I was still recovering from the shock of seeing him there, one aisle over, sitting on the floor with his back to the stacks and a whiskey bottle dangling between his bent knees, when he shouted at me.

“What the fuck do you want?”

I leapt a mile in the air.

I should have kept running until I was out of the library, but I only made it three aisles down before I panicked and took solace within the stacks.

Even now, my heart is still lodged halfway up my throat. Tremors run through my hands and fingers.

I’ve been dropped into a horror movie.

“I know you’re in here,” he says, his voice eerily devoid of emotion.

I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to make the first move.

Time slows to a crawl. I’m kicking myself for not finding a better hiding place.

For a few long seconds, my heartbeat thunders so loud it’s all I hear. My chin trembles. Then, I focus in on him: the heavy clink of his whiskey bottle as he sets it down on the parquet floor, the rustling of clothes as he stands, the ominous tap tap tap of his soles as he slowly starts to hunt me.

“Montre-toi…montre-toi…où que tu sois.”

I don’t understand his French, but I recognize the sing-songy cadence of his taunt.

Come out, come out wherever you are.

Though I wish I could stay frozen, I have no choice but to gather courage, turn around, and peer between the books so I can see what he’s doing. I watch as he comes to the end of his aisle and looks both ways before turning right, away from me.

I clench my jaw, sick of the trembling.

“There’s no reason to be scared,” he tells me, his words smooth as butter.

So then why do I feel on the brink of tears?

“Do you think I’m some kind of monster?”

He keeps walking away, in no hurry at all. He gets to the end of an aisle, leans over to peer down it, and then, upon finding nothing, continues on. His search is lazy; he knows there aren’t many places I could have gone.

I’m a sitting duck if I stay where I am. He’ll turn back, come this way, and find me.

Ignoring my racing heart, I start to take a step when he takes a step, using the sound of his walking to disguise my own. My goal is to make it to the rear exit of the library, the one that leads to a dark, safe corridor.

I’m almost past the first hurdle, slinking to the end of my aisle when he suddenly pauses and turns back, no longer walking away from me.

I freeze.

“You know maybe I’m the one who should be scared, alone in a library with Lainey Davenport. If the rumors are to be believed, I might not make it out of here alive.”

Embarrassment washes over me, but not for long. Anger follows, so much pent up from the shitty day I’ve had. First my grandmother, then Blythe, now him.