The closest library from this side of Roseshield Grove isn't the same library I've been to lately, but I head there now so that I can hopefully have a moment to do some more digging as well as have protection. Safety in numbers, right?
Thankfully, I can recall each of the names easily enough as well as their, ah, issues, which makes locating each one far easier.
First up, Wesley Marsh, the thieving pickpocket. He was born… That doesn’t matter. Where he lives might matter, might not. Hmm. I do some more digging and learn that he has been in and out of prison for a month here, a month there. He last was released from prison about six months ago.
No one knows where he’s been since.
Interesting. Does that mean he’s been hunted? Killed? Laying low?
Next is Viola Barella, who likes to set fires. Arson. It’s believed that she’s set her last house on fire. Rumor has it that she perished in the last house she set ablaze, but I can’t help wondering if that’s not truly the case. After all, I don’t read anything that mentioned her bones or teeth. There’s no mention of a funeral either. Had she been buried? Was she in the casket? Did they bury an empty one? Do they even do that?
Chang Yu and her gang seem to have left fake currency aside and have turned to other crimes. Her gang is still in operation, but Chang Yu is gone. The gang went after another gang, having some kind of turf war. I’m not sure what exactly that is, but her gang believes her to have been kidnapped, but the other gang won’t produce her.
Because they don’t have her? Because someone else does?
Edmund Franke, the drug addict, is said to be in a rehab facility in St. Louis. Before I can think twice, I’m already calling it.
“Hello, you have reached Bridgeway Behavioral Health Inc. This is Dolores. How can I help you?”
“Hi, yes, I was wondering if you could tell me about—”
“A patient? Oh, dear, I’m sorry I can’t. Not unless you’re a family member, and the patient allows you to know about his or her treatment.”
“I was just wondering if someone is still there. You see…” I wrack my brains for something that won’t be a lie. “A person who I care about, I just want to know if they’re continuing treatment or not. I know how dangerous drugs can be—”
I do know because of the things I’m reading about cocaine and addiction right this very moment as I’m on the phone with the woman.
“And I don’t want to be around someone who is sliding back into his own ways and might prove a danger to society or himself.”
And now I’m spitting out things I’ve read in articles about rehab centers.
The woman releases a breath. “I’m still not supposed to—”
“Please. It’s for my mental health. Peace of mind.”
It’s cheating, maybe, saying mental health because Bridgeway Behavioral Health Inc. also deals with mental health patients.
“What’s his name, sweetheart?” Dolores asks.
“Edmund. Edmund Franke.”
“Let’s see…” I hear some typing over the line. “He was discharged, hon.”
“When?”
“About five, six months ago. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t give too many details.”
“I understand. I just… I hope that this time, the treatment helps.”
“You have to understand. The patients here, most of them want help. They want it and know they need it, but it’s hard. It’s not their choice. You have to understand that addiction is a very serious issue.”
“Oh, I know all about serious issues,” I say dryly.
Dolores doesn’t pick up on my tone. “If there’s nothing else…”
“No, thank you. I appreciate you telling me this.”
I hang up before she can say anything else, but when I go to click off the page on Edmund, I realize there’s an obituary page.
Almost six months ago, Edmund overdosed. He never woke up. It seems he truly did die, unlike my doubts concerning the others, because the obituary page is filled with messages from people, their condolences. There’s even a picture attached of a woman standing near his casket. She’s bawling. The photo makes me very uncomfortable, and I click to shut down the internet browser.
And then I reopen it. There’s no reason to not check on Austin O’Higgins, the drug dealer.
Let me see… There are a lot of articles about him, about his crimes, what he’s suspected of doing, but it seems as if the police can’t make any of the charges stick. He’s smart and knows how to cover his tracks. Maybe it’s just as well that Jaidos opted not to go after him.
Should I pay Austin a visit? Tell him he might have a target on his back? No. I shouldn’t get involved like that.
Instead of searching for Austin’s name, I check his name and “death.” There aren’t any returns, but his name and “missing” does. Apparently, he hasn’t been seen in three months.
So, did Jaidos change his mind? Or did one of Austin’s schemes not work out for him? Did he anger the wrong person? It seems he did a lot of blackmail and double-crossing, so it might not be related.
But the rest of them being missing for about six months is very telling. Who knows? Maybe the hired gun tried to nab Edmund too but screwed up, and Edmund ended up dead by accident.
Or maybe Edmund had been slain.
The thought of a human being slain by a rogue paranormal slayer churns my stomach. Who knows if this would've been the time that Edmund would be able to have turned his life around? Now, he'll never be given that chance to prove to the world that he could change, that he could be something more than a drug addict. What could his future have been if he had overcome his addiction? Would he have married, have children? Maybe he would've become a person to study medicine and come up with a cure for humans, a potion of sorts. Medicine. Or he could have been a great author and write stories that inspire people to change their ways and embark on peace. He could've been a police officer and help keep the peace. He could've become a diplomat and try to unite countries to have peace.
Peace.
That’s what I want most of all. Well, not more than Sophie’s freedom. So second of all, I want peace. I’ll fight as much as I hate to but in the name of peace. I’ll battle to the end and even risk my life so that there won’t be war.
A throat clears behind me, and I jump.
The librarian gives me a rueful smile. “I’ve stayed open late for you, but I really must close up now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I had some extra work to do anyhow.”
I smile at her and rush out of there. It’s late, but not quite late enough, so I spend some money and get myself a meal at a place and sit and watch the people as I bide my time. Once it becomes obvious I plan on being there for a long while, the waitress starts to glare at me. She probably doesn’t appreciate the fact that I’m taking up a table for so much time.
When I ask for the bill, she scowls and almost tosses it at me. “Couldn’t even drink soda instead of water,” she mumbles.
I eye her backside as she retreats and give her a larger tip. Yes, she’s being rude, but I can see the dark circles under her eyes, the wringing of her hands. I didn’t mean to, but I overheard her on her phone as she was on a quick break. Her mom is in the hospital, and I think she might be helping to pay for the bills. Even if she isn’t, the waitress is upset and worried about her mom. So she was rude. Who cares? She has her own issues. We all do.
I linger by the door and watch as she approaches my table. When she picks up the money I left behind, tears well in her eyes. Before she can fully turn toward me, I’m gone, slipped outside.
For another hour, I walk around the block, over and over again, waiting until it’s late enough that Alaneo Icewings should be asleep. Staying on the human land instead of slipping over to cross into the realm of the fairies, I find a perch high up in a tree so no one will see me. I won’t be disturbed here as I risk attempting dream infiltration again. Invasive? Yes, of course it is, but I have no choice. It’s the best way for me to be able to talk to Alaneo without risking anyone overhearing us. He’ll be able to talk plainly.
At least, that’s the hope.
I enter the dream, and I can feel Alaneo even though he’s not here. There are walls all around us, and a sense of isolation threatens to overwhelm me. My hands reach out, and without warning, they’re gripping bars.
I’m in prison.
Footsteps sound, and I glance down the hallway as best as I can. Slowly, Alaneo approaches.
“You have to be careful,” he says, stopping to stand in front of me. He taps a baton against his open palm a few times. “If you don’t, you might end up here. Or you might end up in a body bag. Or your sister might.”
"Is that a threat?" I growl, tilting my head and narrowing my eyes at him.
“Are you that paranoid that you cannot distinguish a warning from a threat? If you can’t, you’re already imprisoned.”
I run my tongue along my teeth. “You can talk plainly here,” I complain.
“Who says I’m not?” He sits down, and out of nowhere, a stool appears for him to rest his rump on.
“I don’t know if you were being watched or not, but I was attacked after we spoke. Be careful.”
“I am always careful.”
“I’m sorry. Be more careful than normal.”
“My middle name is Careful. Alaneo Careful Icewings.”
I gape at him. “That’s a—”
“Joke,” he says with a sigh. “A jest. Now, don’t you have more pressing questions for me?”
"Yes, please! Tell me how the prison is set up."
“Each floor contains two wings. Each wing houses a different type of paranormal being or creature.”
“So all fairies are held in the same wing.”
“Correct.”
“My sister,” I murmur before shaking my head. “What else?”
“There are so many floors that the Magical Prison has a few subterranean.”
“It goes underground?” I ask, surprised.
"That is what I just said. Unlike a human prison, there is no chance for the inmates to be granted time outside. They hardly ever leave their rooms. They eat in their rooms, and each cell has a toilet and a sink."
“No freedom whatsoever.”
“None, but at least they’re alive.”
“That’s hardly living,” I growl. “Being confined to a tiny room for the rest of your life… How many innocences are locked up in there?”
“Who can say?”
“Tell me about the guards. How many are there? When do they have shift changes? Is that sporadic, or do they all switch out at the same time? What about the warden? Can you tell me more about him? Any and all details you can give me… please.”
Alaneo opens his mouth, tilts his head slightly as if he’s listening to someone else, and then shuts his mouth again without saying a word. I reach out toward him, but the dream is already fading away.
He’s waking up. The dream is ending already, and he hasn’t told me everything yet.