Page 40 of Unruly
Chapter 11
Farnsworth
Iforgot the absolute joy of a hot shower. It isn’t necessary, and nearly impossible to achieve down in the underworld, so it’s been a very long time since I’ve indulged. I feel like a new man, and despite a slight desire to blend in unnoticed, I couldn’t bear another day spent in modern clothing.
I fold the blanket I slept with into a tidy square and set it down next to me while I ponder the situation. Hopefully, the Wolcott family knows a thing or two about their departed relative, otherwise I’m not sure what direction to go in until the Horror makes its presence known again.
Glancing at the bathroom door, I shift uncomfortably on the couch. I was able to wash away the remains of what I did to myself last night, and I do hope Borja doesn’t go looking through his laundry bin until the shirt dries. How mortifying! I honestly can’t believe I gave in to such simple pleasures, but I’m still slightly pleased to know I have it in me to feel things like that. It’s been so long.
The bathroom door opens and steam follows Borja as he steps into the hall and then ducks behind his bedroom door. Just as well. The last thing I need is to see the man scantily clad again.
Dancing next to him felt amazing, and the mere thought of being so close to a man is… intriguing, but I need to stay focused on our mission.
Borja appears only minutes later, dressed in jeans and a simple gray sweater. The stubble on his cheeks is close to a beard after only a day. Instinctively, I rub my own scruffy chin. Normally, I wouldn’t let it grow in, as I find it unprofessional, but it’s always been a challenge to manage, and perhaps a small indulgence while I’m in the Above isn’t so bad. Borja’s own hair growth supports my choice.
“So, what do you think?” he asks.
“About what?”
“The Wolcott family.”
I nod. “Right. Do you have access to a genealogy center, perhaps? We need historical records.”
“Sure. The Boston Library is kind of a thing. If they don’t have them, they’ll know where to go.” He lifts his phone. “We can try this, too. How many Wolcotts can there be in Boston?” Borja taps his phone screen a few times, then frowns. “I stand corrected. It’s apparently a very popular surname in the city. There must be over fifty listings here.”
“We need a relative of this specific Wolcott. Library?”
“Yes. Let’s go.”
With that, we head out of Borja’s apartment on our way to the Boston Public Library.
We take the subway again, which is definitely an interesting experience for me considering all the unique people around us, most of whom are traveling to work, based on how they’re dressed in smart clothes, sweaters, and blazers to handle the changing of the seasons.
That’s another thing I’ve missed about the Above. Seeing the change of seasons happen, watching the sun rise and set during the day, the leaves changing on trees in the fall and the flowersblooming again in the spring, watching the ocean waves crash on the beach in summer with my toes buried in warm sand.
Those are all things you let go of when you pass from this life to the next one. I haven’t really passed, but how is my existence any different from those who have passed on? I reside in the same place many of those souls do. I go through the same motions. I live in the dark, but it suits me.
I get plenty of satisfaction helping Soul Chasers transition into their new roles, helping them find purpose by saving people who did nothing to warrant having a Horror attached to them.
Well, usually. Sometimes they bring it on themselves, but that’s neither here nor there. Horrors don’t belong in the Above, and it’s my duty and my pleasure to help keep that balance in check.
“Okay, here we are,” Borja says as the train doors slide open.
We exit and walk out to the sight of a massive, stunning piece of architecture etched with the words Boston Public Library on its stone facade. I must admit, I get a little bit excited seeing libraries. All that knowledge and adventure contained in one place makes me feel a little giddy.
They remind me of the hours and hours I spent reading books to escape the dreariness of real life as a youth. Hundreds of years later, there are so many more books that I’ll never have time to read them all even with immortality. Maybe while I’m Above I can indulge in a book or two, though I really need to stay focused on the mission.
We walk up the stairs together and enter the building, glancing around.
Borja walks over to an information desk, and I overhear him asking where we might find historical records of people who have lived in Boston.
We’re directed to a research area and head off into the library. The building is massive, with soaring ceilings, intricatecarvings, and details that draw my eye. I’ve never seen a prettier library, certainly.
“How old is this place?”
Borja shrugs. “I don’t know, seventeen or eighteen hundreds, probably. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It’s incredible,” I whisper. “I could get lost in here.”
