The Writer - HS AU

Part 2

"...so your next work will have a different theme?" 

"Yes."

"I see. May I ask why?"

"It's something I've had in my head for a while, but just hadn't had the time. I've been working on it on and off in between other projects, but I would like to focus full time on it."

10:36 A.M

Harry and his editor, a short, balding man in his fifties, were sitting in their usual meeting spot, a coffee shop in the less busy areas of the city. The editor's name was Dormornain, nicknamed Dorm, a husband of thirty years and twenty years a father. The two met while Harry was still in college, studying for his literature degree. Dorm just happened to be visiting as an alumni of the school. The two hit it off, with Harry needing a sounding board for his work, and Dorm seeing exceptional promise in the young man.

Freshly graduated and looking to start his new life, it was Dorm who gave Harry a chance, and for five years they've worked together. Harry didn't only come to Dorm because of work. The man himself was often a rock of wisdom in a river of chaos and nonsense, and was always willing to listen to his problems, whenever Harry felt he had no other choice.

Always involving people in your problems, you will never get anywhere like that.

"So what will this new story be about? If it's anything like your last project, I'm sure it will be a success."

Harry's usual works tended to the fantasy side of things, with the main characters always participating in fantastical adventures involving many trials and hardships, while also displaying an elaborate plot that readers found entrancing .

Your head in the clouds again? No wonder you never amounted to anything more.

"It's actually based off of personal experience this time."

Dorm's eyes widened, and for good reason. Despite knowing each other for five years, Harry was awfully tight lipped about his past. Dorm had always wanted to ask, but the man figured Harry would tell him when he was ready. While Harry would ask Dorm for advice about his problems, none of them were ever about his past or family.

"Finally decided to reveal the mystery, eh? The fans will be delighted to hear about their favourite author's life. They've been dying to learn something about your past."

Harry of course received fan mail, asking questions about his books and what he planned to do next, how will he end the cliffhanger from the last one, will these two characters get together, etc. But occasionally, some of them would ask for something a little more personal, like how he grew up, what made him decide to become an author, what was his family like, among many other things. He always replied the same way: "No spoilers."

This of course, only inspired more speculation and theories. Harry smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

You need me.

"It's not that glamorous I'm afraid."

Dorm paused, his cup pressed to his lips. Something had changed.

Just do as you're told, and I'll reward you.

Harry was a somewhat introverted man, his head always in some dream made of his ideas and thoughts, his emotions deeper and more complex than you'd expect from looking at him. So Dorm was used to seeing Harry with a far away look in his eyes, as that was just how his creative process worked.

If you don't, you know the consequences.

But this wasn't one of those looks. Harry's green eyes, normally vivid and fertile with light, had gone dark and empty, as if the life he had seen were a lie. Dorm had seen these looks before, these dead, lightless gazes, and he wondered just how much he really wanted to know the young man's past, and if this book was really a good idea.

"Are...are you..."

Dorm himself wasn't sure what he was trying to ask. "Are you okay?" seemed wrong, for the answer was obvious. "Are you sure?" felt closer but not quite. Dorm wasn't sure he even had the right to ask, but he felt compelled to try. For he was afraid. Not of what the fans would think, not of any negative publicity, or for what their publishers would say if this new work was published. No, he feared the thought that if he came to this cafe again, he would be doing so alone.

"It's okay."

Harry smiled at Dorm, and it was true. 

"It's what I have to do."

In the reflection of his coffee, though it probably was never there, Harry could see a pair of eyes, green and familiar, but colder, harsher, crueler, older.

You belong to me boy.

10:21 P.M

Harry stared at the computer screen, his expression blank and empty. The screen stared back at him, a mirror image. This was always going to be the hardest part.

Harry had always liked the night, even as a child. The night was a time of dreaming, undisturbed by the noise and clamor of the day, a time where reason and reality gave way to emotion and fantasy. It was a time where old doors closed, and new ones opened.

But some doors were never meant to be opened.

You can't run from me.

It was time. 

"I know. But I'm not going to," Harry's voice whispered in the empty room.  

With hands that trembled ever so, he began to type. 

Children feared the night, for that's when the monsters came out. But Harry learned long ago, that monsters walked in the day, wearing the guise of humans.