"You know, Loftman, I don't think sleeping during the lesson is going to get you a higher grade in this class." Patty's whisper was loud in my ear; her breath tickling my skin. As my head lay on my desk, I glanced over my curled arms at her. She twirled her pencil in between her fingers, eyeing me with a bird eye's view from her own desk—the one beside mine.
I shrugged. "As long as I'm passing, I don't care."
She frowned. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
I shrugged again. "A little." That was a lie.
Sleep had been a foreign thing to me for the past two nights. My mind was far too open to rest. I'd slipped the ring into a Ziplock bag and stored it in my bottom drawer when I got home. But I couldn't figure out what to do with it. Should I have given it to someone? Should I have told Christian I found it? If I did either of those things, it could have helped them with their case.
Taking matters into my own hands was also an option. One touch on that ring could have had all the answers I was looking for. But there were two issues. One: there was a ninety-eight percent chance I'd leave my fingerprints. Two: I found possible evidence for Emerald's case, took said evidence, and didn't notify the police department. That was a recipe for disaster.
Not to mention, I wouldn't have seen the light of day for the next several years.
"If it helps any, the teacher's lounge has plenty of coffee. And being that I'm a hall monitor, I have lots of viable connections. So, if I want coffee, I can get it." There was an inviting smile on her face oozing with confidence. I wasn't sure she ever ran out of confidence, at this point.
I figured her words were code for being a teacher's pet. It was no secret that most teacher's favored Patty over everyone else. She tried her hardest and did what she was told with no questions asked. I didn't think she had a rebel bone in her body.
"That's okay, Patty. I don't need you to do that," I mumbled.
She stared at me in a daze—almost as if she was staring in wonder. My lips twitched. But I didn't let myself frown. Rather, I met her gaze with my own heavy stare. My eyes bored into hers so much, I was practically picking her apart with my eyes, and taking a dive in her soul.
"What is it?" I scoffed.
"Hmm, you know, they say sleep is a valuable thing. Loftman, every day you come to school tired. Do you even value your sleep? I'm not sure if you're an insomniac or if there's something else going on but the human body needs at least eight to nine hours of sleep—"
"Patty! Tyler!" Both of our shoulders tensed. Our English teacher, Ms. Torrez, scolded us with her big, oval-shaped hazel eyes; narrowed into a thin slit. She had both hands on her hips as she grinded her teeth in annoyance.
"Sorry," Patty and I said in unison.
"Pay attention. Please." Ms. Torrez sighed. Neither of us retorted—only faced the board and gave Ms. Torrez our undivided attention. Ms. Torrez's words went in and out of one ear. I tried my best to focus but everything she said sounded like gibberish to me. It wasn't possible for my brain to function on less than six hours of sleep. And that was the total for both days combined.
"Tyler, you're dozing off again!" Patty hissed. "Are you sure you don't need that coffee?"
"Yes, Patty. I'm sure. I don't even drink coffee—"
"Class dismissed!" Ms. Torrez's voice followed after the bell. Chairs scraped across the hard, marble, polished floors while students scrambled out of the classroom with their belongings in hand. I looked away, then back at Patty who was neatly packing her folders into her bag.
"Hey Patty, can I ask you a question?"
She paused. Her eyes darted over, scanning me with caution. "Sure. . . What is it?"
"Have you heard about any updates on the Emerald Lynn case, perchance?"
"Updates? You're interested in her case now?" she asked incredulously. I didn't miss the way her eyebrows shot up. Her mouth fell agape too. Geez, was it that hard to believe I was interested? Perhaps I needed to lay off the unbothered façade a little bit.
"Oh, uh, it's just I know you were following the case. And ever since you brought it up, I've been intrigued. So, I was curious." Really, I just didn't have enough time to do any research of my own. And when I did have enough time, I wasn't in the right headspace.
"Hmm, well okay then." Patty clenched onto the straps of her bookbag. "I don't think there's been any other information yet. . . Oh wait! Actually, there were some reports that came out yesterday. Reportedly, Emerald was last seen leaving a library with a male."
I muttered, "A male? A library? What?" I hadn't heard about anything like that.
"Yeah. Those are rumors though. Nothing's been confirmed by the police."
"Isn't there a huge public library on the North end of town?" Alongside charter schools, and Patty's home that were close by in vicinity—from what I could remember, at least.
"I think so." She shrugged. "Do you think that's the library the rumors are talking about?"
"That's the biggest one in all of town, isn't it? Lots of people go there." Lots of people except myself. But now I had a reason to go and it was going to be my next stop after school. I didn't know the exact address. But it shouldn't have been hard to find with Google or even if I asked around. Some of Lake Bellinor's residents were friendly enough to tell me I wanted to hear.
While most of them were made up of sugar and spice; another version of telling me what I wanted to hear, but also adding what I might've needed to hear—like saying something sweet to soften the blow, before they dropped a load of bluntness on you—all of which they did with a charming smile on their faces. Oftentimes, their bluntness was a warning of sorts.
She stroked the bottom of her chin. "I guess you're right."
"Anyways, thanks Patty. Catch you later." I saluted her before marching out the classroom.
* * *
My Google maps led me twenty minutes into the North end of Lake Bellinor from school. That was a little further away from my house than I intended on traveling. About thirty minutes, if I had to guess. And that was just the route for cars. My bike added extra time. But I couldn't ask my mother to drive me there. Nor could I ask her to leave her shift at the salon.
My mother would have worried anyway. I'd only ever been to the North end with her by car, and that was a matter of running errands. Lying to her wasn't something I enjoyed doing. As a matter-of-fact, it always made me feel sick to my stomach. But it was a feeling I was forced to push aside when my visions came into play.
Even if I wanted to ask her for help, my phone was dead. And since my phone was dead, I'd lost my directions to the library. Precisely five minutes before I arrived. Which sucked big time, and meant I needed to rely on the closest thing for answers. Someone near who might've known the area better than I did.
I shoved the useless black device back into my sweater pocket after frowning at the screen for several minutes. When I looked back up, I observed the mostly empty lot of the 80's themed diner before me. It was a very nostalgic style compared to the restaurants we had on our end; whereas those were slightly less extravagant in color, and even less simplistic in design.
The houses I'd passed so far were just as colorful too, and aesthetically pleasing to the eye. It was far more appealing than our end; like their neighborhoods had been well-taken care of here. For all I knew, that could've been the community's doing. Based on what Patty told me though; it didn't sound like it. They may have had a better image but were crumbling just as much.
"This should be safe here . . . hopefully," I mumbled, setting my bike beside the entrance.
The bell above me chimed when I pulled open the glass door. A palette of color slapped me harder than the outside did—a glowing scheme of baby blue, blood red, pale yellow, and violet purple mixed with off-white. I'd have thought the diner came to life and swallowed a rainbow.
Behind the long marble white countertop to my left, stood a tall, heavy-set man with skin darker than mine; a scruffy gray beard shadowed his chin, and a white cap with the name Grandpa Jefferson's was on his head. He must have heard the bell because he froze mid-way through wiping the counter with an old, dingy white rag, and glanced up.
"Hello there. What can I do for you young man?" His gruff voice was smooth and deep, like what I remembered of my grandfathers from my mother's side when I was younger.
"Uh, I-I. . ." I trailed off, scratching the back of my head.
He cocked an eyebrow, then looked around the diner at the few customers lingering in the booths. "What you scared for, boy? C'mere. Me and these folks ain't going to hurt you." He motioned to empty space on the opposite end of the counter from him.
My eyes widened.
There was something about him that gave me a sense of comfort. Maybe it was the fact that he even acted like my grandfather. For some reason, that made me laugh to myself. I felt silly for second guessing.
Shaking my head, I approached the counter. "Right. I, um, I just needed directions. I was trying to get to the library around here but my phone died. And I don't know which direction to walk from here."
"Ah okay. You see just up that street there's a hill"—he pointed out the window—"if you keep walking up that hill, it should bring you to the library."
"Really? Thank you!"
"You seem pretty far from home. I take it you're not from this side of town. You planning on cruising around and taking out some books?"
"Oh, uh yeah, something like that. . . I'm just doing some research for class."
"Hmm." I shivered under his eyes, shaped almost scolding-like, as if he could see right through my sham. "I'd advise you to be careful. Carol's daughter don't like young folks messing around in there," he warned.
"Carol? Is that the librarian or something?" I frowned.
"Sure is," he hummed.
"Okay. Thank you, I'll keep that in mind. . . Um, something else I wanted to ask you is, has there been any sightings of a Pennsylvania license plate lately? Or have you seen one?"
The man stared at me as if I'd grown two heads before letting out a loud, hearty laugh. "Son, what would someone with a Pennsylvania license plate want in Lake Bellinor?" Full custody of both of their sons was what I wanted to say, But I kept my mouth shut. He didn't count.
"You're right." I feigned a chuckle. "Thank you, anyways, um?"
"You can call me Mr. Jefferson." He smiled.
I smiled too. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson."
"Anytime, son."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized was lodged in my throat as I exited the diner.
Yet again, I was back to square one. Did the mysterious license plate mean Emerald's murderer wasn't from Lake Bellinor? Or maybe they never lived here at all. That was possible, I guess. It didn't explain why they'd come here just to kill her, then leave. But it was something.
I sighed, throwing my legs over my bike.
Back to pedaling along the eerily quiet streets. All the way up the hill, like he'd said. That was close enough. Next time, I had better memorize this route. If my mom found out my phone died, and I got lost, she'd have never let me hear the end of it. It wasn't like I didn't have my charger with me. I had nowhere to plug it in though. I was hoping the library had some outlets. Maybe—
A woman standing on the nearest house porch distracted my mind from going haywire.
I wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't looked so dazed.
Her slanted green eyes were focused in one direction out in the open. Thick, dark bags rested underneath them as if she hadn't slept in days. There was no effort put into the messy ponytail hanging to the side of her head. My gaze dropped to the large white mug in her hands, most likely filled with something hot I assumed, based on the steam I saw evaporating from the top.
As if she could sense my eyes wandering over her, her dull eyes flicked up. It was the fastest I'd ever caught someone move. My heart froze; however, my feet didn't stop pedaling. Neither of us broke eye contact for a brief second. Then, she turned her back to me, before walking into her house, brushing my presence off as if I was never there.
It took everything in me to shake off the altercation. I kept forward and didn't look back.
* * *
There was a woman with black hair stacking books on one of the shelves. The jumbo curls from her pixie cut barely reached the back of her neck. Every time she popped her bubblegum, it echoed loud and clear.
"Excuse me?" I spoke.
Her head whipped around just enough for me to see the natural arch in her slick eyebrows. A neutral expression sat on her face. I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I couldn't tell what she was feeling. She resembled a blank slate. It was intimidating to say the least.
"Is there a librarian around here? Mrs. Carol, I think?"
She stared. "Do you need help?"
"Oh. No, no." I shook my head. "I just need to speak with her if she's around."
I winced at how suspicious that sounded. She popped the gum in her mouth again. Then, finally, she gestured for me to follow her with a nod of her head. "What's your name?"
"Tyler," I said.
Still, her unpleasant stare hadn't let up as she guided me to the large wooden steps smack dab in the middle of the library. Maybe this was the daughter Mr. Jefferson mentioned. We continued our walk on the second floor, passing by a railing that allowed for anyone to overlook the first floor, even in the tightest corners.
"Wait, right here," she commanded, then proceeded to a back room, behind the bookshelves.
"Okay." I did as she said, leaning the back of my frame against the railing.
Everyone scattered around the library looked to be older teens. My guess was college students. None of them seemed like they'd be capable of killing, but I wouldn't know. The outside was only a façade of what people were really capable of. Yet another thing I'd learned the hard way. Not through just my visions though, per say.
My eyes drifted shut as I slid my hands across the rail.
"I think I'll take this one! It looks interesting enough." A voice caused my eyes to shoot back open. I could see a pair of fair white hands curled around the railing. An old lady sitting in a walker beside Emerald had her palm pressed to the small of Emerald's back. The old lady's skin was just as tan-brown as the black-haired woman who led me upstairs.
"Ah, Emerald, you've always had good taste when it comes to books," the lady smiled and complemented Emerald.
"That's because of you Mrs. Carol!" Emerald beamed. Emerald Lynn? She was here. She was alive. Breathing. Talking. Laughing. It was much different compared to her lifeless body. And this was Mrs. Carol. I'd admit I was intrigued.
"Oh, stop it darling." Mrs. Carol waved her off playfully.
The vision then took a turning point.
Emerald Lynn leaned over the railing, holding a book to her chest—the same book she'd been talking with Mrs. Carol about. Her eyes were following someone on the first floor out the door. She was gaping at him with her mouth hanging open as if he was the most beautiful human she'd ever laid eyes on. That seemed a lot like a crush to me. But who was he?
"My, my, he's handsome, isn't he?" Mrs. Carol laughed as a blush covered Emerald's rosy cheeks. "He's a sweetie-pie too. Right up your lane."
"Hey!" I was snapped back to reality, hearing someone's voice.
"Come on," the black-haired woman said.
"Sorry, I'm coming!" I ran behind her when she turned her back to me.
"So, you're the one asking for me." The moment we strolled into the back room; I was met with a lady's back. The black-haired woman didn't say anything. But I felt her urging me to move forward with her eyes.
"Don't be shy. I don't bite. Cecilia, why don't you make our guest comfortable?" I could hear a hint of sweetness embedded in the lady's raspy voice. She didn't sound like the woman from my visions.
"Yes, mom." The black-haired woman—Cecilia nodded.
Finally, the lady's body began to turn. I watched closely as the same woman from my vision with dark eyes and gray curly hair faced me. The difference between the Mrs. Carol from my vision and the Mrs. Carol standing in front of me though was, this one didn't use a walker, but instead used a red and white stick to see.
"What? Is there something wrong?" Mrs. Carol smiled when she heard me gasp.
I gulped, unable to find the words to speak. She's blind, my mind hollered.
"Uh, no ma'am," I said.
"I know hesitation when I hear it." She laughed. Cecilia rolled her eyes as if this was something that happened all the time. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was considering how easily Mrs. Carol brushed off my shock.
Bowing my head, I whispered, "Sorry. . ."
"It's okay. I don't think I've ever had a visitor by the name of Tyler, let alone a teenage boy." She used her white cane to guide her to the nearest seat. "So, what can I do for you today? Cecilia said that you needed me for something?"
"Well, I, um . . . I just wanted to ask you a few questions." I cringed.
"Oh? Be my guess. Trust me, I've got nothing better to do." She gestured around the room.
I laughed under my breath. "Well, my name is Tyler. I live on the South end of Lake Bellinor, and lately I've heard . . . rumors about a black Ford truck with a Pennsylvania license plate fleeing from a crime scene. Do either of you know about that?"
Cecilia scoffed. "If it's pretty, then it don't belong here."
"Cecilia! Cállate," Mrs. Carol scolded, surprisingly speaking a bit of Spanish tongue.
"What? I'm just telling him the truth. I'm pretty sure, none of the states have heard about a small town like us. This town could never pass as a tourist attraction even if it wanted to."
"Excuse her bitterness. I don't know what's gotten into her head. I guess she's so used to living in big cities like LA, far from small towns like this, she forgot where she came from. Such a shame," Mrs. Carol shook her head, whispering the last part under her breath.
I wanted to laugh, but I knew it'd be better not to. Cecilia already looked as though she was capable of murdering me, then disposing of my body without a second thought.
"I haven't heard anything of the sort, but I'll keep an ear out if I do. Cecilia, go downstairs and fetch him one of our cards please," Mrs. Carol said; her sickly-sweet attitude had gone up another notch. Cecilia narrowed her eyes at me, then walked out the room.
"So, Tyler, why are you curious about a truck fleeing from a crime scene? That doesn't seem like the type of thing a kid your age should be concerned with," asked Mrs. Carol as soon as Cecilia was gone.
I stuttered, "U-uh, I'm just . . . doing a little bit of research. Right. Yeah."
"Research, huh?"
"Yeah, it's a hobby of mine. . ." I was doing a horrible job at this already.
"Hmm, if you say so. . ." She nodded.
Our conversation fell into the depths of silence. I shifted around in my spot, eyeing the bookshelves around us. They were smaller in comparison to the ones outside the room. Similar to a personal collection. Nothing stuck out to me except for a book titled Bodega Dreams.
"Bodega Dreams? Oh, that's the book Emerald took out. . ." I whispered before I could stop.
"Emerald. . . You know Emerald?"
"W-what?" My head whirled around.
The smile on Mrs. Carol's face fell. "I heard you say Bodega Dreams and Emerald's name. How do you know her? Are you a friend of hers? Have you seen her around lately?"
My mouth parted.
She didn't know Emerald was dead. How didn't she? And how was I supposed to answer her questions? Sure, I could have told her the truth. But that wouldn't have explained how I knew of the exact book she picked out. That vision could have been from ages ago. Damnit.
"N-no, well not exactly. We were acquaintances? I didn't know her, know her. But she, um, she. . ." She was found dead was what I was trying to say. The words wouldn't come out.
Mrs. Carol frowned. "Emerald used to stop by at least once every day. I haven't seen her since last week. I'm worried about her. Could you do me a favor? If you hear from her, can you let me know? I just need to know that she's okay."
My Adam's apple trembled, and something unsettling turned my stomach inside and out. Shit, this was bad. I didn't want to be the one to break the news to her. She deserved to know, but I didn't want to tell her. I shouldn't have come here, after all.
"Um, about that. . ." My nerves were ticking faster than ever.
"What?" she urged.
"I-I don't know how to say this."
"Did something happen to Emerald?" Mrs. Carol gasped. I sucked in a deep breath and scratched the top of my head. Just when I prepared to spill the beans; Cecilia waltzed in. She looked between Mrs. Carol and I, confused. The confusion had soon been misplaced by anger.
"Did you upset my mom?" she demanded.
"No, no! She was asking me a question!" I defended myself.
"Cecilia! Calm down! I asked him about Emerald," Mrs. Carol said.
Cecilia tensed, her eyes softening at us. "Oh, m-mom. . . You haven't heard?" Cecilia sent me a pleading look that said I got it from here, and gestured towards the door. I nodded, thanking her for her kindness.
"Um, I've got to go now. I'll see you later Mrs. Carol. Thank you, for everything," I said.
As I walked out of the room, the last thing I heard was, "Mom, we have to talk."