cynthia was already used to calling her coworker Evans, she stuck to that name.
The girl smiled gratefully at Oliver and bobbed her head. "Thanks, Evans. I think I left my key at my house somewhere," she started to ramble, stepping inside after closing and shaking the water off of her black umbrella. "But maybe—"
Oliver waved a hand in a nonchalant manner and shrugged. "It's cool. I totally get it. When you're done putting all your stuff down, head to the front. I'll be stocking the shelves."
After Cynthia gave Oliver a thumbs up, he disappeared into the large bookshop. The Book Attic, a popular bookstore in Nottingham, is owned by a lady called Elise Fander. A kind humble old lady with gray wisps of hair and startling bright brown eyes, who stays in the back, often rearranging books or reading a few herself.
The shop itself is homey; tall and long shelves made of Alder wood, full to the brim with books; tables with evenly spaced out chairs, each with a white cushion; dim lighting and the lingering smell of newly-printed books with the scent of paper and ink or older books that have a musky, almost sweet type of smell to it. The people who worked there, always soft-spoken and kind to the customers, made the Book Attic a book-lover's heaven.
It was as if a Joe Hisashi song came to life and took the form of a bookshop.
Cynthia traveled to the backroom—a small and boxy room, almost claustrophobic—where coat hangers hung on the metal rod to the far left side of the room and a few lockers for the staff on the opposite end. She shrugged off her thick overcoat and hung it up, revealing a grey hoodie and black jeans underneath. She leaned her umbrella handle against the wooden walls before turning to the wall of lockers.
A few quick turns on the number lock opened her locker, allowing Cynthia to place her brown messenger bag into the small cabinet. Before leaving, she transferred her iPhone from her coat pocket to her black pants.
In a few moments, she was out of the backroom and heading towards the cash register. Despite it being almost 11 AM on a Tuesday—a time where there's little to no people in the store—multiple people could be seen in the shop.
A petite brunette woman with boxy glasses was in the Horror Novels aisle with her hand gripping a small boy's who looked to be her child. The child looked wide-eyed at the ample amount of scary novels that peeked out from each shelf.
An older man, seemingly to be in his late forties, was sitting at a round table, reading the day's newspaper. Who reads the paper these days? Cynthia pondered as she watched the man flip to the next page.
Lastly, two teenagers, both looking to be around thirteen, were looking at the comics. Good comics, they were. A mixture of the oldies and the more recent ones.
She sat on the bar stool that was kept behind the register and slid her phone out of her pocket, checking for any notifications. Just then, a message from her younger brother popped up on the screen.
tom aka gremlin
Am I able to call you rn?
Now
Cynthia raised an eyebrow before pressing the message with her thumb and told him to give her a second. Just in time, Oliver came out from the maze of shelves. Cynthia held up her phone, gestured to the backroom, pointed at the cash register, then held up five fingers. After the countless hours of working together, Oliver knew what she was trying to say.
I have to make a call. Take over for five minutes.
!
TOMMY THUMBED HIS screen as he scrolled through Reddit, as any good teenager would and should be doing, while listening to a khai dreams song. The song was interrupted when his ringtone, the default Reflection that was assigned by Apple, blared in his AirPods.
The name Cynthia Simons appeared at the top of his screen. He pushed himself up from his bed, resting his back against the wall before pressing Accept.
"'Ello?"
"Hey, Tom," Cynthia greeted on the other end of the call. "Why'd you wanna talk and couldn't you have waited until I was done with work?"
The blonde teenager laughed and apologized. "Sorry, sorry. Mum and Dad were asking if you wanted to visit sometime soon. 'Cause it's been about a month since we last saw you." He paused, waiting for his sister's response.
"Alright," Cynthia accepted. "Sounds good. Anything else?"
Tommy hesitated before bringing up the most recent thing that's been on his mind. "I have a favor to ask and it's fairly simple, if you—"
"Just say it," she interrupted. "I haven't got a lot of time."
"Okay, okay. So, a few friends of mine want to meet in Brighton and they said they won't bring me and I really want to go." He spoke fast, almost stumbling over every other word. "But, Dad said he didn't want to take me so..." Tommy trailed off.
"And you want me to...take you? To Brighton with your friends," she added. "That's what you're asking?"
"Mhm," Tommy hummed, tugging at his Schlatt & Co hoodie's strings. "Exactly."
"Okay and..." she continued. "If you don't mind me asking, who are these friends?"
"Oh, well—" He paused. "Wilbur, Phil, Niki, and Fundy. You've met them before."
"Yeah, over Discord," Cynthia clarified. "They won't try to kill you or pull any shit like that, right?"
Tommy laughed at the thought of any of them trying to murder their sixteen year old friend. That wouldn't happen. "Yeah, they won't. You have my word. The only person who might do that is Wilbur but you know, the Philza Minecraft would have to step in. I don't get why you're so worried. It'll be fine, Cyn."
She sighed and shrugged. "It's the big sister inside of me, alright, Tom?" After a moment of deliberation, Cynthia agreed. "Okay, I'll take you. When are we supposed to leave?"
"Thursday. The twelve. You don't have work, right?"
"I don't," Cynthia admitted. "Okay, just text me an—"
She was cut short when a muffled voice called her name. "Okay," Cynthia's voice came out clearer. "Gotta go, Tom. Text me any other details I need to know. Bye. Love you."
"Yeah. Bye, love you too," he repeated before Cynthia ended the phone call.
The previously playing khai dreams song continued as Tommy opened the Discord mobile app on his phone. He pressed his second most recent DM and began typing.
WilburSoot - Yesterday at 0:21
okay gn
— August 9th, 2020 —
TommyInnit - Today at 11:02
Guess who's coming to Brighton with you?