The Note

The Note

A Story by inconsistentsea

The drugs have not quite worn off. I stand in front of a dead body and know it was their effects on me that made this choice. Any sober man would have walked away long ago. Now it is too late.

The note is in my hand. This damned note started this whole thing. It shows up on my office desk and assumes I will do its bidding. But I do, willingly. The promise of money, with an air of mystery and intrigue, is too much for any man to refuse.

There are times lately I feel like I am in a black and white Bogart movie. I am on a treasure hunt with this note as my map and danger at every turn. Where X marks the spot is yet to be found, but then again so is the troublesome dame that is supposed to fall for me. Or maybe she did already, and I am standing over her. She was probably the one who drugged me when I got here.

I scan the note for the next step. It is a symbol that feels familiar but I can't quite place: it's a circle, and inside of the circle is a triangle pointing right. I sit down in a nearby armchair and look closer at the image, putting my feet up on the ottoman. A circle with a triangle inside of it. Images fly through my head and my frustration grows with that feeling when you know you know something but cannot recall it at a time of need. Just as I start to get real comfortable in this chair, it dawns on me. I look at the symbol sitting in my lap and scramble to reach the the television remote control. I press the play button, unsure of what to point it at because there is no television set. Nothing happens for seconds. And then an ominous sound begins.

I really shouldn't have pressed that button, I think to myself. A tune starts to play, and it seems to be coming from behind the large mirror on the wall in front of me. The notes are low and dissonant, some song that sounds like a funeral requiem to me. It is so depressing it makes me want to jump out of a window. The music plays, but nothing else is happening.

I look around me to see what I may have missed in my drug-induced haze. The room is pretty unremarkable except for my quiet companion in repose on the floor. To my left, a kitten coloured a soft deep brown stirs from within the couch cushions and begins to groom itself. Fastidious furry feline.

The tune continues to play and my discomfort grows. I feel like the direction of time changes. Then the wall with the mirror begins to open, just like the movies. This is it. This is the moment I have been waiting for. I fold the note neatly, place it in my pocket and walk in.

© 2015 inconsistentsea


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Added on August 11, 2015
Last Updated on August 11, 2015
Tags: noir, flash fiction