Chapter 7: The Invisible Girl in Room Thirteen by Stephen Simpson
Tall, green-leaved trees basking in the weak light of the
sun, stood on both sides of the square building.
The surrounding colours seemed to drain from the world as I
headed up a couple of stairs and pushed past the frosted glass doors.
I stood in the door for a moment, trying to see if Oliver was here already while a fan blew warm air on to me from a vent just above the door frame.
Bookshelves lined every wall of the large room, and some
shelves were placed in a labyrinth of aisles at the back of the room. A row of
shelves in the front boxed in an area with five large wooden tables and soft
lights.
Oliver waved me over from a table at the back.
As I reached him, he smiled and said, “Morning. Are you okay
after last night… You know...”
I did not want to be reminded of the bloody remains that
used to be Shannon. “It’s so quiet in here. A little eerie,” I said looking
around the room as I shrugged out of my jacket.
He looked around the sombre room. We were the only two
people here, besides the librarian who was standing behind the high, wooden
reception desk at the front of the large room, checking books back in.
“There's hardly ever anyone here, except when it’s exams,”
Oliver explained. He said, again, “Last night...”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Oliver.” My voice sounded
too harsh in the hushed atmosphere.
He recoiled, holding his hands up, palms facing me. “Okay.
Not a word.”
I sat down beside him, looking at the yearbooks he already had stashed on the table.
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