"Benvolio." He didn't open his eyes. He lay frozen in bed, trying to convince himself that the voice he heard- thought that he heard- was just the wind, or an owl. It had been every other night he woke, hoping against all hope his friend was there again. He ached with missing him.
"Benvolio!" It was louder this time, but the youth in bed just curled up tighter, telling himself now it's a dream, a wishful fantasy. He'd had far too many of those. And if it wasn't the voice now at his ear, it was his cousin's.
"Benvolio! Wake up, you idiot." The sheets were yanked down, exposing the young man to a sudden chill. Not an owl. Benvolio sat bolt upright, and found himself staring into the impossible, grinning face of his dead friend.
"Mercutio?" Benvolio breathed, stunned by his disbelief at who- at what- he was seeing before him. "How.... how are you here? I thought you were dead."
"I am," Mercutio replied, still grinning from ear to ear. "But that's beside the point. It's damn good to see you."
"You- what?" The younger of the two was still bewildered. "Beside the- What are you doing here?!"
"Keep it down, keep it down!" Mercutio shushed him. "Don't bring every Montague down on us. Here, just... get dressed." Benvolio climbed numbly out of bed, still certain this was some sort of twisted dream.
"But I still don't understand," Benvolio continued, looking at the older man slowly, drinking in every fiber of his appearance, comitting it to memory, as he was likely to never see him again. Unless he was going mad, and this was the first of many halluc-
"You will, when you get dressed. Just trust me, Benny." Benvolio paused at the nickname he hadn't heard since they were children.
"Fine..." Mercutio sat on the edge of the bed while he waited for his friend. "But what in heaven's name are you wearing?"
"They're called jeans," Mercutio replied as his friend changed, and he looked over his personal effects. "You still have that dumb peach pit I gave you when we were kids?"
"Of course," Benvolio replied, stepping out from behind his changing curtain, only to face Mercutio snickering at him.
"We're getting you jeans. First order of business.... and a t-shirt."
"We're what?" Mercutio grabbed his friend's wrist, ignoring his question.
"I lost my lunch the first time I tried this, so you might want to close your eyes."
"Mercutio-"
"Eyes. Closed." Benvolio obeyed, closing his eyes tight, though he was still puzzled and now a little frightened. But before he could say anything more, it was like the floor had dropped out from under him, and he had been shot upwards, like he was fired out of a catapult. Air rushed past him, changing from the familiar smells of his bedroom to something... else. It was tantalizing, but dry, musty yet sweet. Benvolio recognized it. Books. The second he placed the smell, he landed in a heap on a cold floor.
"Holy shit," someone over him said, a female voice he'd never heard before. "So it does work."
"Yeah," he heard Mercutio replying, "so the Librarian's just being a dick." Benvolio sat up slowly, feeling like he was spinning around and around like a globe. He opened his eyes, and everything felt more stable. He saw feet, and looked up into the faces of Mercutio, and a young woman, with short black hair, bright red lips, and haunted looking eyes. She was sickly pale, and yet flushed in her cheeks. They were listening intently, looking around.
"And what do you know," she said dryly, "The world isn't ending." She fixed her deep brown eyes on Benvolio, as he got to his feet.
"Where are we?" he breathed, looking around. They were in the grandest building he'd ever seen or imagined. The tables around them were rich mahogany, with matching chairsm, and a lamp or candleabra on each. There was a window seat nearby, looking out into a starry night, and the arched windows nearly reached the cielings, which were domed, and massive shelves of books stretched high above his head, full of beautifully bound volumes. There were elegant chandeliers hanging from the dome, and they tinkled softly, the crystals swaying as several black birds flew around them, cawing to each other. On shelves around the walls, marble busts sat, and one nearby was.... snoring.
"The Library," Mercutio explained simply. Benvolio scrambled to his feet, looking around in awe and wonder at the volumes around them. It was the most beautiful, most unusual library he'd ever seen. "This is where I've been since last we saw each other."
"Since you... died?" Benvolio's gaze at last landed back on his friend, who nodded once.
"When... when people like us die, we show up here, in The Library," Mercutio explained carefully.
"People like us?" Benvolio asked nervously, glancing to the young woman, who was still looking at him critically.
"He means fictional," She said, then sat on one of the nearby tables. "Fictional, and substantial enough in your story to have a life and soul." Benvolio felt light-headed and ill.
"Fictional?" He murmured in awe. "But I'm not! I'm here, right here!" Mercutio picked up a book from the table and handed it to his friend. The cover was simple, but read The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare.
"Because you're in here," Mercutio explained, even as he shot the girl a glare. Benvolio took the book with trembling fingers.
"Romeo.... But this- that's-" Benvolio stood in stunned silence, rendered speechless by this revelation, and all he could do was numbly thumb through the pages.
"Well, I guess this is why the Librarian doesn't want any of them here. Existential crisis and all that. We're all just happy to be alive," the woman remarked.
"Shut up, Lenore," Mercutio snapped, guiding his friend to a chair and helping him sit. "Go and get Romeo and Annabel. She said she wanted to meet Benny."
"Fine," Lenore muttered, hopping off the table and disappearing behind one of the massive shelves, calling out, "Loverboy! Annabel Lee! Company's here." Benvolio was still reeling, but was doing his best to sort out his thoughts. So he was fictional. That didn't mean he wasn't real. He was sitting, breathing, thinking, feeling. He was alive. Before he could say anything to Mercutio, a voice, familiar as his own, came from behind him.
"Benvolio!" The young man turned just in time to see his cousin rush toward him. He stood, but was nearly knocked back over as Romeo threw his arms tightly around him. Benvolio hugged his cousin close, feeling tears burn at his eyes suddenly, as he realized in awe that this place truly was a heaven, where he could be reunited with his closest friends.
"You did it!" Came a breathy, awed voice, as two young women stepped around the shelf in the company of Lenore. One could be no older than fourteen, with dark, strawberry blonde hair, and Benvolio was certain he had seen her before. The other, who had spoken, looked as though she could be Lenore's sister, though her sunken and haunted eyes were blue, and her hair was fair, and cascaded around her shoulders.
"I did," Mercutio boasted proudly. "And he's only mildly freaking out."
"Well, that's good," the blonde said, rushing over. The other looked skeptical, and perhaps even frightened, as she cast glances around.
"Keep it down," she said sharply, and walked to Romeo's side when he finally stepped back from his embrace. "What if the Librarian hears us, or someone else, and they tell."
"No one's dumb enough to tell except your cousin, or maybe the Macbeth's or Ophelia," Lenore replied. "Everyone else in this section has the sense to keep their mouths shut where we're involved."
"And Tybalt and the Macbeth's hate when the Librarian breathes down their necks," Romeo added, and kissed the worried girl's cheek. "We'll be fine, Juliet." She seemed to relax with his reassurances.
"Juliet," Benvolio echoed, now recognizing her as the body beside his cousin, and the daughter of the Capulets. She flushed a little, wrapping her arms around one of Romeo's and hugging it to her chest.
"Yes... It's good to see you. Romeo still speaks often of you," she replied.
"Still?" Benvolio looked to Mercutio, puzzled.
"Well... it's been a few.... hundred years since our story was penned," Mercutio admitted.
"But.... it only feels like-" Benvolio stopped himself. It had always seemed like the fateful week of their deaths happened only a year ago... every year. And how many had really passed? "Good God..." Lenore smirked and sat back on the table again.
"It's getting pretty late. We should get everyone back to bed, and get Benny here a place to stay," she said coolly. "He can catch up and make friends in the morning."
"The morning?" Juliet and Romeo blurted in unison.
"He can't stay here," Romeo continued. "The Librarian will find him and freak!" Benvolio was hurt by his cousin's insistance that he leave, but couldn't help also feeling apprehensive.
"If you don't mind my asking, just who is this Librarian?" Benvolio asked. Everyone looked at each other, before the blonde woman spoke up.
"The Librarian is the one in charge around here," she explained. "The Librarian keeps up the rules, takes care of the books, gets us what we need."
"She's not too bad, really," Romeo added, to eyerolls from Mercutio and Lenore. "But you have to keep an eye on the notice board. She puts up notices there, and the rules are hanging there as well."
"He's a guardian though, isn't he?" Juliet continued. "The Gods created him as a guardian of literature."
"He... and she?" Benvolio's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Spirit of literature, Guardian of the Written Word, blah blah blah," Mercutio said, leaning against the nearest bookshelf. "What the Librarian isn't," this he directed at Benvolio, "is a he or a she. No one knows if they're anything, or nothing, or both, but whatever you say- he, she, it, they, or just the Librarian- they never correct you."
"It's not really important, of course," the blonde added with a shrug. "But sometimes it does make conversations a little difficult, if two people choose to say something different."
"Annabel, hush," Lenore snapped suddenly, climbing to her feet on the table and tilting her head, leaning towards one of the shelves. The others went still, and listened hard. A ringing was coming closer, and from around a shelf stalked a lanky black cat, which was missing one of its luminous amber eyes.
"Damn it, Pluto," Lenore sighed, stepping down off the table and picking up the scruffy cat. Everyone relaxed.
"He's harmless," Romeo assured his cousin. "But the Librarian likes to keep a close watch on him. We should get you back to the story."
"I don't want to go back yet," Benvolio argued. "I... I just got here, and I get to see you both again..." He looked between his cousin and friend. "It's hell back there in Verona... I've driven myself half mad missing you both!" His voice rose, and the others shushed him.
"I know, Benny. I know," Mercutio replied, setting his hands on Benvolio's shoulders. "We've missed you, too. It's why we came back for you. Why we broke almost all of the rules for you. We'll bring you back, I swear."
"Pluto," a lilting, almost airy voice sounded from a few shelves away. "Pluto, where have you gone off to?"
"The Librarian!" Juliet hissed, looking fearfully over her shoulder. Romeo spun around and grabbed the book out of Benvolio's hands, shoving it against Mercutio's chest.
"Take him back, now," he whispered, before giving his cousin a quick hug. "See you soon." Lenore was already grabbing a book off the shelf nearby and opened it on the table, flipping to a random page, while Mercutio opened the volume in his hands and set it on the floor.
"Where am I supposed to be?" He asked.
"Midsummer Night's Dream," Annabel Lee read from the top of the page of their other book. Mercutio nodded annd grabbed Benvolio. Again it felt like the floor dropped out from under them, but this time they plummeted. Air rushed around them, and they were engulfed in a tunnel of color and flashes of light and darkness. Benvolio felt a wave of nausea as they spun through, stopping in his bedroom. Dizzy and disoriented, he dropped onto the edge of his bed.
Mercutio was gone when he lifted his head.
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