Trick or Treat!

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The flickering of the library lights was tantamount to blaring alarms. Larissa groaned internally as she brought her head up from the desk. It was well past midnight at this point; not an unreasonable time for somebody her age to be awake, but unpleasant nonetheless.

Once she spotted it, she had no idea how long the shadow had been there. The shadow was tall and flickered along with the yellow library lights. She had to turn her head only slightly to see what, or rather who, cast it: a tall man as disheveled and tired as she.

He met her eyes with a sheepish grin and small hand wave. His dark clothes were wrinkled, like they’d been slept in. His tawny hair wasn’t much better; mussed like he’d been running through wind.  She could practically smell the caffeine rolling off him. “Sorry,” he said. “I hope I didn’t scare you.” Rolling his bag off his shoulder, he slunk into a seat across from her.

The only thing Larissa had to fear was embarrassing herself in front of this oddly attractive stranger. He wore circle-lensed glasses that would make anybody else look dorky. On him, they looked sophisticated and mature, even with the small crack running through one lens. His eyes, bloodshot as they were, were the most startling green Larissa had ever seen. The way the lights wavered seemed to set his features in uncertainty, like his eyes wouldn’t be in the same place if she looked away and back. Or maybe it was her lack of sleep that made her think that.

“Not at all,” she said, pushing a hand through her black hair. Hand to her mouth, she stifled a yawn.

That made the stranger smile. “You, too, huh?”

Larissa nodded. “You know how it goes,” she said, raising her arms in a stretch. “What class are you studying for?”

The man reached into his bag and produced a human brain, plopping it down on the table with a satisfied smile. “Neuro 320. I have to be able to name every line and squiggle on this thing by tomorrow.”

Larissa eyed the model. “Perfect timing, huh? To be carrying around a brain, I mean.”

The stranger’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I guess so,” he said. “This is about as much as I’m getting into the holiday spirit.”

“What?” Larissa asked. “No trick-or-treating?”

He shook his head. “I wish,” he said. “For some reason, people are a lot more comfortable with little kids knocking on their doors at night than with grown men.”

You could knock on my door. I wouldn’t mind.

The man smiled, that same crinkle around those gorgeous green eyes. A blush grew across his cheeks and his gaze alternated from the table to Larissa. “Oh. Um, I’m flattered.”

Larissa sat blankly for a moment. Had he just read her thoughts? Just what was he studying in that neuroscience class? “Huh?” she asked.

He raised a hand to the back of his neck. “I mean, I hope it was a compliment,” he said.

All Larissa could hear was the insufferable buzz of the lights and her own heart. She counted 7 beats before she came to the awful realization, one more terrifying than any amount of Halloween staples: “Did I say that out loud?”

The man’s eyes opened a little wider. “Did you not mean to?” he asked.

Larissa considered hiding under the table. Her hair fell into her face as she withdrew on herself. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m just super tired and sometimes I say things without thinking and-“

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said, cutting her off before she could dig that hole any deeper. “Really.” He paused. “You could knock on my door, too,” he added, his voice softer now.

If she hadn’t been able to focus before, there was no way she’d be able to now. It took her a moment to build up the courage to look the man in the eyes.

“I’m Darren, by the way.”

“Larissa,” she said.

That moment right there could have made up for all the sleeplessness in the world. Could have. It ended too soon: muffled words of alarm rang out from somewhere in the library. Larissa’s head flit toward the noise. Around a shelf hurried a group, talking frantically in hushed tones. Their shadows passed them, also distorted by the bad lighting.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She watched Darren’s neck crane towards them as they walked past, then return to her once they’d gone.

“What do you think that was about?” he asked.

Occam’s razor said there were a multitude of sane reasons college students could be acting as they were, but the worry on their face was far too severe for a bad test score. “I don’t know,” Larissa admitted, watching the way they’d left.

She turned back to Darren. “Do you think we should be worried?” she asked.

“I hope not,” he said, dark brows kneading together. “Shootings don’t really happen in the middle of the night, right?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He pressed it once, twice, but nothing happened. “It’s dead,” he cursed. “Do you have your phone on you?”

Larissa shook her head, embarrassment setting in. “I forgot it at home.” Of all the days to come unprepared.

Darren pursed his lips. “I’ll be able to find the news on a school computer,” he said, rising swiftly from his seat. “Wait here,” he said, hands outstretched.

Where else would she go? Leaving her corner of the library seemed not only stupid but terrifying as Darren strode to a wall of monitors and aggressively wiggled the mouse. He smacked on the keys like they owed him money, mouth moving almost imperceptibly every time it took more than a second for something to load.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Had the flickering always been this loud, or was fear just making it more perceptible?

Darren read something. He had to have; what other reason would there be for the way his face blanched and body tensed?

He looked toward her, dread etched on his handsome face. He froze completely. The only things moving were the shadows that hitched in sync with the lights.

Larissa hadn’t realized how noisy the lights were until they were all off. Darkness overtook the building. No light. No more buzzing.

But there was still sound: the slap of frenetic footprints disappearing down a black hall.

Larissa sighed and rose from her seat. This certainly threw a wrench into things.

Stalking past the computers, she didn’t have to wonder what had sent Darren into such panic. She knew exactly what she’d see if the screen lit up: an alert of some kind. An APB. Was that what they called it? It didn’t matter. She knew what would be in it regardless: a name. Cynthia Barlowe. Next to the name would be a picture. A mugshot, to be more specific. It would be of a pale young woman with long, black hair and big brown doe eyes.

Cynthia reached into the pocket of her pants where the knife had practically been burning a hole. Its weight in her hand, she felt much better.

She stretched stiff legs as she haunted down the halls. With that insufferable buzzing gone, it was easy to listen for footsteps.

Her mouth split into a smile and a laugh escaped her lips. She doubted Darren could hear her, but whispered the words anyways: “Trick or treat!”