Raven Rise by D.J. MacHale

I’m tired of you people suspecting me of mischief just because I’m a librarian. I’m too old to put up with it anymore.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Patrick asked, genuinely confused.
    â€œShow me your arm,” Richard barked.
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œYou heard me. Show me your arm!”
    Patrick had no idea what the old man was fired up about. Before he could ask again, Richard reached out and grabbed Patrick’s right wrist. The fragile old man wasn’t so fragile anymore. He held Patrick’s arm with one hand and shoved his shirtsleeve up to the elbow with the other, revealing his forearm. Richard yanked Patrick’s arm closer, scrutinizing the skin. Patrick didn’t resist. He was too confused to do anything but stare at the old man who was staring at his arm.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?” was all he could manage to mumble.
    â€œDon’t insult me,” Richard snarled. “You know as well as I do.”
    â€œActually, I don’t,” Patrick shot back.
    â€œScars,” Richard barked. “I can tell when it’s been removed. You can’t fool me.”
    Patrick pulled his arm away. He had had enough of being manhandled.
    â€œI’m not trying to fool you. What do you think’s been removed?”
    Richard squinted through his thick glasses at Patrick, sizing him up. “You know that all records from that period were destroyed. Did you think you could trip me up by asking for them? How stupid do you think I am?”
    â€œLook, Richard,” Patrick began patiently, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I am not spying on you or trying to trip you up. All I wanted was to see some records that had to do with that time in history. That’s all. There’s nothing sinister about it.”
    Richard seemed to soften. “Let me see your arm again.” He added, “Please.”
    Patrick rolled his eyes and shoved his arm out. The old man took another close look while rubbing his thumb over the skin, feeling for scars.
    â€œI believe you, son,” Richard finally said. “There’s nothing here. Never was.”
    Patrick took his arm back and rolled his sleeve down. “What did you expect to find?”
    Richard gave Patrick another curious look. “You really don’t know, do you?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Patrick said. “Maybe I should, but I don’t.”
    â€œMaybe you don’t want to,” Richard added.
    Patrick agreed completely. Maybe he didn’t want to know. But he had to. “Is it true?” Patrick asked. “Have all the records from the early twenty-first century been destroyed?”
    Richard took a tired breath. “You’ll forgive me for being cautious, but to hold any pertinent records from that time is a crime punishable by death. They have spies everywhere, rooting out anything that remains. They’ve been here before, asking the same questions. But they had the mark. It’s part of them. They usually don’t try to hide it, unless they’re looking for trouble.”
    â€œWhat kind of mark?”
    Richard rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. He looked tired. “Come on,” he said, and walked off.
    Patrick noticed that the old man was once again stooped over. The momentary hope that he could use his skills to assist someone with a legitimate research project was gone. Richard led him along the rows of musty books, stopping at a wooden door that he used an ancient key to unlock. Patrick decided not to ask him any more questions until they reached their destination. He was too busy trying to get his mind around the fact that all records from Second Earth had been destroyed. Why? By whom? Who were the mysterious people whose arms were marked and who spied on people to make sure they weren’t harboring secrets? Or the truth.
    The door moved with a creak that told Patrick it hadn’t been opened in a long