Work Text:
Logan was in the worst condition an eight year old boy could possibly be in: bored.
His legs swung above the ground with more vigor than even a child as short as he should be able to muster when seated. If the extra force of movement hadn’t tipped off his older brother to his boredom, the scrunched up face Logan wore as he flipped through the pages of his book was a dead giveaway.
“You done with your book already?” Virgil asked, impressed even if mildly annoyed.
Logan nodded in response, though he didn’t miss a beat in his activity, stopping only briefly when landing upon an illustration.
“Why don’t you go find the next one?” Virgil whispered, turning a page over in his copy of The Official SAT Study Guide.
Logan’s legs stopped and his face lit up, “Come help me!”
The child’s exclamation wouldn’t have been loud if they were literally anywhere else.
But they were in the Orlando Public Library, and a harsh hiss of a silencing shush sliced through the air.
Mr Janus Sanders, officially the world’s scariest librarian, with a scarred face and a demeanor that could match Severus Snape’s, glared at the boys from the checkout desk on the other side of the large room.
The boys shrank down, and Virgil would insist, if anyone asked him, that the reason he pulled his hoodie over his head was because the A/C finally hit him. It certainly wasn’t because the teenager was scared.
Nonetheless, Virgil used his composition notebook to write to his little brother instead of risking the chance that his voice might crack and cause more problems:
“I still have to study
Just go to the kids’ section
I’m sure they have it”
Virgil was far too cool to draw a smiley face on a note, but he gave Logan a soft real smile and tilted his head towards where the children’s books were after his brother read the message.
Logan frowned but nodded, the motion making him have to adjust his glasses. He hopped off the chair, leaving his backpack behind, and started towards the shelves labeled ‘fiction’, in search of The Wizard of Oz, The Chronicles of Narnia, and FableHaven.
Now the problem with children reading fantasy is that if they happen to see an open door leading to a dimly lit staircase they could swear wasn’t there before, their hearts beat fast to the call of adventure. And although Logan was typically a cautious child, even he was not immune to curiosity as he felt compelled to walk past a collection of Roald Dahl and instead down the stairs and into the land of mystery.
_________________________________________________________________________
It was much darker than on the sunlit main floor. Dim yellow recesses high up on the ceiling were the only light sources the little boy could see. Some of the bulbs even flickered, signaling their time for a change. Whereas upstairs the shelving was thin metal, here the bookcases were thick wood, with knots and lines of beautiful imperfections.
However, Logan’s eyes were solely focused on the books. The beautiful hardbacks with embossed letters were more precious that all the jewels the heroes in fairy tales sought for. And the smell! That warm dry musky aroma that meant hot cocoa and fuzzy blankets and new worlds. It was stronger amongst these much older books than Logan had ever experienced previously.
He definitely wasn’t in the kid’s sections anymore.
Logan weaved in and out of the bookshelves, his fingers grazing the spines, feeling the textures of tomes he knew were even older than Grandma. He was so lost in his senses that he didn’t realize until a light bulb went out that he was literally lost.
The pop startled Logan to jump backwards. Unfortunately, his glasses jumped forwards.
Another pop, and he was plunged into darkness.
As Logan dropped to the floor in a desperate to search for his sole source of sight, he heard a surprisingly close cheery voice
“My goodness, if I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times, ‘Janus, you’ve got to change these as soon as you see them start to blink.’”
There was the sound of a tsk tsk tsk and then the previously harrowing yellow lighting turned into a bright warm glow.
“That should hold until he goes to the store,” the voice said.
Although this time, Logan could make out that the voice was attached to the shape of a round person in a white suit and a blue shirt brushing their hands together in satisfaction.
He heard the person gasp.
“Well hey there kiddo! How’d you end up all the way back here?”
Logan’s hands found his glasses and immediately put them on his face.
“I’m sorry...sir?”
He saw that the round person had glasses as well, along with a warm smile on their friendly face.
“You don’t have to apologize, son! You’re just pretty far away from the Harry Potter section. And yes, I’m a ‘sir’,” the man winked down at him. “Did you come to the library with an adult?”
“Just Virgil, my brother. He’s not an adult yet though. He’s 15.”
The man’s smile didn’t falter, but Logan could sense there was some new sadness behind it, “Sometimes teenagers have to become adults faster than they’re supposed to.” The man then extended his hand, “C’mon Logan, I’ll show you the way back.”
Logan took the man’s hand and it was as warm as his smile, but he hesitated after he stood up.
“Can I…” the little boy took in his surroundings, soaking up the atmosphere one last time in case he couldn’t come back again.
“Can I borrow a book from here?” Logan asked quietly.
The man’s smile only bloomed further, “Of course you can, kiddo! Just show it to Virgil first and make sure it's ok with him.”
Not daring to risk his luck, Logan picked the book closest within reach and hugged it close to his chest. The nice round man in the white suit walked him through the labyrinthine bookcases with ease until they had finally reached the steps to go back upstairs.
“Now kiddo, if Janus gives you a hard time about checking this out from the first edition collection, you just tell him Patton said it was ok. Ok?”
Logan nodded very solemnly, “Thank you Mr Patton. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day.”
The little boy went up all of two steps before he stopped in his tracks.
“Mr Patton, how did you know my name?”
“Oh Logan,” Patton chuckled, “it was on your backpack.”
Logan turned around to face him, “But I’m not wearing my-”
No one was behind him.
Although that was curious, Logan saw no further reason to dawdle and continued back upstairs.
_________________________________________________________________________
“You want this book?” Virgil asked quizzically, turning the little black hardback over in his hand, “Lo, it’s like literally 100 years old.”
“Yes, this one,” Logan said as softly as possible so as not to anger the librarian with his volume again, “Maybe because it’s so old, it will have some good SAT words.”
Virgil couldn’t argue with that, but gave a wary look towards the front of the room.
“Let’s see if Mr Grinch will even let us check it out.”
Logan titled his head, “Virgil, I think his name is Mr Sanders.”
“Depends on the time of year,” Virgil mumbled, handing Logan his backpack as they walked over to the check out desk.
Mr Sanders did not look up as the two boys approached the counter. Instead he extended a gloved hand with a lazy ennui, as if he had much more important things to do than his job.
He did, however, raise an eyebrow when Virgil gingerly handed the little black book over.
After eventually lifting his gaze to confirm his suspicions of what exactly was in his hand, his eyes turned to bore a stare at the teen.
“This is a first edition Agatha Christie novel. It is worth more than every electronic device you have ever owned combined. Do you seriously believe I’m going to let an adolescent such as yourself walk out of my library with this book in tow?”
If this was just for himself, Virgil would not have had the guts to go head to head with Mr Sanders. However, this was for Logan, an eight year old who asked for nothing but books for Christmas. Even if they couldn’t always afford to go shopping at Barnes & Noble, Virgil promised Logan he would always have something to read. And Logan wanted this book.
“No,” Virgil said, staring Mr Sanders right back in the eye, “I expect you to let my brother walk out of this public library with that book.”
“Is that so?” Mr Sanders smirked, as it was so rare to encounter a patron with a spine these days. The librarian shot his gaze down to the little boy with glasses holding onto his backpack straps.
“And what makes you think you can walk out of the library with a priceless artifact such as this?”
Virgil was about to respond with words he didn’t like his little brother to hear, but Logan spoke first.
“Patton said it was ok.”
Mr Sanders smirk dropped immediately.
“You’re Logan?”
“Yes sir” Logan nodded, taking off his backpack to show the librarian his embroidered name on the front pocket.
Mr Sanders blinked. “I assumed you’d be-” he paused, taking a quick look at Virgil before responding, “taller.”
“The doctor says I might be six feet when I’m grown up,” Logan responded very matter of factly as he pulled the straps back over his arms.
Virgil, although having no idea what was going on, decided to act like he did and cross his arms, looking as smug as possible, “So, I believe you were about to let us check out.”
Mr Sanders lifted a gloved pinkie.
“I will only allow you to check this book out if you swear not to look up the ending. When Christie first published The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, the twist was so powerful that it revolutionized the entire genre of the mystery novel. Looking up the answer before you have earned the privilege of first hand experience would not only deprive you of the journey, but insult all of literature as a whole.”
Mr Sanders leaned down.
“Promise me, Logan. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, “For Pete’s sake, Sanders, he’s a kid-”
“I promise,” Logan replied, taking the pinkie in his own, and shaking on it.
It would have been a ridiculous gesture if it was not done with solemnity of a church service.
“Great. Good talk,” Virgil coughed as he pulled out his library card and Mr Sanders swiped it.
After taking the processed book and handing it to Logan, the two boys were almost on their way out as Virgil mumbled under his breath, “Merry Christmas ya filthy animal.”
“And a happy new year,” Mr Sanders responded back, even though there was no way he could have possibly heard it.
Possible or not, Virgil grabbed Logan’s hand and nearly ran both of them out the door.
_________________________________________________________________________
“Logan, what did you mean when you said ‘Patton said it was ok’?”
“The downstairs librarian. He helped me back up when I got lost and said I could take a book from there as long as I told Mr Sanders he said so.”
“Weird.”
“Why?”
“Well, I remember when I was your age there used to be another librarian who worked at the OPL and his name was Patton. Nice guy, used to do Storytime.”
“That must have been him then. Why is that weird?”
“Aw bud, he died in a bad car crash on I-4 like 5 years ago. That’s actually why Mr Sanders has those scars on his face. He was in it too, but lived.”
“Is that why he’s so mean?”
“Naw, he’s always been mean. But I think Patton was like the only person he ever liked and he died. Not that that gives someone an excuse to be a girlboss gatekeeper. It’s just weird that he hired someone with the same name.”
_________________________________________________________________________
Janus Sanders waited until the clock struck exactly 9pm before he started his closing tasks. First he locked the front door, so no new patrons would come in. Then, he put away the most recently returned books to their homes. Finally, he started to turn off the lights, but not before the lamp on his main desk flickered.
“Yes dear, I’ll get new light bulbs at the store tomorrow. I promise.”
He turned the overheads off and the desk lamp flickered again.
“I was not any ruder than usual. And you could have told me he was a child. Sometimes I think you just like to watch a show.”
The desk lamp flickered once more.
“I swear Patton,” Janus sighed, “you’re getting even softer in death.”
A gentle breath of air kissed the scarred side of his face.
“I love you too. Good night.”
_________________________________________________________________________
“The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to seekers after it.”
― Hercule Poirot from Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd