“I’m fine, I guess.” I tried to brush him off.
“The library may help,” he suggested.
“You read my mind?” I sat up, staring at him.
“No. I’m not here for another fight.” He was honest.
“You’re too weak to waste my time on.”
He spoke, and I was speechless.
“Go to the library. You might find help there,” he reiterated, then calmly but suavely walked away.
The library?
I thought whilst in the shower.
Afterwards, I went to our library.
It was a large room drenched in the history of the past, records of the present, and tales of the future.
It had many rows, columns, and cubicles filled with ancient books.
The books were stacked shelf after shelf, year after year, preserving stories and knowledge from generations past.
It was the sanctuary of our parents.
Mom especially.
She loved draping herself over her special rocking chair at the end of the room with a book in her arms, or lounging on the couch next to a set of ever-increasingly enormous historical lores.
As I’d been told, Dad said he would have to fight for her attention whenever she was here.
He also said something.
He said, “She came when she required answers.”
Answers!
To find answers here.
“Thanks, Chris,” I muttered.
You’re welcome, he spoke to me with his thoughts.
I rolled my eyes and walked further into the room.
I sat on Mom’s rocking chair and rocked for a bit, staring at the books stacked high.
Where am I going to find help?
I thought.
Then I felt it again.
That quiet, faint, almost completely ignorable pull toward the last row of books at the end of the room.
Was this how Mom found her answers?
Or was I imagining things?
No. This wasn’t vague.
It was there.
I just hadn’t paid attention to it.
I rose from the chair and, with a strange apprehension settling over me, walked toward the row of books.
I stretched my hand toward a dark mahogany-colored book.
The tug was strongest there.
My fingers were barely an inch away when—
“Zoe?”
Dad appeared in front of me.
I jerked back, startled, and immediately pulled my hand away. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Dad? What’s going on?”
He didn’t answer.
His eyes moved from me to the book, then back to me.
His expression tightened.
“You’re not ready.”
“W-What?” I almost shrieked.
“You’re not ready, Zoe Sekani!”
His voice rose sharply, almost shaking the room.
“Chill, Dad! I got the message the first time, okay?” I yelled before turning away angrily.
Not ready!
Really?
Couldn’t he give me anything else?
I barged into my room and began pacing.
Then I froze.
Wait.
How did he know I was there?
Chris wouldn’t have said a word about my location.
I was still at home.
I hadn’t gone anywhere.
Unless…