The Careful Implementation of External Pressure

Case #12: Matilda Barber.

Case #12: Matilda Barber.
Tuesday/September/28/2019/ 1:01PM

Matilda Barber was a logical person. Her entire life, she had taken everything in stride. People she went to high school with thought she was quiet when in reality she was just taking everything in and figuring it out, rationalizing it.

She was well-read, too, which had nothing to do with the fact that she was the town's local librarian, but being surrounded by books did make her feel secure. It's probably why she was the only person in the town of Dalelry not panicking about the recent string of serial killings.

She really should be more worried, she realized, biting her lip and repeatedly tapping the J key on her computer, leaving a long trail of uniform J's in the middle of her novel. It just seems so distant from her palace of books. Just another scary story.

She's in the process of deleting J after J when the door opens, and her eyes flick up over the top of her computer screen. Her wrinkled face smooths out and a smile tugged at her lips when she realizes her favour mystery story has just walked through the door.

From what she's been able to decipher, his name is J-something.

She looks back at her document, the cursor line blinking back at her. There's one J left, and her hands fall back into place on the keys. She watches him pause in the doorway, say something to the second main character, C-something.

She types Jason, then deletes it. Jake. He laughs at whatever C-something says, laughs with his whole body. His head and shoulders roll back, and his hands flutter as he tried to stifle the sound. Jeromy. He walks fully into the library now, still shaking his head and chuckling. Justin. He nods his head at her as he walks past her desk, always so polite to her. James. He's been here enough times that she no longer needs to show him to the old microfilm reader in the back, just makes his way there with his bag slung over one shoulder.

She huffed a sigh, none of the names coming to mind seem to fit her favourite main character. Her main character, who comes in every day and sits, surrounded by piles of newspapers from thirty years ago and scrolls through every single one on the microfilm machine. She has no idea what he's looking for, or why. God, she wants to know.

He just sat down, but already he's completely engrossed in his research, deaf to the world, so she's not even subtle about watching him. She learned after the first day that she doesn't have to be.

Her chair rolls back a little on the carpeted floor when she stands, and her grandmother's pearls clack against her computer when she leans over it, peering through the glass door to watch C-something's routine.

The first few times, she wondered if she was trapped in a time loop or something, because they each did the same thing every day, at the same time. Like clockwork.

C-something made J-something laugh at the last moment before they separated, and then, once J-something was settled, she'd reach through the open window of the driver's side and pull out a book, the same book every time. Then, she lifted herself up onto the roof of the car and used the book to block the light of the overhead sun. She usually smoked, and Matilda appreciated that she never tried to bring the habit into the library, theorized that maybe that's why she never came inside with J-something.

On days it rained, she forwent the book and slept instead, her clothes soaked darker and her hair plastered to her face by the time J-something was done.

J-something didn't work for as long today, and it offset Matilda's entire clockwork system, the day suddenly feeling longer than normal. C-something didn't climb onto the roof of the car, today, either, just leaned against it and made faces at the hot sun.

Matilda realized she was staring at C-something when she heard a gentle call from directly in front of her. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she slowly slid her eyes towards the waiting person at her desk, and she had to bite her lip to resist from asking too many questions at once when she saw it was J-something standing in front of her.

He set his phone face down on her desk, and she didn't dare to follow the action, to look away from him for one second.

"Yes?" she asked too loudly, "how can I help you?"

J-something quirked an eyebrow and shifted back a little, and Matilda kicked herself. She needed to get a grip! No matter how fascinating and book character-like the pair was, they were just people. She couldn't come on too strong.

"Um, I was wondering if you could tell me if tonight's a full moon? Or maybe a new moon? There's nothing in the newspapers about it."

Matilda nodded and thanked her lucky stars her wife was an astronomy nut whos been talking about this moon non-stop for the last month.

"Yes, actually," she said, "tonight is a new moon."

J-something's lips quirked up like he was silently celebrating a victory.

"Thank you," he said. He picked up his phone and started to walk away when he stopped suddenly, looking back at her.

"Stay inside tonight, ok?" His face was soft. Caring.

There's something about the way he says it that has her hanging on every word, and when he doesn't say more she finds herself both fiercely disappointed and terrified. She nodded dumbly because its all she can do.

But, as he starts to walk away, every part of her body is suddenly working too well, and she knocks over her pencil holder in her rush to stop him from leaving before she can- she falters. Before she can what?

He's looking at her, the door half pushed open. C-something waiting on the other side, impatiently. His life waiting, held up by her. Background character number twelve.

"What's your name?" She asks.

That night, when the empty sky is overtaken by darkness, she is too-well read to disobey those three words. Stay inside tonight, he said.

So she does. And she deletes every word of her almost-finished novel. She starts over from the beginning, and she names the main character Jay.

-0-0-0-0-

Cookie tucks her gun back into the waistband of her hunting-jeans with a strong exhale. She frees the hem of her shirt and adjusts it to cover the gun, and shivers in the cold night.

"Why is it," she asks, again, starting another age-old complaint, "that we always get stuck with the hunting jobs?"

Jay glances up at her from the ground, where he's retrieving Cookie's silver bullets from the head of the monster with surgical precision. A google search or trip to your local supernatural-fanatic convention will tell you that you kill a werewolf with a silver bullet to the heart, but in reality, a shot to the left eye is the way to go.

He quickly looks back to what he's doing, "I dunno," he disagrees, "I like hunting."

He pulled the bullet from the eye of the dead monster and drops it into Cookie's hand. She holds it up to the light of the sky, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at all in the absence of the moon, unbothered by the dark blood it rolls onto her hands.

"Besides," he starts, feeling a grin already pulling at his lips, "you need the practice." He holds up another bullet from dead between the eyes of the monster, pointing it to the sky, with a flourish.

 "It took you two shots this time."

Cookie makes an offended noise in the back of her throat, and Jay's knees brack as he joins her in standing over the dead body of Tasmin Barber.