Read Online The Edge of Madness Cafe (The Sea and the Wasteland Book 2) by Mark Reynolds - Free Book Online

the
glue in the spines to the fiber in the pages. And he knew the spiders that
feasted upon these insects, great milky-bodied creatures that stalked the
shelves and rafters and cracks of Dabble’s Books , laying snare lines or
lying in wait to pounce. And he knew of the mice—there were twelve, give or
take a few to misadventure or simple fecundity—living in the walls, their turds
left behind like fingerprints, who ate the spiders and scratched at the wood
and, yes, chewed upon his books.
    He bent his head and
listened, hearing the shop door open, the creak of the hinges and the click of
the latch. He heard the lumbering steps of the old woman as she left, grumbling
to herself, empty and pointless. He had read it all in her face in those few
seconds of their encounter, and it was neither unusual nor interesting, a
tedious story, dull and trivial, and it made him sleepy. He was glad it was
gone.
    So very different from
Ellen Monroe and her story, the bright soul hidden beneath sullied flesh, the
warm heart buried inside a jaded mind. But there was more to her, a mystery of
sorts, a riddle of the human condition. And that was a mystery he enjoyed, one
he would like to explore.
    Nicholas Dabble could not
remember now exactly why he hired Ellen Monroe. The circumstance behind his
decision seemed to have been diluted with the passage of time until he could no
longer pinpoint exactly why or how it happened. And that alone was extremely
unusual. But he was prepared to dismiss even this as simple malaise, a boredom
that prompted his memory to wander, and perhaps encouraged him to alleviate his
doldrums by hiring a new employee that might prove a distraction, though
nothing more.
    Whatever the reason, he
had placed a help wanted sign in his window. And before the end of the morning,
Ellen Monroe had worked her way into his life.
    Nothing had been the same since.
    Barely an hour after the
sign was up, Ellen Monroe stood before his counter asking about the position.
She had no experience as a cashier, had never worked in a bookstore, and had no
prior job history or even a reference beyond her psychiatrist. But she had a
winsome look, a waifish figure, and wide eyes that suggested an innocence that
Dr. Kohler seemed to indicate—between his saccharine assurances—was not fully
representative of her past. Dabble liked that. He also liked her answer to his singular
question: “Why do you want to work in a bookstore?”
    “I like books,” she
answered. “They’re like people. They begin and they end, and everything that’s
really important happens in between. They have a kind of life about them. I
know that’s strange, but when you read a book, for a short while anyway, you stop
being a part of your own reality and become a part of theirs.”
    She said she lived just
down the street, and could work evenings and weekends if need be, so he hired
her on the spot.
    Nothing had been the same
since.
    At first he found it
amusing that she was seeing a psychiatrist whose name he could find stamped on
the base of any given
urinal or piss-stained toilet in any public restroom. At first. Now he thought
it suspicious.
    Not unlike her walking in
the very day he decided to hire someone, Daisy Miller fresh off the turnip
truck. Like Kohler’s name, it seemed convenient, contrived. Had she landed on
his doorstep due to his plan, or had he posted the help wanted sign due to
hers?
    It sounded like the
meddling hand of fate, and frankly, he liked to keep his affairs well clear of
that meddlesome bitch.
    But fate could be clever,
sometimes. She could wheedle her way inside your head, and make you think it
was your own idea. She was cunning, that one.
    And maybe she had eyes
that were a little winsome.
    And nothing had been
the same since.
    Dabble crossed to a
narrow alcove with a nondescript door; wood panels painted several times over,
cracks revealing the colors of underlying layers. Behind the door, a stairway
leading both up and down. He