Prospero's Ghost

Prospero's Ghost - Part IX - Present Day

McMaster University - Present Day

Titles Bookstore had only been open for about an hour and was still quiet when Richard rushed over to the Espresso Book Machine at the back of the sales floor. Ten minutes earlier, having returned to the Kirtas scanner room, Richard saw on the library's computer system that the Emerson Shakespeare folio had been uploaded to the bookstore's server.

Having been a regular customer for years, Richard was known to many of the full time staff at the store, including Melinda Harvey who was manning the customer service desk that day. He made small talk with the young woman, mentioning an order he had placed with the EBM staff. Might he have a look to see if it was completed? Melinda had seen the librarian plenty of times with Alan Lester and Patricia Irving, playing with the new machine. She smiled and waved him by her desk.

Richard had observed Alan and Patricia enough to know the basics of how the machine operated. He quickly tabbed through the interface screens to see that the title had been added and had indeed been printed. Fifty-six copies to be exact. The print queue still had forty-four lined up to print.

The last copy had been printed at 9:20 PM.

Walking around the back of the machine to see if the books were anywhere nearby, he spotted Alan Lester's body slumped behind the Espresso Book Machine on a pile of paper boxes, a pen sticking out of his throat.

The young man lay face down, almost as though he had been dumped behind the machine so as not to be found. There wasn't a single drop of blood from his wound, yet Richard knew before he bent over to check for a pulse that the man was dead. Prospero had struck again.

He sighed as he looked down at the body. Alan had been a good friend. He was young, had a full life ahead of him. Richard offered a silent prayer and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves and slow the pounding of his heart as he turned away.

He knew that nothing could save the book manager now, and it would be useless to create a panic. It was with a surprisingly calm voice that he asked Melinda to call security. Her questioning glance was stilled by his stricken face, but when security picked up, she put her hand over the mouth piece of the phone, and asked:

"What should I say is the reason?”

"Tell them Alan Lester is dead. They need to come to the store now.”

Her look of shock and fear made him step forward, put a slightly shaking hand on her arm.

"Now is not the time to panic, my dear. Just stay calm and wait for security.”

He didn't wait for her response as he headed to the back entrance of the store, walking as quickly as possible without attracting attention. It was obvious to him that if the books weren't in the store, they had to have already been taken to The Tank. He knew the staff well, especially his good friend Patricia Irving. She would know where the copies were. As he cleared the store and began to run through the halls he only hoped he wasn't too late.

# # #

One of the benefits of having worked with someone for over 30 years was the inherent trust that allowed for communication short-cuts to be employed. When Richard found Patricia in the tank, it didn't take much to convince her what was going on, and despite the bizarre nature of his explanation, she immediately believed him.

Pulling the copies of the book off the shelf for English 3K06 they threw them onto a cart.

"Should we burn these copies?" Patricia asked. "Will that put his spirit to rest?”

"Probably," Richard nodded, then grinned and started to chuckle.

"What?" Patricia asked.

"In all the years we've known each other and shared our mutual passion for books, did you ever think one of us would suggest burning books as a good idea?”

A nervous giggle escaped from Patricia's throat. She had to admit, it felt good.

"I'd have said hell would have to freeze over first before I ever considered it.”

"No kidding.”

"Okay, I have twenty-four copies here. How many did you pull off?”

"Thirty-one.”

They exchanged a dark look.

"There's one missing.”

A low howl began to rise up from the back corner of The Tank. With nary a window or even glimpse of the outdoors, a cold wind blew down the aisles of the store as if it were in the middle of an open field.

"No," Richard said, running toward the front of the room with one of the books in his hand.

He reached the cash registers where Rose was serving a student. Richard pushed himself between the customer and the cashier, holding up the book.

"Did you sell a copy of this book this morning?”

Rose threw a confused look at Patricia who nodded, letting her know that Richard was not a threat despite the mad look in his eyes. The young woman took another look at the book. "No," she replied. “I haven't.”

Richard turned back to Patricia.

"So where is it?”

The howling wind intensified. Papers and register slips near the cash register begin to swirl into the air.

"W-what's going on?" Rose yelled, as she and her customer began batting at the pages swirling around their heads. A few of them seemed to have nicked at their skin.

The flying pages nearest Richard sliced at his bare skin as well; dozens of paper cuts striking him at lightning fast speed.

The tempestuous winds raged louder as he ducked and tried to ward off the paper cuts. His hands and face were turning into a road-map of cuts. Barely distinguishable within the howling screams of the wind and the others in The Tank, Richard was able to pick out a gruff voice. "I will plague them all, even to roaring!”

From the far aisle, a student with a large backpack who Richard hadn't seen earlier bolted toward the metal stairs leading to the exit. He ran through the security gates, triggering the alarm with his passing, and leapt up the stairs. The heavy fire door at the top slammed shut with a thunderous bang just before he reached it. He pushed on the door's panic bar, but it wouldn't open.

"Hey!" Richard ran up the stairs with a surprising agility for a man his age and tore the backpack from the student's shoulder. He opened it, revealing three shoplifted textbooks, one of which was the replica version of Emerson's prized Shakespeare folio.

He held the book up as the pages continued to strike at his skin. He did his best to ignore the pain screaming to him from dozens of tiny cuts.

"This is the last one, Marshall!" he yelled into the storm. "No more blasphemous replicas of your text will be made. The offending bastard offspring will all be destroyed. This I vow to you." The flying papers continued to strike at his exposed flesh and the wind increased in intensity; enough to start lifting textbooks off the adjacent shelves and into a rising whirlwind.

Patricia, Rose and the student at the cash desk all scrambled for cover.

Still standing at the top of the metal staircase, Richard held the book opened at the midpoint, tiny trails of blood from his palms streaming onto the pages of the book. He grunted as he tore it in two. Several of the swirling textbooks slammed into his chest, shoulders and head, and he dropped the pieces as he stumbled to his knees halfway down the metal staircase.

"Marshall!" Richard screamed, holding onto the railing to keep from falling further. "I long to hear the story of your life!”

The wind immediately stopped.

The swirling books plummeted to the floor.

In the fresh quiet a gruff voice echoed from the far corner of The Tank. "I'll deliver all and promise you calm seas.”

Richard got to his feet and walked down the stairs to stand beside Patricia as the papers that had been striking at them floated gently down to the ground.

As he reached her, more words could be heard, loud and distinct at first, but slowly fading.

"Now my charms are all o’erthrown . . .”

"It's over?" Patricia asked.

Richard nodded. "It's over. The final act.”He took Patricia's hand in his own. "Rest in peace, Marshall. Be free and fair thou well.”