Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“Do you want to take these books with you?” Blanche said, pointing to the pile of books on the table.

“No, I just wanted to take a look through them for now and I don’t have a library card anyway,” he replied.

“We can take care of that if you like, come with me and we’ll get you a card,” she said reassuringly, as she scooped up the books in an effort to help him.

He suddenly thrust out his hand and slammed the books back to the tabletop. Blanche stepped back in shock at his reaction to her assistance and he could tell she was upset.

“Don’t mind me, just don’t like folks helping me if you know what I mean.” Motioning to the cane.

“I see, would you like me to take these and put them away for you?” she said, relaxing a bit but still on her guard.

“I can get it, don’t like to make work for anybody. I’ll just get my things and be on my way.”

He stood using the cane to steady himself and retrieved the notepad from the floor. Blanche, still trying to be helpful, plugged the mouse back in, then instructed the odd character to leave the books on the end of the table and she’d make sure someone put them away. He smiled but she could tell he was determined to clean up the items he’d used and be gone. She retreated to the main desk just as the students were leaving for the day and offered a cheerful goodbye to each as they waved on their way home or elsewhere for the evening. A moment later she could see the hunched over man descending the stairs leading to the foyer. One hand wrapped tightly around the notebook he seemed to prize and the other manipulating the cane as he worked his way down the steps.

She felt a certain degree of pity for him; the sacrifice of those in the service of their country had always held a soft spot in her heart. She had family members who had served and offered the greatest sacrifice of all to defend her freedoms and she respected those that were willing to serve. Her heart filled with appreciation for this crippled individual as she struggled to understand him, if only in a cursory way. He passed by the desk, tipping his eyes to look over the lenses at her, gave her a friendly nod and shuffled toward the exit. A tear came to her eye as she felt true compassion for his plight and that’s when something struck her as unusual, no, different.

Looking at him from this angle it looked like he was holding the cane in his left hand and limping with the right. Her mind flashed back to the image of him climbing the steps earlier. She was sure he had used the cane in the right hand and limped with the left. Watching him carefully now, he stopped at the exit door, tucked the notepad under his left arm and used the right to open the door, leaving the cane in the left. With the door open he returned the notepad to the right and limped his way out the door, dragging the right leg.

“What the hell?” she thought. “It’s not Halloween so what’s this dude’s game?” she mused.

The thought had not completely vanished from her mind before the door swung open and an excited Seymour hustled through it and approached the desk and Blanche.

“Hey Ms. Delaney, how ya doing?” he said, as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m good Seymour, what’s the rush?” the librarian replied.

“The bus was late so I had to run from the drop off.”

The war vet was still in the back of Blanche’s mind and she asked, “Did you see the guy with the green army jacket before you came in?”

“Yeah, ‘bout ran him over at the bottom of the steps. Why — what’s up?”

“He was in here doing some research and just seemed really weird. I would swear one minute he was using the cane with the right and limping with the left, then when he exited just now, it switched and he was using the cane with the left and dragging the right. Just seems kind of out there to me. Didn’t appreciate me offering him any help either, almost acted like I was stepping on his toes,” she said.

“You offered to help him or something?” Seymour asked.

“Yes, thought I could be helpful seeing how he’s a bit crippled and a vet.”

“That was nice of you. Was he deaf, dumb and blind as well?” he questioned sarcastically.

She laughed, “Why do you think that?”

He continued, “That’s the only thing I can think of that would prevent him from accepting help from the best looking woman in Valdosta.”

“Well Seymour, you’re making me blush, but thanks anyway.”

The outfit Blanche was wearing had not gone unnoticed by Seymour. His pulse continued to be north of 100 beats per minute and not because he’d been running. On the few opportunities he had worked with Blanche he had learned a number of things about himself. Firstly, he had a hard time expressing what he really wanted to say without tripping over his tongue and twisting his thoughts into a jumbled mess before they came out. Blanche had picked up on this and found it somewhat sweet and endearing. Secondly, he found it increasingly difficult to focus when she was around.

He had no illusion that he was infatuated with the beautiful librarian and there was no doubt he loved being around her. She was so pleasant, with such a wonderful listening ear and people skills that were genuine and caring. He was impressed and enchanted with Blanche after watching her interact with the staff and public. Increasingly he found himself thinking about her during the day, at school, losing track of where he was and what he should be doing, but he just didn’t care because the thoughts of her smile and timid laugh made him feel good, right down to his toes.

“What’s the deal with the sign?” he asked, pointing at the donation sign still prominently displayed on the counter.

“Oh that, I almost forgot it was there,” she replied, leaning over the desk to get a better view of the sign and in the process sending Seymour’s heart rate ten percent higher.

“Mrs. Anderson was giving me a hard time about my outfit and thought it would generate a few more bucks for the coffers if we had it on the desk.” She paused, and with a sly grin continued, “What do you think?”

Without saying a word, Seymour pulled his wallet from his back pocket, took a $20 bill and put it into the receptacle. His point made, he kicked himself mentally, “There’s my lunch money for the rest of the week but I think it was worth it.”

“Why thank you my good man,” Blanche said, “Lean over here.” She planted a tender kiss on his cheek, after he leaned in.

Two hours into the shift, Seymour basically had his responsibilities taken care of and was anxious to do some work on the assignment given to him earlier by his instructor, Pink. There had been no further news regarding the photo taken of Thelma or a follow up among the college students and no one had come forward to claim responsibility, but he was fascinated by the prospect that it wasn’t a joke and there perhaps was someone out there that was somewhat disturbed and doing these types of things.

Blanche was seated at the desk looking over a list of books that the local chapter of The Southern Ladies Society had put together and wanted to donate. Some of the titles evaded her recollection but the dates of many were impressive and would add some wonderful flavor to the historical section of the library.

“What’ve you got there?” Seymour asked, stepping around the desk and coming to stand next to Blanche.

“Oh, some ladies want to give us some books and I’m just looking to see which we want and if there are any duplicates we already have on the shelves.” She looked at her watch, “You finished very quickly tonight, is everything done?”

“Yup, hustled my buns so I could work on something, if that’s okay with you.”

“As long as you’ve got everything in order I don’t see any reason why you can’t have some time. What are you working on?”