Bolt from the Blue

When I came into the library this afternoon, everything was normal. People buzzing around the building, some clicking away on the few computers we own and some swarming the shelves in the hunt for a certain book, or more likely, comic.

When hours later it grew dark Dorothy, an older woman who’s worked in this library for a good twenty years now, went outside to get a breath of fresh air. At first we thought she had been beaten up by a gang when we heard her scream. I rushed outside to see what was going on, if I could help her (not thinking about my chances – a small sixteen year old girl with no aptitude for fighting – against armed men) and found her alone, staring down at a bundle which lay in front of her. She had stopped screaming now and merely stood shaking as if she’d seen a ghost.

As it turned out, she almost had.

The bundle stirred and I could see it was a child now. Older than I first thought, it rubbed its eyes and groaned as it woke up.

With a sigh, Dorothy fell with a thud onto the ground next to me, and I only just managed to save her head from cracking against the concrete floor. She was out cold, but what had scared her so badly?

“Where am I?” The voice was a boy’s, but not one I recognised. As he raised his face I realised why Dorothy had screamed.

“What- what’s your name?” I stuttered, and for good reason.

“Andrew…” He frowned. “Andrew… Brown? Black?”

“Blake.” I whispered, with a touch of drama. I knew this boy, and so did the rest of Ashmoor town.

After all, he’d been missing for a month.