The Janitor's Closet

Unreal Fiction [August 2013]

When he woke up, she was still there.

He had hoped it all had been some sort of dream or hallucination, which wasn't really that difficult considering what had happened. Even though the details were a little fuzzy, the general idea was perfectly clear, and that didn't make things any easier to understand.

He remembered how it had all began, in his living room, last evening.

*** 8 Hours Earlier ***

He had been sitting on his favorite armchair, in front of the fireplace. The fire was burning low, providing just enough light to make out the rest of the room.  The smooth golden fabric of his chair glowed slightly, standing out in the dim light. A silver lamp was positioned right behind it and there was a small coffee table to its right.  The walls, painted a soft shade of brown and dotted with small crimson diamonds, were stocked with bookshelves, each of which held dozens of rusty old books and a few lucky new ones. A small window rested on the wall left to the fire, and at the very end of the room a wooden door was opened slightly, allowing a glimpse of the corridor that followed it. The room smelled like paper and ink, and gave off a cozy kind of feeling.

The book he was reading, one of his favorites, had been a gift from his now late sister Esther. She had gotten it for him three years ago, when she was still healthy. Not a year later she had caught lung cancer and had passed away a few months after. He hadn't even looked at it till last year, when he found it in a box, stored away, and he had decided to give it a try. The book was old, its leather cover was black and worn out, like it had seen many difficult times and the title and author had faded so much it was impossible to make out what it said.

He had probably read it more than a hundred times, he almost knew it by heart, but he couldn't bring himself to put it down.

The story was written like a diary. Its main character was an assassin, a good assassin. She killed those who had done too much deliberate damage to be allowed to live. She was perfect. Her personality, her looks, the way she spoke, even get flaws were perfect. She was the most amazing woman in the world and he was completely in love with her. There was only one problem: She didn't exist. She was just a fictional character created from someone's imagination. She wasn't a real person.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried to forget her, he couldn't. And so he spent all his free time reading and rereading her tales.

Yes, it was a very unhealthy obsession and yeah, he most probably had a problem. He was well aware of this, he just didn't care.

He had almost reached his favorite part when he heard it. A small whisper, soft and quiet.
At first he disregarded it as the wind against the window. But, as he continued to ignore it, the whisper got considerably louder until he could make out the words.

I crept along the path, not making any sound. My leather boots brushed against the ground softly, careful not to leave a trail behind...

He stopped listening abruptly, his eyes widening.  He looked down at the book in his lap. The words were the same. Incredulous, he closed his eyes again and listened to the whisper.

My eyes rested on my victim. It was a man. He was dressed in a business suit, with a white shirt and a black tie. His hair, dark, short and unruly, matched his thick black eyebrows. He had sharp grey eyes and an aura that screamed 'Dangerous'.
He was accompanied by two body guards only. Such an easy prey.

His eyes snapped open. He looked at the book again though he didn't need to. He knew the voice had gotten it right again.

Several emotions welled up inside him: panic, curiosity, fear, awe. He settled with fear. Slowly he put the book on the coffee table and looked around the room. It was empty. There was no sign of the voice's owner. The whisper continued, getting clearer and clearer, drowning out any other possible sound while reading the story out loud.