by B. P. Crouse
Copyright B. P. Crouse 2012
The air weighed heavy on the last leaves holding tenuous grips to the branches of cottonwoods. It held the crispness of snow though there were no flakes to be seen. The scrolling architecture of the Riverside Public Library loomed over Fletcher Callow as he devoured another mystery novel between bites of Hershey Kisses and pretzels. There were precious few days left before Fletcher would need to retreat to some secluded place inside, though he liked to trespass on the sanctity of the stacks as little as possible.
There was a peace found in rows of shelved books he felt unworthy of being surrounded by, though peace was in desperate need in his life. His attraction to mysteries was no surprise. It was a relief to know he wasn’t the who-done-it. Accusations bred in his home like the termites slowly eating away at the joists. The concrete step was solid though and the solitude of a hood, book, and a don’t disrupt me glare to any passerby who happened to get too close provided the solace of innocence.