Page 45 of Ancient Obsession

“I’m always here for you. Always.”

“I know.” Oliver picked up his bag.

“We haven’t talked much about your parents. I know your dad passed when you were in high school, but not much else.”

“I don’t talk about it often. Dad had prostate cancer. By the time they found it, it was stage four and had gone into his lymph nodes. He was gone two months after his diagnosis.”

“Jesus,” Dave whispered. “That’s awful. How old were you?”

“I was a sophomore, so fifteen? Yeah, fifteen. I remember he wasn’t here for my sixteenth birthday.”

“So young to lose your dad. Is that when you moved in with Eileen?”

“Yeah. She hired out work on the farm and moved into my dad’s and my house so I could finish school with my few friends.”

“He was her son, right?”

“That’s right.”

Dave nodded. Then, eyes softening, he ran a hand up and down Oliver’s arm. “You don’t talk about your mom.”

Oliver made a face. “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned her once the whole time we’ve been together.”

“Probably not. She left my dad and me when I was a baby. Dad didn’t talk about her much, just said she found someone else. But Grandma’s had a lot to say over the years.”

They laughed together again, and something that had drawn tight inside Oliver’s chest years and years ago loosened a bit. He trusted Dave with his life. He could trust him with this.

A scream echoed between the buildings. It was short but rooted in terror.

“What the fuck?” Oliver turned, searching for the source.

“Where’d it come from?” Dave asked, also looking around.

“I don’t know.”

Dave grabbed his arm. “Which way is the library?”

“Oh, fuck. Samira.”

They ran.

Oliver’s bag banged against his hip. A few people were out, either heading to classes or enjoying the pleasant evening. The majority wore headphones, so Oliver assumed they hadn’t heard the scream themselves. He knew the general direction to the library and headed that way. It felt too far away for them to do any good, but he pressed on.

Lampposts along the sidewalk buzzed into life as the sun set. Shadows gathered around buildings and shrubs. Crickets chirred, taking over the background soundtrack from sleeping birds.

The library came into view directly in front of them. Three stories high, it was built from white stone blocks that gleamed in the glow of the lamps. They stopped at the bottom of the steps, both panting. Turning back and forth, Oliver tried to see everywhere at once. Shadows thickened beneath the trees. That and the absence of other people made him shiver.

“I don’t see her,” Dave said. “I mean, I don’t know what she looks like, but I don’t see anyone.”

“I don’t see her either.” Oliver had started to turn back to the library entrance again when something caught his eye. A notebook lay on the sidewalk near one of the benches. It was small and leather-bound, similar to the one Dr. Brennan had written in before they’d opened the coffin.

Oliver squatted and opened it. Property of Samira Farouk was written on the first interior page.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” Dave approached. When he saw the notebook in Oliver’s hands, he said, “Oh, no.”