“How’s your son?”
The vein at my temple pulses with my rushing blood.
“Great,” I reply, adding phony politeness in my voice.
Dr. Whitlock doesn’t take note of the vibrating rage sweating out of my pores. “Florence told me you’re new here. How are you liking Mystic River?”
“Just fine,” I answer, as I finish with the computer and slide the card and book back to him.
He picks it up while staring at me. “You know, you look familiar.”
The lie rolls off my tongue with ease. “I get that a lot.”
“You remind me of?—”
“Have a nice day,” I cut him off, dismissing him in a backhanded way that southern women do.
He glares but thankfully picks up on the hint and leaves.
A whoosh of air exits my lungs when he’s finally out of sight. I’m going to have to avoid Dr. Whitlock from now on. He was about to recognize me, and that would ruin everything.
The electronic bell on the front door chimes, and a man who looks like he’s had a rough go of it enters. His pants look like scrubs, and his upper body is covered in a hoodie. The front pocket is full, and whatever he has in there, it’s heavy. I can practically see his skull with the way the skin on his face hugs every bone. He looks like he hasn’t had a proper meal in years.
His profile looks familiar. As if I know him, but that’s impossible. There’s no way he could have gotten out.
Patting his pockets, his eyes jump all over, but when he catches sight of me, he flexes his fingers and doesn’t look away.
“Seth?” I whisper in disbelief.
The bags under his bloodshot eyes are dark and heavy. He runs one of his hands over the buzzed hair on his head. His mouth moves, but he’s too far away for me to hear what he’s saying.
He pulls something the size of his fist out of his pocket and stomps right for me. I roll my chair backward until I hit the wall, while the man brings his hands together, and a small click meets my ears when he parts his hands again. Then, with excellent aim, he tosses the fist-sized thing in his hand at me.
It lands on the floor at my feet with a small thump and a roll. The object is dark green and has grid impressions over the whole thing.
It’s like something straight out of a movie. I don’t have time to think. Only act.
Kicking the object toward the desk, I take off as fast as I can. Before I can warn the other people in the library, the circulation desk explodes. The force knocks me off my feet, and I fall onto the unforgiving carpet. Bits of laminate, wires, and plastic rain down on my back.
To say the library turns into chaos would be inaccurate. Screams and cries toll around me. Moms escape with their smallchildren out of the exits with other patrons right behind them on their heels.
But above the wailing, a tune whistles in the air. Searching for the source of the melody, I groan. My body aches from the grenade explosion.
Seth leisurely strolls toward me and sings a nursery rhyme, but it doesn’t sound quite right.
“Hickory Dickory Doc,
The girl got hit by a rock.
The clock struck one,
The girl ran off,
Hickory Dickory Doc.”
Flipping on my back, I crab walk backward as fast as I can. A full smile takes over Seth’s face as he tracks my movements. The red surrounding the irises of his eyes gets bigger as he reaches into his pocket again.
“Hickory Dickory Doc,
