Brian had only slept in the apartment six nights and was already getting jittery. He lived near the coast but had yet to make it out to the seafront. He went on a walk around the local area to see what he could discover. He never found the seafront and wound up in the town centre, via some roundabout way. Still, he stumbled upon an independent coffee shop with a lot of character. You could tell they were big on health from the kale chips, organic single-origin coffee, and gluten-free treats. Cute barista, too, with a nose ring and pink hair which seemed pretty out-there for what was otherwise a small conservative town. But Brian wasn’t interested in the girl with pink hair—‘Lexie’ according to her nametag. She was a little on the young side, and besides he felt attached to Her. They’d shared something together. For Brian to flirt with others would be a betrayal of sorts. What he was interested in were the two bookcases stacked full of second-hand books. Yellowed pages, wonderfully musty scents perfumed with the passing of time, cracked spines, and worn pages. Best of all, the chalkboard sign overhead read, ‘Customers read for free. Grab a book.’
Does that mean non-customers can read for a fee?
Brian bought an americano and a gluten-free chocolate brownie, then set up shop at a table in the far-corner, before heading back to the bookcases. Memories of childhood: Herbert, King, Rice, Bradbury, Jackson, Masterton. Brian was spoilt for choice. In the end, he picked up Stephen King’s Night Shift. He’d only read King’s novels and figured short stories were the perfect form for kicking back for a few hours in a coffee house.
When Brian heard the commotion, he was nearing the end of ‘Graveyard Shift’. Hall and Warwick had just discovered the surprise in the basement. Lord knows how long the raucous outside had been going on for, but it sounded like a bunch of lads celebrating a big win at the footie—hollering and cheering, chanting and clapping. He set the book down. After a quick stretch of his arms to ease some back pain, Brian strolled over to the window. It was the man with the long-flowing robe. He walked down the street, shaking hands with residents and exchanging greetings. Same as he’d done in the supermarket. People were treating him like a celebrity. Back in the Midlands, someone dressed up like that would be lucky to get a nod of the head, let alone a ‘hello’. Amongst the commotion, a tank-like bloke wearing a Hobgoblin t-shirt screamed, “We love you!” prompting half the crowd to fall to their knees in a bow before getting up as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“What’s his story?” Brian looked towards Lexie, her head downcast, probably on her phone, though he couldn’t say for sure, the countertop obscuring his view.
She said nothing. Didn’t even move.
“Who is he?” A little louder.
This time Lexie looked up, forced a smile. “More coffee?”
“Erm … yeah … sure.” Brian had expected an answer, not another question, and then the social anxiety kicked in, the words tangling in his mouth.
He took the fresh coffee and retreated to his table, opening the book once more, but he was out of the story. Unable to focus.
Who the hell is Red Robe?