Oliver supposed Dayton really hadn't expected Riley to follow him around at the library while he was putting books away. To the naked eye Riley looked like something of a misfit. He was skinny as a snake, and his eyes were just ominous slits that followed you around. And it was even creepier that he sounded like a bad ass Jack Nicholson. But really he was harmless. And a recluse for the most part. He usually called Oliver several times a day to put books on hold and take him off of holds as well.
Riley was also going to write a book. This was something Oliver kept persuading him to do over the years since he'd talk up so many stories that he thought were in novels he was reading, but then he'd figure out, "I must have dreamed that up because it wasn't at all like I'd hoped it would be." He'd tell Oliver from time to time who'd just shoot back to Riley, "Well,then, why don't you write the story?"
Of course, this took a lot of preparation reading books on how to write a horror novel. Oliver had found books for him at different libraries across the country to study the craft of writing. Riley read everything Dean Koontz to James Patterson.
"So how's the writing going?" Oliver asked one day.
"Well, it hurts my fingers an awful lot." Riley nodded.
"That's just too bad, Riley, really it is." Oliver shook his head.
The thing about Riley, Oliver never knew his age. He could have been twenty-two or forty-two. He was like an ageless vampire of some kind. Lean, mean looking and almost sporting a bit to stubble on his face. One more thing Oliver was never sure of. Could he not grow a beard, or did he always have to shave?
But if you got close enough to Riley, you'd see he had beautiful golden eyes. There was just something not of this world about him. He was a mystery, and now the mystery had found someone to mystify. Dayton.