Silas stepped through the door and instantly felt in the most primal way that he was being watched. The feeling was all over his body, in the sudden tensing of his muscles and insistant, itching paranoia circling his mind. Deep in his gut, something churned. The spot of flesh between his shoulder blades tingled. His hand stayed on the handle of the half-closed door, but stopped pulling it closed.
Glancing behind him, the conference room was just as it had been three seconds before, when he had been inside. With the lights off, the room was dark, save for the stripe of gold falling through the open door. It lay gently over the empty tables and chairs, as if trying to say "everything is normal" or, "there's nothing to see here, but I'm here all the same", but instead it hinted at more shadows, behind the tables, under the chairs. Figures hiding inside the closet, or behind the very door on which Silas's hand rested.
Silas shrugged the chills away, listening to make sure the door clicked shut, then locked it. Right hand gripping his spray bottle, he headed for the stairs. He sprayed his folded paper towel twice before running it down the metal banister.
His feet hit the landing between the library's two floors and he realized he had forgotten the upstairs restrooms. Quickly retracing his steps up the stairs, he kept a quick pace until he shouldered his way into the male restroom.
Squirt, squirt, he wiped the stall door that always hung barely open. His paper towel slid briskly along the multiple rails around the toilet; they were presumably designed to assist weak or elderly patrons when standing up, but Silas had never noticed himself using them. Silas lifted the toilet seat, making sure it was still "clean" underneath. His eyes scanned the floor he had wiped so often, checking for any stray drops of urine.
On his way out, he scrubbed down the handle of the push-pull door, then moved on to the women's room.
This close to closing, there were rarely patrons, so he didn't bother with his usual peek inside, entering and repeating the same process, wiping every surface likely to be touched save for the closed stall in the back, which had been perpetually locked--and empty--since Silas had returned from his week-long family vacation two months before.
Restrooms satisfactorily sanitized, Silas returned to the stair rails. His footsteps echoed with each downward step, a lonely sound in the specious building.
Silas had almost forgotten that he was being watched, when the feeling returned, spiking between his lungs, stealing a breath and quickening his scrubbing.
Sometimes the library was flat-out disturbing at night.
Author Notes: Still not done with this freaking library. It shall return. It is inevitable
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