Break (A Bookstore AU)
The quiet.
The shift in energy hits Karen the moment she enters the bookstore. All the chatter of Hell’s Kitchen – the hum of voices, the roar if traffic, the pings and digs of cell phones – seem to fade away. Almost as if she’s been transported to another world.
LikeAlice stepping through the looking glass.
She makes her way down the stairs, eyes tracing the rows of wooden shelves filled with tattered paperbacks. Foggy called Castle’s Used Books dreary, but she loves it instantly. Rows upon rows of faded paperbacks. The smell of paper. The focused energy. The place reminds her of the old bookstore across from the Student Union at Georgetown.
Making it to the bottom step, Karen grins. The sign by the unmanned checkout desk is the real reason Foggy poopoos this place.
Silence your cell phone or get the hell out.
The infamous sign.
Foggy told her about it.
“I was minding my own business. Just waiting for Marci to find some Daniel Steel novel. I pull out my phone to check my email for like one second. One second. The minute my phone pings, the owner was on me. He appeared out of nowhere, towering over me. Scowling. Eyes glinting like some psycho murder. Told me to try reading something other than Instagram reel on my phone.”
Karen chuckles to herself. Poor Foggy. He doesn’t know how to disconnect.
Glancing up, she studies the chalkboard signs at the beginning of each aisle. Poetry. That’s the section she’s been tasked to find. Specifically, The Hollow Men by T. S. Elliot. Ellison’s birthday gift from the staff. The newspaper editorial is a huge fan of the poet’s work, and this is the one piece not stuffed in the massive bookshelf behind his desk.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Karen remembers reading the poem in college. It’s a little dark for her tastes, but if the man who plays gatekeeper to her name being published in the next edition loves it…
It takes fifteen minutes of wandering through the store, but Karen finally finds the poetry section by the back wall. Of course, T.S. Eliot is located all the way at the very top of corner of it all. She glanced warily at the step stool sitting at the very end of the aisle. It’s not quite tall enough for her to reach her target and the heels she’s wearing won’t make things any easier.
Sighing, Karen grabs the stool and leans up against the bookshelf. She climbs on top, standing on her tip toes, craning her neck to scan the titles.
Hollow Men, Hollow Men, come on Hollow M –
“Ma’am?” A gravelly voice – the first she’s heard since entering the store - echoes behind her.
“Shit!”
In an instant, Karen’s wobbling on the stool. Then she’s teetering on the edge. Then –
Someone’s holding her steady. A firm hand on her forearm.
“Hey. Hey. Be careful now.”
Karen looks down…to find a pair of coffee-colored eyes staring up at her. Suddenly she knows who this is…and Foggy was wrong.
Frank Castle doesn’t have eyes like a psycho murder. His eyes are…Karen can’t put her finger on it, but there’s a story in those eyes. A story so compelling she can’t break her gaze.