Chapter Two
1235 Words
I read the note again. Then again ,like the words will change if I stare long enough. I know you are fake. No signature, no explanation, no drama. Just five quiet words in my hands like they owned me.
I let out a slow breath. “Okay,” I muttered to myself. “ Not funny.” Silence answered me.
The room was too quiet. Like the air had decided to stop moving. That was the first thing that felt wrong.
I glanced around slowly. Everything looked exactly how I had left it. The bed was untouched except for where I'd dropped in earlier. My shoes were lying carelessly near the door. My bag rested against the chair, normal. Perfectly normal, and yet…
I walked to the door. It was locked. I had done that the moment I came in. I checked the handle anyway, and it was still locked.
“Good,” I whispered.
I turned back into the room. My gaze went back to the bed again. On the note. My stomach tightened, because I knew I hadn't left anything there.
I remember tossing my bag down, sitting on the chair exhausted after I arrived at Adrian's house earlier that day before the party. I remember carefully scanning the whole room before stepping out that evening. There had been nothing on that bed. Nothing. So it's either someone had come in while I was away or while I wasn't paying attention.
I swallowed hard. I was starting to panic already.
“No,” I said quietly. “No, we're not doing that.”
I forced myself to move. Slowly, deliberately, I walked around the room, touching things as I went. Everything looked normal. The dresser, cold and smooth. The curtains were closed and heavy. The bathroom door. I just pushed it open.
Light flooded out, too bright against the dimness of the bedroom.
Everything inside was spotless, untouched, and perfect.
The place probably had people whose entire job was making sure nothing ever looked out of place.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. For a second I didn't recognize myself. Same face, same eyes but sharper and more alert, like something in me had shifted.
“Get it together,” I murmured.
I went back to bed. Picked up the note again and ran my fingers over the paper. Then I discovered something. Cheap. The paper kind was not the kind of article that belonged in a place like this.
That bothered me more than the message. Whoever left this didn't care about blending in. They cared about ,being understood.
I breathed out slowly.
“ Fine,” I said under my breath. “ You know I am fake.”
I folded the note carefully, too carefully.
“ Now what?” Nothing. No answer.
Of course, because this wasn't a conversation, it was a statement.
I sat at the edge of the bed, waited, and listened. Minutes passed or maybe longer. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard footsteps, then nothing. I rubbed my arms. The room wasn't cold, but I felt it anyway.
That creeping awareness, that sense that someone has been here. Like something had shifted just slightly out of place and I couldn't prove it.
I hated that feeling. Because it reminded me of something I didn't like remembering.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Sleep,” I told myself. “ You need to sleep.”
Because everything seems worse when I'm tired. Everything felt bigger, more dangerous, and more real.
“ This is nothing,” I whispered. “ Just a stupid note. Probably a joke…” my voice faded.
Sleep didn't come easily. And when it did, it took me somewhere else.
I could see myself standing in a room that smelled like dust and a stack of old paper. The room was too familiar, too small. The walls felt closer than they should.
There's a desk, old, worn out, and behind it…was my father.
He looked tired, more tired than I remember. That makes sense now. The room was my father's study.
His shirt was rumpled, and his sleeves unevenly rolled up. There was a file in front of him, thick, heavy, as though it mattered.
“Gracia,” he called out.
His voice was softer than it used to be.
I stepped closer.
“You shouldn't be here,” I told him. But he just smiled. That smile, one that always tried to convince me everything was fine.
“ They won't listen.” he said.
I became a bit confused.
“I told them,” he continued, tapping the file. “ I showed them everything. It's all in here.”
His hands shook slightly.
“ They just… looked at me like I was nothing.”
“Dad…” I managed to speak.
“ They're not what you think they are,” he says, suddenly serious. “ People like them…”
The lights began to flicker. The room shifts. Something feels wrong. I took a step backwards.
“ Dad?” I called out.
I didn't get a response. He was looking past me now at something I couldn't see. His expression changed, fear, real fear.
“ Gracia,” he says again, but this time his voice is urgent.
“Listen, see….”
The lights went out. Darkness swallows everything. I stopped hearing him. It was as if he vanished.
“ Dad?” There was silence and then a whisper. Right next to my ear I KNOW YOU ARE FAKE!
I jerked awake, my breath was sharp, and my heart was racing. The room still looked the same, dim, still, and silent.
For a second, I didn't move, I didn't breathe. I just listened and there was nothing. No footsteps, no voices, just the quiet hunk of a place pretending to be fine.
I sat up slowly and rubbed my palm on my face.
“ Ah.... Great,” I muttered. Placing my palm on my forehead,“ Now I'm dreaming about it.”
That was my first time dreaming about my father after he passed away months ago. Something was seriously not right.
I swung my legs off the bed. And reached for my slippers.
“Okay,” I said, voice steadier now. “ Think.”
The note, the room, the feeling, none of it made sense. But one thing did. And that was, someone knew, not guessed, not suspected, the person knew that I was acting. And it was something serious because I am dealing with people who have power.
Who exactly is this person?
I stood and walked back to the door. Checked the door lock again. It still looked the same as the last time I checked it.
I leaned my forehead quietly against the door briefly and closed my eyes.
“Panic doesn't help,” I whispered. It never had, not before, not when things actually fell apart, not when….
I cut the thought off. No, not now.
I pushed away from the door, straightened. Picked up the note again and slipped it into my bag carefully, and deliberately.
“ Fine,” I said quietly. “ If this is a game… then I'm not losing.”
I turned off the lights, climbed back into my bed, pulled the blankets up,
Closed my eyes, and forced my breathing to be stable.
I shut my eyes tightly and didn't open them.
- Writer
