Janice Hogan looked up as the door to the Crystal Lake Public Library opened, and she smiled. It was two of her best patrons--the Bremans, mother and daughter. Both women were carrying a stack of books. She went to meet them at the return section of the front counter. "Hello Elsie, Daphne."

"Good day, Janice." Elsie deposited her books, then relieved Daphne of her burden and deposited them, too. "Has that newest spy thriller I asked about come in?"

"Not yet, but probably by Friday, but I do have some good news. Millicent, watch the check-out desk, would you?" The junior librarian nodded. "Come with me. I'm just so excited about this." She led them to an area at the back of the main room, and gestured proudly at three boxy machines, lined up on individual desks. "We finally got our microfilm equipment. Now we can start transferring all our back issues of newspaper to film. We'll be able to buy microfilm of many other papers, since they'll be so easy to store."

Elsie nodded her approval. "That's a fine idea. Daphne likes to read the news, and she just races through the local paper."

Janice didn't comment. For the last couple of years, Elsie had been dropping Daphne off at the library when she had business, or errands to run. The girl spent hours reading the newspaper, magazines, and books, stirring from her seat only to choose new reading material, or visit the restroom. Janice couldn't help but wonder if the girl was actually reading. She seemed to turn the pages more quickly than a normal reader would, and Janice had a hard time believing she actually absorbed anything.

Now Elsie patted one of the machines. "She'll really enjoy these. Daphne," she touched her daughter's shoulder. Daphne continued to stare at the wall, but she tilted her head slightly, like a dog contemplating something interesting. "Daphne, listen to me." Elsie's voice was firm, and the girl turned her head to look at her--or at least toward her. "I have to go to see the lawyer, then I'm going to have my hair done, and do a little shopping. I'll be back to pick you up before the library closes. Pick out a few books for me."

"I can do that for you, Elsie," Janice offered.

"That's not necessary. Daphne knows what I like, and she enjoys picking things out for me."

*Does she?* thought Janice doubtfully. *I've never seen any indication that she enjoys anything--or dislikes anything for that matter. But Daphne does pick out thrillers and spy novels whenever Elsie asks her to choose her books. She must be taking her mother's tastes into account, because Daphne never touches spy novels herself. Mysteries, detective stories, and horror by the ream. Not a single romance or young adult novel--just death and gloom.*

Elsie was continuing. "You be sure to eat your lunch around twelve or one. I don't want to find out that you haven't eaten again. And be sure to drink all the milk. You need the vitamins. I won't let you stay here alone if you don't take care of yourself. Do you understand?" Daphne didn't respond, and Elsie raised her voice a notch. "Daphne."

"Eat lunch, munch a bunch. Good for me, have to be. Stay well, swell. Repeat, eat, eat. Take care."

Elsie nodded, patting her arm. "That's right, dear. I want my little girl to be strong and healthy."

Daphne's eyes didn't flicker. "Dead is better."

Janice gasped, but Elsie said calmly, "Don't let that upset you. You know how sometimes you get a tune stuck in your head and just can't get rid of it? That's how it is with Daphne." Elsie kissed her daughter on the cheek and whispered, "Dead is better for some people, baby, but not you. You're going to live a long, long time. Mama promises." She smiled brightly at Janice. "I'll be back before five." She bustled out.

Janice was tempted to hurry back to work. The girl was harmless, of course, and Janice felt a little ashamed of the uneasy feeling she got when Daphne stayed at the library for extended periods. Daphne was slowly pulling a backpack off her shoulder. Janice knew from past visits that it would hold a couple of sandwiches, chips, a dessert, and a thermos of milk. Daphne would go sit on the front steps at noon, slowly consuming her meal, oblivious to the other patrons who passed in and out of the library. *She reads, she chooses books, she eats her lunch, she reads. If a senior citizen did the same routine I wouldn't think twice about it. Why does she get on my nerves?* "Daphne, do you want me to show you how to use the viewer?" No response. "I have to go back to work, but just ask if you need any help."

She went back to the checkout desk, moving in beside Millicent. "Sometimes I wish we had a mall. Maybe Mrs. Breman would leave Daphne there sometimes."

"Are you kidding?" said Millicent. "She wouldn't dare leave that poor feeb in such a public place. It wouldn't be safe. She obviously can't think enough to take care of herself."

"Don't be so sure of that. Look at what she's doing now."

"She's just getting something out of her backpack."

"She's getting her wallet, and she's putting it in her skirt pocket. Remember last week when that woman had the fit because someone hooked her checkbook out of her purse? Well, Daphne may not seem very bright, but she has enough sense not to leave her money unattended." Millicent's eyes widened, and she watched the silent girl more closely as Daphne moved off into the stacks. "You know what I think? I don't think she's stupid, or even simple. I don't think it's that she can't communicate with us, but that she won't." She stared after Daphne. "I think she just doesn't like us very much."

"Us?"

"The human race, Millie."

Daphne wandered... no, wandered was the wrong word. She seemed to drift, but there must have been a purpose behind her movements. Now and then she'd stop and stare at the shelves before her. After a moment her hand would drift up, then come down with a book. "What creeps me out," whispered Millicent to Janice, "is that she doesn't always reach up to the section she's looking at. She can be staring straight ahead, eye-level, and she'll take down a book from above her head, or one from down below her waist. She's just grabbing them."

"No," said Janice. "Wait and see--she'll have picked nothing but spy stories for Elsie, or some murder-something for herself. I'm not sure how she does it. I mentioned the same thing once to a friend who's had psychology training, and he said something about her being able to take in a wider spectrum of things than most people. You know, like we'd look at a mural and we'd see what was in front of us very well, but the details off at the ends or in the corners would be just vague impressions to us. He said it sounds like she sees the whole picture clearly."

"Whatever. It's still weird."

At noon Daphne brought the books she'd chosen to the checkout desk. While Millicent opened the books, Daphne took out her wallet and removed her library card. Millicent held out her hand for it. Daphne, eyes fixed on the counter, laid the card down, adjusting it carefully so that it lay square with the edge. Millicent glanced down at the card, then up at the girl. Daphne was tracing one finger along the swirls of the marble pattern on the top. *Huh. Too good to hand it to me, huh? Well, we're not busy. I can wait as long as you can.*

She stood. Daphne stood. The seconds ticked by. Janice, who had gone back into her cubbyhole office, glanced out the door casually, and went back to work. A minute or so later he glanced out again, and the tableau hadn't changed. She frowned slightly, and read a few more lines on the report she was studying, then looked up again. Still the same. Daphne was slowly sliding a fingertip on the countertop, making arcane patterns. This wasn't unusual--she often did such things, sinking into her own peculiar world. But Millicent...

*She's just standing there staring--and that's a mulish look. She's glaring daggers at Daphne. What's going on?* She got up and walked out to the front, trying to determine what the problem was as she approached. Millicent didn't seem to be having any trouble with the scanner--the stamper was lying readily at hand, the books were piled, open. If Daphne didn't have her card, why didn't Millicent just issue her a temporary one? *But there's the card. What on earth...?* Millicent folded her arms, and Janice suddenly knew. *Oh, for heavens sake. It's a pissing contest, and I'll be damned if Millicent isn't about to lose to little Daphne Breman.* "Millicent, what's the problem?"

The start was tiny, but it was there. "No, no problem. I was just... uh..." Janice gave a 'go on' gesture. Voice sullen, Millicent reached for the card, saying, "I guess my mind wandered." She began to check out the books.

Daphne had been staring at her finger as she rubbed it over the smooth finish of the counter. Now her chin tipped down a little more, her long, medium blonde hair swinging forward to half conceal her face. The expression was only barely there, the tiniest upturn of the lips, but it was there. It was a mere flicker, and it was gone before anyone saw it, but it had existed. That afternoon Daphne didn't drink the thermos of milk her mother had packed. Instead she went into the lobby, to the vending machines, and purchased a soda.

After lunch she went back to the microfilm area. There was a filing cabinet filled with boxes of neatly labeled film rolls. Daphne opened the drawer for the previous year and took out a box, then went back to the machines. Janice had gone home early, and Millicent settled back with a sour sense of anticipation to watch the girl struggle with the operation of the machine. She wasn't going to step in unless the materials seemed in danger of being damaged. Let her get frustrated. Daphne sat and stared at the machine for almost ten minutes, still as a statue. Then, slowly but surely, she threaded the film, started the machine, and began to read the microfilm. Millicent, irritated, and surprised, said, "Well, I'll be damned."

She hadn't bothered to modulate her voice, since there was no one else in the library. Who was there to hear her? At the machine Daphne whispered to herself, "Maybe, maybe, maybe."

Millicent stiffened. "What? Did you say something?"

Daphne didn't look around. "Maybe baby. Damn, ma'am, maybe. Someday."

Millicent gaped. She felt the urge to go around the counter and smack Daphne Breman's pale face. Then the girl turned her head slightly. The blank, fogged gaze fell on Millicent, and a chill ran up her spine, despite the bright, late afternoon sunlight outside, when Daphne said tonelessly, "Dead is better." She turned her attention back to the microfilm, slowly advancing it. Millicent found that she'd backed up against the wall, as far from her single patron as she could get. She stayed there until another patron, a middle aged woman looking for the latest by Danielle Steele, came in. Instead of directing her, Millicent eagerly led her to it.

Daphne paused at one section of film and stared at it for a long time, advancing the thread in minute increments. Then she reached into her backpack and took out a tablet and a pen, beginning to write in small letters, not much bigger than newsprint.

Elise returned at four-thirty, hair shining and freshly coiffed, now nearer to her daughter's blonde than her previous drab brown. She came up behind Daphne, and said, "Mommy's here, sweetheart. What are you doing?" She examined the nearly full sheet of paper, then glanced at the image in the microfilm reader. "You're copying it? Yes, you won't be able to use the Xerox machine on these, will you? What lovely, neat writing--but you've always been a careful girl. What's so interesting?" She peered closer.

The projected image was a page from a year old newspaper. There was a picture taking up the upper right quarter of the page--a pretty girl with short, shaggy blonde hair. The caption underneath said ALICE HARDY, and the headline over the article said Where Is Alice? Elsie scanned the first paragraph quickly.

//1980 was a bad year for Alice Hardy, though some might argue that she had remarkable luck. In a veritable massacre, eight people died at Camp Crystal Lake--one of them the alleged murderer of the others. Alice Hardy, found incoherent but physically unharmed, was the sole survivor. She struggled with nervous collapse, but according to all accounts, had made a remarkable recovery. She seemed to be well on her way to getting on with her life. Then, it seems, tragedy found her again.//

//In 1981, Alice Hardy disappeared. The police have withheld details, but it's widely believed that gruesome evidence found in her apartment points to foul play. Can it be that the Camp Crystal Lake killer had the patience and determination to track down the only person to escape their first murderous attack?//

Elsie Breman's faint smile tightened to a rictus, and for a moment her eyes were as blank as those of her daughter. She was remembering. The scent of rain and freshly turned earth... and blood, seemed to fill her nostrils. She could almost hear a gentle voice saying, *I know what it is to be a mother, and see your child hurt.* She closed her eyes. *You need help. Let me help you.*

*But she died--didn't she? They said that the silly bitch who survived chopped her head off. Why are they bringing this up again?* Farther down her eyes caught a phrase--//An investor from out of state, Paul Holt, has decided to open a councilors training camp just across the lake from the place that has earned the eerie name of 'Camp Blood'...//

"Fools," muttered Elsie. "Daphne, this will still be here tomorrow. We ought to get home. Finish that paragraph, and we'll go." As Daphne continued printing, Mrs. Breman stroked her hair. "Did you finish your lunch today?"

Millicent was walking back to the front, and couldn't resist the chance to do Daphne a bad turn. "She didn't drink her milk."

Mrs. Breman gave her a short glance. "She didn't?"

"No, she didn't touch it. She bought herself a soda instead."

"She did?" Millicent was surprised by Mrs. Breman's bright smile. She hugged her daughter, saying, "Oh, good girl, Daphne!" Looking back at Millicent she said proudly, "That was her own decision. She made the choice to purchase something for herself, without being prompted. She has to have those skills to live on her own eventually." She hugged Daphne again. "I'm so proud, baby."

Daphne calmly finished copying the last few words, then put away her supplies, rewound the film, returned it to its box, shut off the machine, and put the box in the return tray. Millicent thought numbly that if all the library patrons were that careful, her job would be a lot easier. But somehow the girls' gesture didn't feel considerate. It felt more like a demonstration--like she was saying 'Don't underestimate me. I see and know more than you could ever imagine.'

Somehow the thought that there could be a sharp, willful mind behind that blank face was very, very disturbing.