Morning all. It is a chilly one today and it feels like it might actually stay chilly for a while instead of yo-yoing. As I get sinus headaches whenever the weather shifts seasons I will be happy to see it settle down no matter what season it decides to be in. Didn’t sleep well so I am slightly grumpy. Let’s work out some of the grump with the morning prompt, followed by a very large mug of coffee. Timers set and off we go.
I kind of like this one. Not sure why the mornings I don’t feel like writing I end up with the prompts I like the most. But that seems to be what happens.
Thursday, December 14th: The guilt weighed him down.
The guilt weighed him down. He knew it was for the best but he still felt guilty. There had been too many incidents and he knew he had to report it. He slipped out of the house under the guise of going to the library. And he did go to the library. In part he did so because he wanted to return a couple of books he finished reading. In part he wanted to be seen to go to the library. If he was at the library, he couldn’t be anywhere else.
He also thought the library was a safe place to write his note. Here there was no one looking over his shoulder. No one to question what he was working on. He was quiet and well behaved and so the librarians generally let him be. If he took a couple of reference books to one of the worktables towards the back then they would think nothing of him writing in his notebook.
‘Especially if I remember to flip the books pages now and again,’ he told himself.
The bookshelves or stacks as the librarians called them, would shield him from casual observation once he settled. Anyone looking would only look to see that he went to the library, not what he did while there. The envelope and stamp he planned to use was tucked into his history book. He had everything he needed.
Sam knew he was watched as he left the house and he knew that his progress would be followed through the window. Eyes would watch him enter the library as it was within sight of the house. Once he went in, there would be someone sent to drive past to look in the front windows to make sure he was actually in the library. He knew this.
This sort of observance had become routine.
It went as he expected. He pretended not to notice the curtains twitching as he left the house. He ignored the itchy spot between his shoulder blades as he was watched. He went into the library and by the time he made it to the counter with his books to turn in, he saw the car drive slowly past the library. He didn’t look and then went to the stacks.
He pulled several large volumes from the shelf and crossed the open space visible from the front windows just as the car made it’s return trip back to the house. He made sure to be seen with the books and to be seen walking towards the tables in the back. They would know that he was in the library and would be there for a while.
He saw the librarian twitch as she noticed the car circle back and his own movements. Sam smiled and went to the table. He opened the books and his notebook, settling himself so that he looked as though he was working on school work. In fact once he wrote the letter he planned to take notes for a history paper he knew was coming up soon. That way if anyone looked through his notebook it would be clear what he was working on.
Sam took a deep breath and swallowed back the guilt. He spent over a week organizing his thoughts and now he found that once pen was set to paper the words spilled out. They sounded coherent and organized and they gave details. He knew that if the details were known then there was a good chance someone would know he was the one who spilled them so he asked the details be kept quiet and that this letter remain out of sight.
He didn’t sign it but knew it wouldn’t be too hard for someone to find out that he was the one who wrote it. He knew this letter could hurt him, but he knew it needed to be done. So he folded it and slipped it into the envelope. He wrote the sheriff’s name and office in the address portion and placed the stamp. It was then that he heard a commotion up front and looked up. The librarian was talking to Sherif Kesler and pointing in his direction. Sam’s heart leapt into his throat as the sheriff walked over. He stopped in front of the table.
“Samuel Larsen?” the sheriff said. Sam nodded unable to form words. The sheriff glanced down saw the envelope. “For me?” Again, Sam nodded. The sheriff opener d the envelope and read the letter. He nodded, slipped it back into the envelope and into his coat pocket.
“No one will need to know you write this. We received similar information earlier and have acted on it. Which is why you will need to come with me.”
Ten til Midnight 