ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️ ﹚ ﹕ he'd been here enough times to consider himself a goddamn expert in the dewey decimal system⸻ but no amount of skill really mattered when faced with such messy variables of human error. everything here was supposed to be in neat order ﹕ in its place, every number meant to lead to a revelation, yet half the books he needed was nowhere in sight. blame it on the high schoolers, abandoning books anywhere and everywhere, attention always flickering elsewhere like restless moths ; or blame it on the old shelvers, perpetually behind, carts laden with titles that could have answered his questions yesterday, last week, thirteen years ago. and kieran usually wouldn't ask for help ﹕ but the clock was ticking, alaina's ghost hanging heavy over his thoughts, crying out for answers, for a name, for closure. kieran rounded the corner to the circulation desk, dropping all the books he had found with a loud thud, clearing his throat with a curt sound but not entirely impolite. “ i need help. ” he said, sliding a list towards darcy, the ink smudged now from too many foldings and unfoldings, a list of books that offered breadcrumbs in the labyrinth of understanding— of the boogeyman, of the 1999 murderer if they were not the same, of the dark geometry of the human mind that could drive someone to such depraved acts. “ i've got mindhunter, whoever fights monsters, i'll be gone in the dark, the jigsaw man, and the shrine of jeffrey dahmer. but can't seem to find zodiac, the alienist, my life with murderers, and the psychopath inside: a neuroscientist's personal journey into the dark side of the brain. and i know you have them, i've checked them out before. ” urgency punctuated his otherwise monotone words, probably said more here than he had the entire day, but kieran treated this with utmost importance ﹕ quite the melodramatic thought but people's lives depended on it.
