Alone With Myself

Part I: The Stranger

Johnathan Myers is a tall and quiet fellow of thirty two, who often sports a well kept mustache that he likes to twirl at the ends. His scruffy black hair never goes below his shoulders and his thin, round rimmed blue glasses almost never leave his sharp face. He usually keeps to himself and enjoys a quiet life, only ever leaving his home for groceries or meetings at his office. One of the many perks of owning your own company is that you have the ability to do most of your work at home, something Johnathan takes advantage of.

He is what some people may consider introverted, and he often hears whispers whenever he enters the office every Monday morning. But it's not really something that bothers him. Johnathan is goal oriented, often becoming hyper focused on whatever story he is creating next. He's gained the admiration of his peers despite his quiet nature, and is solely responsible for many books and shows that have allowed his studio to gain the recognition it has today. But that's not to say there weren't many hardships along the way in both his personal and professional life. One does not build up such a reputation off of luck alone.

It is late in the afternoon by the time Johnathan wakes up. He is barely able to see straight as he sits up. His room is a mess with clothes tossed around and several bottles stacked neatly into a partially completed pyramid. Trying to focus his eyes, his alarm clock reads 13:12. It's the day after his company's holiday party. He doesn't normally drink a lot, but this particular year the drinks were flowing like never before with several of his employees bringing kegs and wine to his home where he hosted the event.

Johnathan doesn't remember what happened after the party, and feels awful while swallowing down whatever it was that was trying to come back up. He rolls off of his bed, dragging his aching body across the bedroom and into the hallway towards his bathroom. He tosses on the light switch and turns the faucet to the left. Cupping his hands, he allows water to pool within his palms as he splashes his face and shakes his head vigorously. It's not enough to fully wake him up, but it is indeed a start. Staring down into the sink, he watches the water flow down the drain as vague feelings of regret take hold. 'Have I done something stupid this time?' he thinks to himself.

Johnathan stands for a few moments hunched over the sink until the several streams of water finally merge into one. Slowly looking up, he stares at the dark brown eyes of a man he could barely recognize. A freshly shaved head and face, a black eye, as well as various bruises and scratches along his face and body... Among other things. It's like he was a completely different person, or rather a shell of the man he once was. 'What happened last night...?'

Out of the corner of his eye he spots something peeking out beneath the rosy colored bath mat. 'Ah, there's my phone,' he mutters to himself. Maybe that will have some answers to the endless questions that begin to populate his mind. Turning it over, a large crack on the screen prevents it from showing anything coherent and it flickers for a few moments before inevitably dying. 'Well, there goes that option.' he says out loud.

"Johnathan fuckin Myers, how the hell are ya?"

Johnathan turns around, his heart racing as the booming voice fills the room. A young man in a dark suit and tie sits at the edge of his bathtub crouched over slightly. His hands are placed gently on his lap, fingers intertwined. His face is mostly covered with a black mask, but his dark empty eyes gives Johnathan a feeling of familiarity, like Dejavu.

"Who are you?" Johnathan asks, his back against the sink gripping the edges, while his eyes dart around the small room looking for anything he could use. This stranger, whoever he is, blocks his only means of escape. Jonathan tilts his head slightly toward the toilet plunger before locking eyes with the stranger.

The man sits up straight, running a hand through his now slicked back shoulder length hair. "Ah, you must be so confused right now. Apologies, I don't mean to intervene in your little morning ritual... But do you remember me?"

The men stare at each other while Johnathan claws at the back of his mind desperately trying to recall this man to no avail. He vaguely feels like he knows him, but can't recall. Maybe they met last night during the party? No no, can't be. It was invite only, and Johnathan was very meticulous on who was and was not allowed to come. Employees only, no family or dates. So why exactly is he here? Pondering this, Johnathan starts to become increasingly more concerned with what this man is doing in his bathroom. "No, can't say that I do."

The man chuckles. "That's funny that you don't remember, because I've been with you this entire time."

Jonathan grips the edge of the sink tighter, the tips of his fingers turning white. "...Have you been stalking me?"

The man laughs. "I wouldn't call it that. You see, I haven't been here." He opens his arms wide in a grand gesture. His right hand soon comes down and he taps his head three times with his pointer finger. "I've been In here."

"...What?" Jonathan says with squinted eyes, puzzled. His head begins to ache as he tries to make sense of it all. He can see the man before him as clear as day, but is he just imagining all of this? No, no, can't be.

"I've been with you from the very beginning." He sighs, shaking his head and speaking in a lower voice. "But I guess you really don't remember me."

"No, I really don't..." He thinks for a moment. "Wait, did Marcus set you up to this? I know he's quite the practical joker." Marcus Simmons, while a bit of a prankster at the office, was also one of his closest friends despite his reserved demeanor. So to say he wouldn't pull some kind of psychological game would be undermining his ability to go along with a bit.

The man stares at him, his dark eyes almost piercing through Johnathans soul, making him shiver slightly. "You're still not getting it. You see, I've been with you through all of your struggles, and we've had a lot of fun together. "

"Well I don't know about you, but I don't remember much of last night, so I can't really say it's been fun so far."

The man smiles. "Ah, last night. Now THAT was fun. You really let loose for the first time in years, you know. And I'm here to make sure you keep it up."

"You keep talking as if we've been lifelong friends, but I barely know you, stranger. And keep what up?"

"Oh, you know. All of your wild tendencies." The man stands up and quickly walks to Johnathan before he has a chance to react. "The way you look at yourself in disgust, and struggle with your identity wondering if anything is worth it." The man stops, inches from Johnathans face, their eyes locked. The plunger is just conveniently out of reach. "You're still undiagnosed, yet refuse any help."

"Fuck off!" Johnathan tries to push the man away, but his arms go right through him. A puff of black smoke fills the room for a moment, and the man's laughter echoes throughout. He is gone. Jonathan is now fully awake at this point. The lingering effects of his inebriation have dissipated as adrenaline now pumped through his veins. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, but he made sure to scour his entire home for any signs of the man, weapon in hand. After ensuring all of his doors were locked, he stood there in the shower, replaying everything that happened not half an hour ago. In the end, he left it all to the idea of alcohol simply getting the better of him. I mean, what else could possibly explain this, right?