Chantico's backstory. I'll be posting it in small chapters as it's unfinished and quite long.
Please excuse my lack of organization. May add art all along, not all that sure yet.
Warning, may contain adult language and violence.
CHAPTER 1
The library stood before me, ancient and gray in the dying light of the sun. I'd gone here often in my childhood, usually trailing in my father's shadow. He had always loved books and passed this trait on to his adoring daughter, taking me with him on his many forays into the world of words. My fondest memories had been made in this building, sitting in one of the quiet alcoves listening to the deep baritone of his voice as he brought worlds to life in my imaginative young mind. Filling me with thoughts of mystical creatures and magic forests with no end.
A sharp wind blew, it's icy chill cutting through the warmth of memories past. A sigh ghosted from my lips in a plume of fog. Those days were long gone, they had ended the day that my father drew his last breath. I had turned my back on the town and the library that held but a ghost of a child's joy.
But now I was back. Years and hundreds of miles had separated me from the old happiness and the still raw burn of loss, but I was back. It was a return that had started with a phone-call, an old friend's voice breaking as she relayed what, to her, must have been terrible news. "I'm so sorry Chanti, we've been trying to reach you for days but all of your old numbers didn't work. I know it was wrong to snoop, but I saw this one on your mother's phone and thought maybe it would be worth a try..." Her voice trailed off at that, but I already knew what she didn't want to tell me. My mother had always been sickly, forever my memories had been stained with her pallor, the weak rasp of her voice and the little colorful quilt that had seemed forever attached to her frail shoulders. The sigh. "...She went in her sleep. Dr. Milton said it was peaceful. The funeral is tomorrow...I thought you should know."
I thanked her for telling me and assured her that I would be fine before finally ending the call. I wonder for a moment what she must think of me, of my lack of heartbroken sobs. She wouldn't understand the true reason for my calm. All the heartbreak had been wrung from me years ago on the day my father's stories were forever silenced. How could I feel pain for a woman that had no real existence in my life after losing so much? Don't think to poorly of me for this. I did love my mother.
If you had only known him you would understand.
That one call had set in motion the events that would return me here, to the very place I had run from so long ago. This aged building and all of the joy it had once contained. I didn't even know if it was open anymore. I had simply seen it as the bus stopped to release it's passengers and I chose to come here over my own mother's funeral. I don't feel guilty. It was the right choice.
Standing there before it, seeing the weathered stone stairs leading up to the heavy, ornate oak doors I felt a small sense of foreboding. Maybe I should just call a cab and head to the funeral. It would probably be for the best anyway. Seeing the inside and knowing the happy days I'd had in there were truly over would only strengthen the pain.
Turning my back on those doors I began to dig for my cellphone. Digging first into the ratty old backpack I called my purse then going through the pockets of my coat, only to become more and more frantic as I dug. It was gone! Had I left it on the bus? Casting my gaze to the waning sun, dark clouds slowly blotting out even that last bit of light, turning back to the library seemed a good idea again. Maybe they would at least have a phone.
Giving in with the loss of my phone, I again approached the darkening entryway. My foot hovering over the first step, I pondered just walking to the cemetery. I'd be late, but that wouldn't matter. It wasn't like mom would care...then the rain came. Light for but an instant, then sheeting in torrents spurring me up the steps and through the doors. The sudden storm outside was immediately muffled as the doors thumped closed behind me.
Standing, dripping it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. I didn't remember it being so dark in here, but then, I'd never been here so late before. Directly ahead stood the massive librarian's desk I remembered from my time here as a child. Often my fingertips had gripped the scarred edges of that ancient monstrosity, forever trying to see over it. The possibility was no longer as captivating now that I could. There was no one behind it, but that was no surprise. Old Crazy Eyes Morley liked to spend all of her time in the rare books section. I know, the name sounded cruel, but to be honest it was the only one I knew for her. So often had I heard other kids say it as a child that I honestly thought that was her name. My father had quickly set me straight the first time I let it slip.
I only waited for a few moments, glancing around to try and spot her but to no avail. I'm sure I could call, but years of being shushed stopped me. I moved down the nearest aisle, trying to remember where the rare books were kept. I nor my father had held much of an interest in those older volumes, so my mental map was a bit of a blur.
Only two aisles were roamed when I was stopped dead in my tracks. Before me sat a beaten red leather chair, a sight I hadn't encountered in years. Somewhere in the back of my mind flooded the deep timbre of my father's voice as the world around me faded. Suddenly I was there, sitting at my father's feet, gazing up into gentle eyes and utterly entranced by the words that poured from his lips. Just as those words began to make sense the memory faded taking the warmth of the moment and bringing me back to the dim confines of the library and the old red chair he had always sat upon. A lump formed in my throat, that little loss cut so deep...
I shook the growing veil of misery away choosing instead to let my fingers graze over the broken leather of the old red chair, centering me. The pain faded almost instantly, quickly replaced with a warm comfort. I had spent so many hours with this chair and my father that they had become one and the same to me. Though seeing it here, without him...it had a wrongness to it. I lightly patted the sagging arm, turning to return to my quest for the librarian when a hollow thud echoed through the once silent building.
CHAPTER 2 The loudness of
The loudness of the sound was so unexpected I jumped back into the bookcase behind me, feeling it totter and my heart jump into my throat before it settled. Leaning there for a moment, hands splayed over the frayed spines of the books, I let my heart slow from the frantic gallop the near tip had caused. The thud did no repeat itself, but now I was concerned. Ms. Morley had not been a young woman when I knew her, she had to be positively ancient by now. That thud could have been her falling from a ladder for all that I knew.
Telling myself to get over the startle I moved quickly in the direction from which the sound had come. If an old woman had fallen and was hurt then she needed my help. Now was not the time for silence.
"Ms. Morley?" My voice cut through the tomb-like silence of the library, nearly startling me again. There was no reply but she could have been knocked out. My heart began a rapid beat yet again, now spurred on with a tingling anxiety. I really hoped that I wouldn't find the old woman dead. Two deaths in one day would be far too much.
Rounding the corner of yet another bookcase I found myself faced with a chain-link fence. For one moment I was confused until I saw the open door and realized that I had found the rare books section. They had fenced it off when I was younger as a few of the books had gone missing.
Only once do I remember going inside with my father as he signed a little clipboard to read one of the books. He hadn't been allowed out of the cage. I had found it great fun pretending to be trapped in a zoo while he copied a few pages of the book. I think that was my only foray into the world of rarities within the cage.
Leaning in again for the first time in years I glanced around. Dust-bunnies and ratty, moth-eaten carpet, but no Ms. Morley. I could barely see anything to be honest. Stepping through I thought to feel for a light-switch, but making my way to the wall something hit my face setting me to flailing until my arm tangled and pulled causing an explosion of light. I froze, blinking in the painful wash of white that blinded me. Apparently my phantom attacker had been the light cord.
Feeling like a fool and trying to see through the spots in my vision I shielded my eyes, peering about the small room. Nothing but books, musty, ancient books, so what the hell made the noise? Stepping forward to get a closer look at the bookcase my foot slammed into something on the floor. I jumped back, suddenly freaked that I had missed the old woman's body and instead had just kicked her but it was only one of the books. It lay cover up with what appeared to be a large metal tree stamped into it. It seemed somehow familiar. Forgetting for a moment the missing librarian, I leaned down and picked it up. It was much heavier than I had first thought and one quick touch proved that the tree was indeed metal. Some sort of tarnished silver overpowering the soft green cover. Pretty really, it seemed to bring to mind the tree of life images I had often seen in little novelty stores. But this didn't seem like some cheap little novelty item. It had such a compelling air I found myself sitting and opening the book before I had even realized there was a table in the room.
Then it occurred to me that I was paying more attention to this book than the missing Ms. Morley. Frowning I pushed back from the table, rising and turning to the door. I had better things to do than fool around with some old book... The door was closed. Rushing to it I tried to push it back open but it wasn't happening. Apparently it had one of those little automatic locking mechanisms and now I was stuck. "Shit! Ms. Morley! Are you here?!" My voice echoed off into the dimness beyond my circle of light. I received no response.
Had she ever truly been here? Had I been alone this whole time? Surely she wouldn't have left the front doors unlocked. This was a safe neighborhood, yes, but it had always had it's share of hooligans who would be more than happy to wreck the place for the sheer hell of it. It didn't make sense. And it didn't really matter. No one was here and I was stuck til morning, like it or not.
Slumping down against the door I assessed the situation. I was stuck, alone and suddenly had to pee. What a beautiful beginning to my return. Sighing I let my gaze roam my prison for the night, it inevitably landed on the book. "Well why not." My voice was explosively loud in the silence and I found myself looking around nervously to see if I had been heard before I realized the stupidity of it. Who was going to hear me? I was alone and bored. Rising I went back to the table, drug the chair back around and sat down, staring at the tree for a few moments before finally reaching to open it. A low whispering sound hissed from the other side of the fence and my hand froze. I did not know what that sound had been and I didn't want to know, but not looking wasn't going to make things better. Turning slowly I tried to see out into the shelves beyond but the light made it to hard to make anything out. Well, I wasn't going to turn the light out just to see what the hell it was.
"Hello? Is someone out there? Ms. Morley, if that's you it's Chanti, Marcus Travers daughter. I'm locked in back here!" No response and truthfully, I wasn't expecting one. I was just creeped the hell out and really wishing I hadn't lost my phone. I stared into the darkness a little longer but the sound didn't repeat itself. Maybe just the wind. It could have blown the front doors open. It had been raining really badly out there. Then it occurred to me that the entire time I had been in here I had not heard the rain. When I ran through those doors it had been falling in torrents, but it was dead silent in here. Why couldn't I hear the rain?
As if in response to my mental questioning there was a sudden earth rattling explosion of thunder that wrung a terrified shriek from me before I could stop it. The light blinked out. Grabbing the fence door I started shaking it frantically, screaming for Ms. Morley, shaking it until my arms gave out before slumping to the floor, gasping. Jesus, Chanti, you're losing it here! Leaning back, I closed my eyes, slowing my breathing. Freaking out was not going to help me, it's just thunder and it's just a library. You're safe, you're fine. Nothing is going to get you.
The whisper came again, only inches from my head. I don't even remember throwing myself across the small enclosure until my back slammed into the bookcase on the other side. My eyes were wide, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever made that sound. It had seemed so close! But try as I might, it was in vain. I couldn't see anything but the pitch blackness. The more I strained to catch even the faintest glimmer in the darkness the blacker it became until I became convinced that I wasn't in the library anymore. No, some great Lovecraftian beast had risen with the thunder's call and swallowed me whole. In the morning they would find nothing of my presence but a ratty old backpack and a misplaced book. And with that thought my mind fled the recesses of terror and centered yet again upon the book. Where had it gone? Had I left it on the table? I can't explain the sudden need to have the book in my hands, but it was the only thing keeping me from becoming a weeping, quivering lump in the corner and I needed it.
Slowly I slid my hand up the bookcase that pressed against my back, only thinking for a moment how it seemed so like teeth pressed tightly closed behind me, and gripped the frame. Using it I rose ever so slowly to my feet, other hand thrust out before me to try and find the table from before. I shoved back the thought of something standing there, just out of reach, waiting to bite through my fingers. Shoved and kicked it far away as I slowly pushed free of the bookcase and began to feel for the table, wall, something.
Something cold and slick bumped my palm and I nearly screamed before realizing it was the chair I had been sitting in what seemed like eons ago. Breathing deeply to calm myself I gripped tightly to it and drew myself forward into the table, ramming my hip rather hard with the sturdy surface. Another quick grope about and my fingers found the now familiar softness of the book's cover. Pulling the chair closer, I sat and finally opened the book.