Crosstalk by Connie Willis

Author:Connie Willis
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2016-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

“They often came without my calling, but sometimes they did not come. I would pray to God to send them.”

—JOAN OF ARC

It was the theater all over again, only much, much worse because she couldn’t see anything. And C.B. couldn’t come to rescue her because it was too dark. He would bump into something, trying to work his way back here, and the librarian would hear him and catch them. And she mustn’t move either, mustn’t make a sound, even though the voices were crashing all around her in deafening waves of frustration and fear and fury.

She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying aloud and called, C.B.!, but there was no way he’d be able to hear her over the voices. They were too loud, too violent.

Your perimeter, she thought. C.B. said if the voices came back, she should imagine her brick wall, and she tried, visualizing the red bricks, the thick gray mortar, but it was too late. The voices were already inside.

C.B.! It didn’t work! What do I do now? she called, but even if by some miracle he heard her, she wouldn’t be able to hear him through the roar of the voices plunging around her, inundating her—

Don’t think about them, she told herself sternly. Think about the marshmallows—green shamrocks, yellow stars. And songs. But she couldn’t remember the words to the theme from Gilligan’s Island, and C.B.’s Victorian novels were up in the stacks.

She was all alone with the voices, and they were dragging her under, into the drowning darkness. She was going down. C.B.! she gasped, choking, swallowing water.

And he was suddenly there, reaching for her, saying, Jesus, I am so sorry!, ordering her to give him her hand. But she had already flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck like a shipwreck victim grabbing for a spar floating past.

Where were you? she sobbed. I couldn’t hear you, and the light went out and the voices—

I know. I am so sorry. Marian the Librarian was right outside, almost to the door, and I was afraid she’d see the light under it—

Don’t leave me again! she cried, tightening her arms around his neck.

I won’t, I promise. And his arms went around her, enfolding her, shutting out the voices, the darkness, shutting out everything but his lips against her hair, his voice in her head saying, I’m here, I’m here. Shh, it’s all right.

She was holding onto him so tightly, she was practically choking him, and she knew she should let go, but she couldn’t. The voices would come back, they’d—

Hang on as long as you need to, C.B. said. We can’t leave for a little while anyway. Marian’s still making the rounds. She’s checking the bathrooms. I’ll spare you her thoughts on the subject of the men’s room. Now she’s checking the Reading Room. She’s really mad about having to lock up again. It’s the third time this week. Why is she always the one? Because she’s a pushover, that’s why…

Briddey knew full well C.

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