Chapter Text
The small town of Alaska, Ohio (not to be confused with Ohio, Alaska) had exactly four distinct landmarks to share amongst its population of 8,000 people.
The first was the world’s only “half of a Wal-Mart,” which was blown half to pieces in an incident with the heater. But the meat section was untouched, so it was hardly a tragedy to the local populace and they kept shopping there anyways.
The second was a gas station with six entire pumps, two supplying diesel fuel. The mayor thought it was overkill, but the public enjoyed it well enough.
The third was a Wendy’s, staffed entirely by zit-faced teenagers and women with bleached bouffants of hair who took six smoke breaks a day. Despite that, the food was actually pretty good.
The fourth was the Alaska Public Library. It was one of the oldest buildings in town, once a manor belonging to a controversial mayor, until it was gutted in the 60s and remodeled into a pillar of the community for learning, or for teenagers to waste their time in. The closest mall was an hour drive away, after all.
Out of the four, the last was the only place that never, ever saw strangers. The Wal-Mart was occasionally visited by campers stocking up on supplies. The gas station by truckers looking to fuel up. The Wendy’s by road trippers whose children’s screaming would only be silenced by the alluring call of a kid’s meal.
The library never saw strangers unless someone in town had added to the population. New card sign-ups were basically reserved for young children and teenagers who finally realized that researching their homework might do them some good.
Thursday, March 13, 1997. 3:22:15 PM. A stranger put out his cigarette in the tray outside. At 3:22:15, he placed a toothpick in between his lips to replace the lost artifact. At 3:22:20, he walked through the glass front doors of the library, and drew half a dozen stares. At 3:22:22, he rested a hand on the front desk and locked eyes with the woman sitting behind it.
“How can I help you, sir?” she asked, tucking a rebellious strand of brown hair behind her ear. The rest was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a pen sticking out of it.
The stranger hummed, glancing at her name tag.
“Rosemary,” he mumbled, trying and failing to mask the way he over-enunciated his words. “Do you have a section for languages? Dictionaries, translation guides?”
“That we do,” she mumbled, flipping through a binder of cards. “What are you looking for? Spanish, French, German?”
“Japanese.”
Rosemary furrowed her brows, looking up at him skeptically.
“Japanese? I’m afraid we don’t. Unless you’re looking for a book about…” she flipped through the catalog again. “… Christianizing the Far East. Oh, that’s… quite the outdated title… I need to put in a request to remove that.” She winced, closing the binder. The man almost turned away, before she stopped him. “Actually, we do have something else. Another resource.”
“I’m not too good with computers,” the man sighed.
“No, it’s not like that,” she replied. “One of our employees, our A/V guy, knows Japanese. A lot of it, at least. He should be able to assist you.” She pressed a button on her desk before sighing. “That’s right. Intercom’s broken.” Instead, she looked over her shoulder and projected her voice as loud as she could muster. “HAL!!! HAL, FRONT DESK!”
“He’s in his cave again,” another employee grunted, leaning around the shelf. “You’ll never be able to bark loud enough for him to hear.”
“Oh, well then I’m so glad you’re here!” She flashed an exaggerated grin. “Jack, be a dear and escort this man down to the catacombs.”
“Catacombs?” the stranger parroted, furrowing his brow.
“The basement,” Jack explained. He rubbed his forehead. “That’s where he lurks in his cave. Waiting in the darkness. Drawing in unsuspecting victims.”
“It’s where his office is.” Rosemary rolled her eyes.
“If that’s an office, then I’m the tooth fairy.”
“Jack.” She shot him a warning glare. “I miss when you first started working here. You were so quiet. Take the nice man down.”
Jack sighed, rubbing the scarred skin on his chin.
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll put you on the schedule for kindergarten storytime.”
“Fine,” he grunted, grabbing a keycard from behind the desk. “Sometimes, I don’t remember why I married you.”
“Jack. Dearest. I’m the only person for a hundred miles who could possibly put up with you!”
“Oh right, that’s why.” He looked over his shoulder at the stranger. “Well, the basement's this way. It's in your best interest to ignore my wife. Sometimes I think she’s secretly evil.”
“I doubt it,” the stranger chuckled.
Jack wasn’t one for small talk, and it seemed the stranger was the same. He seemed to constantly be glancing over his shoulder, his gaze wandering to each window. Up and down, a full scan, before his vision moved to the next. A teenager coughed and the stranger’s shoulders pulled back slightly, his eyes subtly darting to the corner.
“Tense much?” Jack scoffed. “They’re fifteen year old girls, they’re not out for blood. Well, not usually. Unless you plan on committing grand-theft-sparkly-pen.”
“You’re very observant.” The stranger’s frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
“Why the sudden interest?” he hummed. “Yes. I was born here. I was raised here. I’ll probably bite the dust here. That’s how it goes in places like these. You’re a far more interesting specimen than me, Military Man.”
“How did you—“
“You led your gait with your left foot both times you’ve stopped. When you got startled, you reached for your thigh. Casual carriers don’t use leg holsters. Your beard’s coming in uneven: you don’t know how to trim it properly because you’ve been following shaving regulations for who knows how long. Despite the scruffy look, you don’t have any piercings or tattoos and have good posture. You scan the room with your eyes and ears, not your head. Do I need to say more?”
“No, you’ve said quite enough,” the stranger sighed.
“I’m not anyone important,” Jack added, watching the stranger’s face carefully. “In case you’re considering blowing my brains out.”
“I’m retired,” he simply grunted, adjusting his bomber jacket.
“And you chose here? Why? The scenery?”
“The safety.”
“Yep, that checks out. We have nobody important enough to murder, nothing nice enough to steal, and nowhere to hide. Our crime rate is a big fat zero.” He twirled the keycard in his hand before swiping it next to a heavy wooden door. The metal placard next to it read “basement,” but a sheet of lined paper taped under it added “+ A/V ROOM”, accented by a crudely doodled blob with big, round glasses. “Unless you count digital piracy.”
“Digital piracy?”
“If you’re here to assassinate him for it, mind cleaning up after him, too? He keeps the place a dump. It’s worse than my wife’s dressers.” He nearly shoved the stranger into the doorway. “It locks from in there, so you’ll be able to get out. The keycards are just so the kids don’t start a fight over the computers. If you do finally get rid of that four-eyed menace, who would I have to thank?”
“Pliskin,” the stranger muttered.
“Pliskin.” He shut the door, leaving the stranger in darkness.