ProlougeA Chapter by C.C. MarxThe clouds threaten to rain. It is dark, cold, and already damp from earlier passing showers. The sun tries with all its might, but its light cannot penetrate the overcast sky. The old library on the split of two quiet streets is unusually packed. The parking lot is filled with first time visitors, although none have the intention of actually using the library. They all wait patiently, some with cameras and microphones, others wielding umbrellas in case the expected rain makes its appearance suddenly. A group of college students, around five or six, file quietly out of the doors, their mood solemn and somber like the sky. A dark- haired girl, who had been lagging behind, weaves her way between the students, hiding herself in the crowd. She pulls up the hood of her gray UCLA sweatshirt creating a shadow over her pretty face. Her features unrecognizable, her identity unknown. Abruptly, the clouds release the rain they had desperately tried to hold back. The parking lot loiters scramble to find shelter; some dash for their cars, others huddle under umbrellas. The college students scatter. Cursing, they search in the parking lot frenzy for their cars, trying not to damage the books they had just checked out. The dark-haired girl, however, is perfectly at ease in the torrential downpour. She strolls effortlessly across the library’s lawn until she reaches the sidewalk. As she begins her walk home, a tenacious man, with a recorder in hand, determinedly follows her through the rain. He speeds up until his steps match her own. “Excuse me? Do you mind answering a few questions for me?” he asks. His tone reads friendly, but his expression is one of seriousness. The girl stops and faces the man. He tries to peer through her hood to see her face, but between the shadow blanketing her features and the blurry rain, her face is undistinguishable. She coughs. “I don’t like I would be much of a help.” she answers in a feigned voice. It sounds distinctly male and raspy, as if she had just taken a drag. But in her mind, she notes that the voice is pretty convincing for someone who has never smoked in their life. “What were you doing in the library?” he questions her, ignoring her comment. He presses play on the recorder and shoves it close to her face. Disgustedly, she shoves it back at him. “I was checking out the books.” “But you don’t have a book.” “I didn’t find the one I wanted.” she replies coolly while shrugging her soaked shoulders. “Do you attend UCLA, Mr.…?” “Hunter…and no, my brother is an attendee, this is his sweatshirt.” lies the fair-skinned girl. She licks her lips, and tries not to smile to herself. “Mr. Hunter did you see anyone with dark hair, pale skin, and around this tall?” he gestures to a little below his shoulders. Being a man of six feet, he guessed that would be a good guess of the girl’s height. “Can’t say that I have.” With that, she turns on the heels of her shoes, and starts to make her way down the street once more. The man, however, hurried after her, grabbing her shoulder anxiously. “Are you positive you haven’t seen her?” he inquires his voice a mixture of hope and desperation. Annoyed, she jerks her shoulder quickly, sending the man’s arm swinging back to his side. “I said, I can’t say that I have.” she says evenly, but the edge in her voice obvious. With a huff and one last glare, the girl begins to stalk down the sidewalk once more. The anger is shown in her walk; she stomps the ground with each step. The man sighs disappointedly, as he watches his only possible lead to a story disappear in the rain. Once the figure fades into the distance, he makes his way back to the now vacant parking lot. The others had already given up and left. As he sticks his key in the ignition of his brand new Lexus, he wonders why the stranger had been so hostile. He asked a few simple questions… Suddenly, a mental picture reappears in his mind. The sleeve of the man’s baggy sweatshirt had rode up when shrugged of his hand. Had he seen pink nail polish the person’s hand? The man shakes his head. The rain is playing tricks on his mind. That is probably some deadbeat mooching off of a relative, spending his days wandering and smoking his brains out, he thinks to himself. As he pulls out of the library and heads down the street, he sees the hooded figure ambling along the road. As he passes by, he glances quickly at him. This time, he notices something he hadn’t seen before. Dark hair peeks out of the man’s hood. Slamming on the breaks, he pops out of his car to confront the strange man once more. But once again, the stranger has already vanished into the rain. © 2012 C.C. MarxAuthor's Note
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5 Reviews  Last Updated on September 29, 2012 Author
C.C. MarxAboutMy friends call me C which is short for.....Anyways let's share a little about me, shall we? I write because it gives me a way to say things I've never had the courage to explain or tell others. Ther.. more..Writing
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