He paused as if he had something else to say before he smiled crookedly.
“Good night, Beatrice.”
They stared at each other for a few more moments before he turned to leave.
“Good night, Batman,” she called. Beatrice heard him laugh as he walked through the doorway, but she sat there, drinking her coffee and staring in the direction he had gone, disturbed by something she couldn’t quite grasp.
She dreamed that night: dark, twisted dreams haunted by the pale moon face of her father. Unlike her dreams as a teenager, in these she wasn’t alone; Giovanni stood next to her, and soft blue flames licked along his skin.
He wasn’t in the library the next week; in fact, she didn’t see him at all until two weeks later when he came into the reading room for his regular evening hours. He set his messenger bag down, silently filled out the call slip, and sat patiently waiting for her to bring the Tibetan manuscript to him at the dark wood table.
She went to fetch it, her eyes flashing in annoyance at his calm demeanor. Beatrice knew it wasn’t rational, but she felt as if she’d been stood up when he hadn’t come to the library the previous Wednesday at his usual time. She’d wanted to see him after their odd conversation at the student union, but she hadn’t.
Her vivid imagination kept tying him to her dead father so their faces overlapped in her dreams. She recalled memories she had tried to forget: a pale face glimpsed in the background at her high school graduation, strange phone calls from foreign numbers that only ended in silence and a click, and a prickling feeling along the back of her neck every time she tried to remember more from that dark period of her youth.
For some reason, she linked this mental turmoil to Dr. Giovanni Vecchio’s appearance in her life, and she felt a strange resentment begin to swell toward the quiet man. They worked in silence for the next two hours, and a dull headache began to pound behind her eyes.
He walked over to her at quarter to nine, handing over the manuscript and tucking his notes away in his bag. He left ten minutes early which made her unaccountably angry. Beatrice bit her lip, smothering a frustrated scream as she waited at the reference desk for nine o’clock to come.
She walked into the hallway after her shift ended, turning to lock the reading room behind her.
“Beatrice.”
She gasped when she heard Giovanni speak her name and turned to see him standing, still as a statue, in the hallway leading to the stairwell. He had dressed from head to toe in black that night, and his fair skin and strange eyes almost glowed in the dim light of the fifth floor.
“Good,” she muttered. “I wanted to talk to you.”
She pressed the button to call the elevator, waiting for him to join her.
“Will you walk downstairs with me?” he asked, nodding toward the stairs.
“I don’t think so.”
He paused. “I really don’t like elevators.”
“Well, I really don’t like friends who have odd conversations with me, then disappear for two weeks without a word. So I’m not feeling very inclined to walk down five flights of stairs with you. If you want to talk to me, you can take the elevator like a normal person.”
He tensed but didn’t leave, not even when the elevator chimed and the doors opened revealing an empty compartment. She walked in, turning to look at him in challenge. Finally, he tucked his hands in his pockets and walked into the elevator, standing in the exact center of the car and staring at the doors as they closed.
Rolling her eyes, she reached forward from the back corner and pushed the button for the first floor.
“Why are you angry with me?” he asked quietly.
“You’re the one that vanished for two weeks. And I’m not angry with you.”
He chuckled. “I disagree.”
“Why were you asking about my father?”
“I was curious.”
“I disagree.”
He remained silent as the elevator slid down to the first floor. Suddenly, the elevator jerked harshly and he threw out his left hand to steady himself. He reached for the wooden rail that ran around the compartment, but his pale hand brushed near the control panel and she saw a current arc from his finger to the metal panel. There was a bright blue flash, a small crack, and Beatrice felt a surge of electricity go through the compartment as her hair lifted. The lights went out, and the elevator came to an abrupt halt.
“What just happened?” Beatrice asked nervously. “What the hell was that? Is your hand okay? Why are we stopped?”
“I think the elevator shorted out.”
“Push the alarm. Isn’t there an alarm?” She leaned forward, reaching for the panel blindly, but her hands only touched his tense arm as he braced himself against the side of the elevator.
“Beatrice—”
“Isn’t there supposed to be a light or something?” She scowled, irritated at being stuck in a dark elevator with him.
“I don’t think—”
“Shit! How long is it going to take to get out of here? My grandma’s going to be worried sick. She hates it when I get home late on Wednesdays. Oh, wait ...” She began rummaging through her bag, searching blindly for her mobile phone. Reception was sketchy at best in this part of the library, but at least she could use it as a flashlight so she didn’t stumble into him in the darkened car.