Thanks, Tim.

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The library will never be my favourite place and with criminology being right at the back, I must weave deeper, the lights getting dimmer and the smell of old paper getting stronger.

Scanning the shelves for the perfect book to write my essay on, my gaze pauses on a faded cover and I reach up to grab it.

"A Killer's Mind." I read aloud. Turning the book over, a picture of the author, Tim Vurdun, stares back at me; his Victorian clothing telling me he's long dead.

When I next look up I'm sat on the floor, back against the shelves.

I'd finished it. 

My neck stiff and my ass numb. My phone tells it's been 3 hours, and my page of notes tells me I've found the perfect book.

I close the book and stand. "Thanks, Tim." I say, patting the cover.

"You're welcome."

I turn fast, book firmly in my hand.

I rub my eyes, but he's still stood there.

Tim Vurdun.

Without thinking, I throw the book towards the man, it goes right through, hitting the wall behind him.

"Now if I weren't already dead, that could've really hurt."

"You've got to be kidding me." I whisper.

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