The banter with Cat at the end of our discussion helped me to feel better, but the thought of Luca's desperate situation never stopped bothering me during dinner and followed me into my dreams and through Sunday. When I returned to the library Monday afternoon, my heart was still heavy and my nerves were on edge. I had to confront Conny, metaphorical brick wall or not.

To my surprise, the fading bruise on her temple and the bandaid hiding the cut didn't dampen her good mood.

"Hey Lynn, how are you? Did you have a pleasant weekend?"

"Mostly good, thanks, and greetings from Marjorie—she wishes you all the best."

Conny's eyes widened. "Did you pay her a visit? How is she?"

"Fine, she's on the mend and in a hurry to be back on duty. But what about you? Shouldn't you take it easy with that bruise?"

"It's much better already and hope to be rid of this tomorrow." She touched the dressing with a fingertip. "The doctor said I was lucky the injury was only superficial, and that I got off without a serious concussion. Did you tell Marj? I bet she was worried we're incapable of doing our job now."

"Not at all, but she wished you well. I can't believe you have no headache."

She rubbed her temple. "Thanks god I don't. But I'll better stick to the office this afternoon, though. Most customers look at me as if I had been beaten up by a thug."

That was to be expected. "As long as they don't send the police after Paco or me."

"That would be the worst, after all you two have done. Thank you, by the way. You handled this awful mess to the best."

"Don't worry, that's what friends are for. Besides, Paco and I are convinced these youngsters set the trap for him or for me, so I'm sorry you ended up as collateral damage. I still doubt they were aware of the consequences—or meant to hurt someone. By the way..." I hesitated, aware she wouldn't like what I had to tell her next. "While I searched for the first aid kit last week, I found your manuscript." I pointed at her drawers.

"Oh." I couldn't read the cocktail of emotions washing over her face. Sadness? Grief? Embarrassment? "I've forgotten I stowed the foolish thing there. Why I didn't burn it to ashes ages ago remains a mystery. I just hope it didn't bother you too much—if you read it."

That wasn't even close to the reaction I had expected. "I admit I couldn't resist, but why should it bother me? I like your writing style, and the story is pretty entertaining."

She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "I can't really remember what I wrote, and I don't want to, either. It brings up too many sad memories."

"So you don't plan to finish the story? I'd volunteer as your beta reader if you do."

Conny shook her head, her eyes blinking several times. "No, please try to understand—I can't. Marcel helped me so much with this story. It was really his to tell, but he didn't want to sit down and write, said he would make too many mistakes with his dyslexia. When he got his cancer diagnosis, I wanted to finish it for him. But when I realised it couldn't be done in time, I gave up working on it. It broke my heart each time I looked at the pages. I don't even know why I kept a printout."

I remained silent while she rubbed her eyes and then looked at me. "I guess I was just nostalgic and thought it might remind me of him. It does, but not in a good way, as you can see. I should have gotten rid of it long ago."

At the sight of her unshed tears, I lowered my gaze, aware I couldn't and didn't want to change her mind on this. To stir up sad memories was the last thing I had in mind. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have read it. I knew I shouldn't, and still gave in to temptation."

A painful half smile formed on her face. "It's fine. I fear I'd done the same at your place. Still, I can't return to the mindset I was in when I wrote it. It's too hurtful—here." She bowed to pull out the drawer, picked up the manuscript and held it out to me. "I don't want it anymore, so please put it into the shredder for me."

"I can't. It's your work, even if Marcel had the idea, and it is quite good. It would feel like killing something that's not fully alive yet."

Conny shook her head. "Lynn, you're worse than me. I was tempted so many times to destroy it, but I never succeeded. If you like it, please take it as a gift, then, from a friend."

Torn between reluctance and need, I reached out and took the pages. They felt heavy in my grip, as if I held the weight of Luca's life and future in my hands. "Are you sure? I can keep it for you, so, whenever you change your mind and would like it back, please tell me."

She nodded, her face brightening. "I won't. It feels already like a load has been lifted from my shoulders, and I'm not eager to put it back there."

I stared at the pages in my hand as I felt their load settle on my own shoulders. Was this a good idea? But at this point I couldn't return this gift, not without hurting Conny. "Thanks, I guess. That wasn't what I had in mind when I told you about reading it."

Her smile became genuine. "It was a surprise for me too, after all these years. I'm glad to close this chapter and move on, though. All considered, I am a reader, not a writer. I don't have the stamina to be an author."

While I stowed the manuscript in my pack, I wondered if every unfinished manuscript out there in the world had a tragic story like Luca's connected to it. At least Conny owned only this one unfinished story.

That night at home, I read the manuscript again. Luca's story followed me into my sleep, and I dreamed of a snarky tabby cat and a young man trying to find his footing in a weird world. But my dream didn't show me a solution to the problem.

The next morning, Cat waited for me atop the front desk, barely able to hide his curiosity. I suppressed a grin and shook my head.

"Just to make things clear before you have to ask, I didn't come up with a brilliant solution for Luca's problem in my sleep."

He twitched his whiskers and scratched his ear, the picture of a cat lost for words. "But now you have the story in your possession—can't you figure out something?"

"I already told you I'm no magician or witch or whatever. How should I be able to help a character in a story? Besides, the Luca in the story doesn't need help, or not the type of help an assistant librarian can offer." My own words made me wonder, though. If I'd be part of the story too and met Luca on eye level in his own world, would I find him as interesting and funny as I did his fictional version? Would his dimples be as cute as those of his ghostly counterpart?

Cat twitched his whiskers, his emerald eyes fixing me as if he could read my thoughts.

"Stop staring like this, Cat. I'm not your breakfast."

"We already established that. However, I think you are the only one capable of helping Luca, and I beg you to try, at least."

This wasn't the snarky Cat I knew. "Okay, I'll think more about it, but I can't promise you anything."

His Cheshire grin was back as he faded away and I couldn't help but suspect I been tricked into something.

My fears dissolved when Luca turned up later in the morning to have a chat while I sorted the returns. He was every inch his courteous self, and I found out he knew far more books in the library than I. When I pushed a dark fantasy novel back into its slot on the shelf, he tilted his head to read the title. "On Stranger Tides? That's a good one. Have you read it?"

I pulled the book out again and turned it to read the blurb, raising a brow. "Pirates and Zombies?"

He grinned, showing two rows of perfect teeth. "Yes, it sounds wild, but it's not a mindless horror story or super gory, believe me."

"Okay, I'll give it a go." I placed the book back on my trolley to take it home. Perhaps a pirate tale would help me fall asleep tonight.

To my surprise, it did, and I read past my usual bedtime again. I arrived in the library the next day later than usual, but was eager to meet Luca. But Conny was already in, and I had to wait until she worked her way through the catalogue of recent publications to decide what we needed to order. I had just started my round when Luca fell in step beside me.

"So, did you enjoy Jack's story?"

"I do, and I can see how he inspired Jack Sparrow. Thanks for the recommendation. I only hate the author for killing off Phil Davies. How can he? He was my favourite character."

"Why don't you finish reading first? There are reasons—just wait and see what happens."

I gave him my best glare. "You can't really tell me this and then stop. That's so inconsiderate."

My pout only made Luca laugh. "Is it? If you prefer, I can spoiler the end of the tale, but I'm sure you'd hate me afterwards more than the author."

He was right, and I couldn't wait for lunch break when be I'd be able to devour the next chapter in the coffee shop down the road.

During the rest of the week, the only group visiting was a photographer class from the local art school, an exciting experience that made the class and the accident of the week before fade into the obscurity of the past. Aside from it, the days were quiet and Luca's visits became a highlight of my routine. He accompanied me on my rounds more often than not. We discussed books we both knew and swapped recommendations. By the end of the week, I couldn't imagine a library without his presence.

I told this to Cat when I found him lounging on my desk Saturday morning. He folded his paws under his chest and stared up at me. "Are you aware how selfish of you this is, Lynn?"

The thought hadn't occurred to me. "Selfish?"

"Yes, and you should be shamed. As much as you enjoy chatting with Luca, he's still a prisoner of the unfinished story he can't escape from."

"True, but he seems content."

"He may be, for now and while you spend so much time in his company, but one day, life will lead you away. You will find another job and move on, leaving him behind. You will fall in love, found a family, travel abroad to discover the world, and Luca will fade into a happy memory that you recall once in a while. But what about him? He will be caught forever here in the library, in this same state, not growing older, never able to leave, with nothing to do but waiting for eternity to pass."

I still pondered Cat's words when I fell asleep that night.