A Hidden Fire
Page 81
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“You and I are going to meet some friends, Miss De Novo. Off the elevator now. I don’t want to force you.”
Her mind was reeling, and she kept looking between Dr. Scalia’s sad smile and the gun, unable to comprehend why he was pointing it at her. “But Dr. Scalia—”
“No arguing,” he said in a sharp voice, motioning toward the empty hallway with the dull, black weapon.
She stumbled out, her eyes glued to his hand. He propelled her forward, bypassing the main stairwell and heading into the stacks. Dr. Scalia walked close to her, making sure the barrel of his gun brushed against her if she slowed her pace.
“Did you know your father and I knew each other? We knew each other in school; we even worked together, for a time. It made everything so much harder. He never should have found those books in Ferrara.”
She looked around, her heart beginning to beat in panic. The old law library was so seldom used, the staff didn’t even keep the lights on through most of the floor, so the tall bookcases seemed to twist into a dark maze as they walked through them.
“Books? In Ferrara? Dr. Scalia, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you saying about my dad?”
“You look so much like him, too. Something about your eyes, I think.” Halting for a moment, he looked at her with pity. “I hated to do it…but he had seen them, and he was asking so many questions. He knew they didn’t belong there. I had to tell Lorenzo he had found the books. It was my responsibility to report him. You understand about responsibility, don’t you?”
She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart as she clutched her phone. “Sure. Sure, I understand.” She didn’t understand. Beatrice didn’t understand a word he was saying. She didn’t know what was in Ferrara, except the—
“Wait, are you talking about the university where the letters were translated?” She spun around to look at him, halting in the middle of the stacks, totally forgetting about the gun. “So, you work for Lorenzo? Are you saying my father found Lorenzo’s—I mean Gio’s—books in Ferrara? He was in Florence, Dr. Scalia, he was killed—”
She broke off with a gasp when the small professor stepped forward and raised the gun to her chest. Her stomach dropped. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she choked out, suddenly looking around and realizing no one could help her. There wasn’t a soul stirring on the third floor that night.
Dr. Scalia spoke in a soothing voice. “I know it’s confusing, my dear. Hand me your phone, will you? I don’t want to have to shoot you.” He held out his hand, and Beatrice tried to think of a way to stall him so she could call Carl, but the gun seemed to grow larger in his hand the longer she stared at it. Eventually, she handed the small professor her mobile phone, and he stuck it in his pocket.
“It was such an honor to be asked to care for those books. You’re a librarian, so you must understand. And no one seemed to mind me in the old building. I knew it like the back of my hand. The books never should have been found, I had taken such pains to hide them.”
He continued to look at her with sympathy, but she noticed his hand never trembled on the gun. He pointed her toward the back staircase as they continued to weave their way through the bookshelves. The back stairs were rarely used, even by the maintenance staff.
“You stole the letters from the manuscript room, didn’t you? You stole them for Lorenzo?”
He snorted. “They were his to begin with, and it wasn’t difficult. The combination lock is simple, and I’m such a trustworthy soul, aren’t I? No one notices me darting around this place. Just like Ferrara,” he said with a chuckle. “And he’ll be so pleased to finally have you. He’s been waiting for just the right time.”
A picture of what her father had stumbled into was beginning to form in Beatrice’s mind, but most of her brain was furiously searching for some way to escape the harmless looking old man with the scary black gun.
“Dr. Scalia,” she stopped and turned, desperate to deflect his attention. “I don’t know anything. I promise. You can tell Lorenzo.” She tried to wear her most innocent expression. “This is all so confusing. Even the letters—the letters don’t make sense to me. I don’t know anything about the books. I don’t know—”
“Of course you don’t,” he tried to soothe her, “but Stephen does, and he shouldn’t have run. I know it’s upsetting, but it’s all so much bigger than our own small role. After all, I was the one that persuaded him to keep your father.”
Dr. Scalia smiled then, and Beatrice could see the edge of madness in his eyes. “I told him how knowledgeable Stephen was, what a good scholar, and how many languages he spoke. I said he would be an asset.” He looked at her and smiled. “I saved your father!”
She began to lose hope she would be able to elude him when she saw the stairwell approaching. She began to beg. “Dr. Scalia, if you could just put the gun away—”
He only walked more quickly. “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. He just needs you to persuade your father to come back. That’s all. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you.”
Her mind was reeling, and she kept looking between Dr. Scalia’s sad smile and the gun, unable to comprehend why he was pointing it at her. “But Dr. Scalia—”
“No arguing,” he said in a sharp voice, motioning toward the empty hallway with the dull, black weapon.
She stumbled out, her eyes glued to his hand. He propelled her forward, bypassing the main stairwell and heading into the stacks. Dr. Scalia walked close to her, making sure the barrel of his gun brushed against her if she slowed her pace.
“Did you know your father and I knew each other? We knew each other in school; we even worked together, for a time. It made everything so much harder. He never should have found those books in Ferrara.”
She looked around, her heart beginning to beat in panic. The old law library was so seldom used, the staff didn’t even keep the lights on through most of the floor, so the tall bookcases seemed to twist into a dark maze as they walked through them.
“Books? In Ferrara? Dr. Scalia, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you saying about my dad?”
“You look so much like him, too. Something about your eyes, I think.” Halting for a moment, he looked at her with pity. “I hated to do it…but he had seen them, and he was asking so many questions. He knew they didn’t belong there. I had to tell Lorenzo he had found the books. It was my responsibility to report him. You understand about responsibility, don’t you?”
She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart as she clutched her phone. “Sure. Sure, I understand.” She didn’t understand. Beatrice didn’t understand a word he was saying. She didn’t know what was in Ferrara, except the—
“Wait, are you talking about the university where the letters were translated?” She spun around to look at him, halting in the middle of the stacks, totally forgetting about the gun. “So, you work for Lorenzo? Are you saying my father found Lorenzo’s—I mean Gio’s—books in Ferrara? He was in Florence, Dr. Scalia, he was killed—”
She broke off with a gasp when the small professor stepped forward and raised the gun to her chest. Her stomach dropped. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she choked out, suddenly looking around and realizing no one could help her. There wasn’t a soul stirring on the third floor that night.
Dr. Scalia spoke in a soothing voice. “I know it’s confusing, my dear. Hand me your phone, will you? I don’t want to have to shoot you.” He held out his hand, and Beatrice tried to think of a way to stall him so she could call Carl, but the gun seemed to grow larger in his hand the longer she stared at it. Eventually, she handed the small professor her mobile phone, and he stuck it in his pocket.
“It was such an honor to be asked to care for those books. You’re a librarian, so you must understand. And no one seemed to mind me in the old building. I knew it like the back of my hand. The books never should have been found, I had taken such pains to hide them.”
He continued to look at her with sympathy, but she noticed his hand never trembled on the gun. He pointed her toward the back staircase as they continued to weave their way through the bookshelves. The back stairs were rarely used, even by the maintenance staff.
“You stole the letters from the manuscript room, didn’t you? You stole them for Lorenzo?”
He snorted. “They were his to begin with, and it wasn’t difficult. The combination lock is simple, and I’m such a trustworthy soul, aren’t I? No one notices me darting around this place. Just like Ferrara,” he said with a chuckle. “And he’ll be so pleased to finally have you. He’s been waiting for just the right time.”
A picture of what her father had stumbled into was beginning to form in Beatrice’s mind, but most of her brain was furiously searching for some way to escape the harmless looking old man with the scary black gun.
“Dr. Scalia,” she stopped and turned, desperate to deflect his attention. “I don’t know anything. I promise. You can tell Lorenzo.” She tried to wear her most innocent expression. “This is all so confusing. Even the letters—the letters don’t make sense to me. I don’t know anything about the books. I don’t know—”
“Of course you don’t,” he tried to soothe her, “but Stephen does, and he shouldn’t have run. I know it’s upsetting, but it’s all so much bigger than our own small role. After all, I was the one that persuaded him to keep your father.”
Dr. Scalia smiled then, and Beatrice could see the edge of madness in his eyes. “I told him how knowledgeable Stephen was, what a good scholar, and how many languages he spoke. I said he would be an asset.” He looked at her and smiled. “I saved your father!”
She began to lose hope she would be able to elude him when she saw the stairwell approaching. She began to beg. “Dr. Scalia, if you could just put the gun away—”
He only walked more quickly. “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. He just needs you to persuade your father to come back. That’s all. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you.”
