April Piccarreta

Dilapidated Mystery Book

“Hey.” Libraries are always quiet. That’s their typical state of being. But as the hours get later and closing time gets closer, and one by one patrons leave for their final destinations of the night, that quiet takes on an even bigger presence. So big in fact, that even a soft voice from my coworker sounds like an airhorn to my ears, and I jolt sending my cell phone tumbling out of my fingers and thudding against the wellworn, industrial strength carpet that’s sitting under the reference desk on the fifth floor.