only place that comes close to deserving that term—Home.
But in one cruel moment, some sadistic bastard has waltzed right in and demolished any remaining peace I may have felt.
“This is my fault,” I blurt out, setting the guidebook down on a crooked shelf. “Let me help you. How much money do you need?”
“Too much.” He shakes his head. “The store is closed.”
“How much?” I press. I have a few hundred in savings—though I doubt it would even be enough to cover the cost of the window repair, not to mention the damaged inventory.
But I’m not naïve. This won’t end, even if he does pay. The man, who terrorized two women in a club and pilfered a copy of Emily Dickinson, doesn’t strike me as the type to cease his demands for money, even if the Paper Crane does close.
Men like that don’t read. They don’t appreciate art. They steal and destroy, and he’ll probably toss that book in the first trash can he comes across. This has everything to do with power.
“Maybe we should call the police?” I suggest. Then I realize how stupid I sound, and I snatch my phone from my pocket, swiping my thumb at the screen. “What am I even saying? I’m calling them now—”
“No!” Mr. Zhang worriedly eyes the broken window and the now dispersing crowd. “No police. That will just make this worse,” he insists. “It’s fine.”
“Then at least tell me how much money you need.” I don’t know why I’m pushing this so hard. At worst, I’ll have to find a new job, and that should be where my concern ends. I shouldn’t feel so damn invested. So…angry.
But I am.
“He only did this because of me.” Fury prickles in my bones like electricity, causing my fingers to tremble. It’s so bad that I have to return my phone to my pocket or risk dropping it.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Zhang continues to insist. “Don’t worry—”
“A thousand?” I blurt out, taking a stab in the dark. “Five thousand?”
Mr. Zhang’s eyes lower to the floor, and he shakes his head. My heart sinks.
“Double?” I have a feeling that it might even be more than that. How anyone could expect a single elderly man running a middling bookshop to come up with that sum of money in less than twenty-four hours is beyond me.
Then again, that’s probably the point. To taunt and tease and set down impossible ultimatums, knowing they don’t have a hope of being fulfilled.
That’s how monsters get their way.
“Go, go!” Mr. Zhang commands, tugging at my arm. “Go now! Take the rest of the day off.”
I allow him to shove me gently through the front door. I even manage to wave goodbye before heading back the way I’d come, but I can’t forget what I’ve seen. Or him.
The memory of those dark, mocking eyes detracts from what is otherwise a beautiful day with a clear blue sky speckled by only a few clouds.
The sunlight is gossamer-thin, like a veil thrown over a nightmare. I keep seeing him everywhere. He’s every man with broad shoulders passing by. Every discreet figure sporting a head of black hair or fathomless ebony eyes.
My paranoia grows with every step I take. Is he the figure leaning near the opening to an alley up ahead? Or the person across from me, crossing the street?
Or are people like him just roaches who scatter in the face of light…
“Watch out!” An unseen hand cinches my forearm and yanks me backward. I rock on my heels and glance down. I was only inches from stepping off the curb into the moving traffic.
“What were you daydreaming about, Hannah?” I turn to find my rescuer beaming, her black hair falling over the straps of her bright orange sundress.
“Mara?” I finally recognize my surroundings as the busy block housing the Chan’s restaurant. Mr. Chan stands in the doorway, scanning the people passing by. I suspect it’s almost time for the lunch rush, which explains why Mara has a stack of flyers tucked beneath one of her arms.
“Have the day off?” she asks.
“Y-yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest and try to seem nonchalant. “Um…sort of.”
“Sort of?” She gives me a funny look before shaking her head and reaching for one of the flyers. She holds it out for me to read. A Night of Poetry (and free drinks)! “Don’t forget about the spoken word tonight. You coming? I promised you noodles on the house, and I plan to deliver.”