Free The Writer by D.W. Ulsterman

drowned.
     
    Stone, a New York native, had become a common sight among island locals after recently moving to the area with her famous novelist husband. She was noted for her interest in helping local charities and forging new friendships with many of the area business owners.
     
    San Juan Island County Sheriff Martin Speaks issued an official update late yesterday indicating there was no evidence of foul play. The death had been ruled an accident, thus ending the investigation.
     
    Mr. Stone’s publicist sent out the following statement to both local and national media regarding the incident:
     
    Decklan Stone has requested privacy following his beloved Calista’s tragic passing this past week. Per his wife’s wishes, there will be no service .
     
    Adele looked at the bottom of the page and saw a photograph of a much younger looking Martin Speaks holding up a single shoe with the following caption below the picture:
     
    Sheriff Speaks holding the only thing found following the search for Calista Stone, a shoe that Mr. Stone later identified as belonging to his wife.
     
    The sound of approaching footsteps echoed off the hard, linoleum floor of the hallway that led to the media archives room. Adele waited to see if anyone would appear. Soon, she heard the soft ding of the elevator located some twenty steps beyond the room’s entrance.
    She then heard the sound of something scraping the sidewalk surface above her and looked up through the window to see a scuffed black boot putting out a cigarette. It was a familiar sight as the area was a common place for smokers. Adele realized how late it was as she noted the darkness outside. As so often happened in the archive room, she had lost herself in research, and in doing so, let the time get away from her.
    It was well past the library’s normal operating hours. For Adele it was not an uncommon occurrence to have to make her way outside after both students and staff had already left the multi-storied facility for the night. She carefully placed the magazine and newspaper into her backpack and then stood up from the desk just as the light once again began to flicker on and off.
    Adele would be the first to admit that, no matter how many times she was alone in the library, it was no less creepy. She looked up at the window; there were no longer any people passing by outside. The university was settling in for the night.
    Another set of footsteps could be heard echoing against the walls in the hallway outside the archive room.
    Someone is coming down the stairs.
    Whoever it was they were moving slowly, as if uncertain where they were going. Without knowing why, Adele felt a tightening in her throat and a voice in her head cried out.
    HIDE!
    She moved as quietly as possible between the four-foot-wide space that separated the multiple rolling shelves and made her way toward the very back of the archives room. Then she crouched behind multiple stacks of LIFE magazine periodicals and waited.
    Adele could hear the footsteps more clearly. Their pace remained slow and deliberate, and appeared to turn left down the hallway before abruptly moving back toward, and then finally into, the archive room. Whoever it was paused just underneath the doorway entrance.
    They’re looking to see if anyone is in here. Maybe it’s just a janitor or security, or---
    Her thought was abruptly cut off as the footsteps resumed. They were heavy enough that Adele felt certain it was a man, a man who was now inside the archive room no more than forty feet from where she hid.
    I need to get a look at who it is.
    Adele slowly rose from her crouch and attempted to move her head just enough to see down the rows of shelves.
    The florescent light above the desk proceeded to snap and flutter, and then it abruptly went out with a final pop, making it impossible for Adele to see who might be walking toward her.
    Shit!
    The footsteps continued.
    Adele once again crouched low and tried to be as still as possible.