Typing II

I walked over to room 556 and opened the door. I looked back over at the repair man. He was just standing there, staring out into what I still assumed was Kansas. 

I entered the room and looked around. The room was nothing like 555. For one thing, it was about three times larger. It was also dusty, crooked and damp. It reminded me of an attic from an old World War II flick. 

There wasn’t much inside. A few half-finished paintings,some empty luggage, and that was it. I walked down towards the other side, and couldn’t find a stair case or any windows. I heard rain pouring on the roof, and figured I was still in Kansas.

I reached the back of the attic. There was a large wooden desk with a new, polished type writer on top of it. I walked behind it and sat down. I looked through the three drawers on the left side and found nothing. The right side only had one drawer.

Inside of it, I found another envelope. This one was yellow, and it didn’t have my name on it. I wasn’t sure at first if I wanted to open it, but it appeared to be my only way out of this place. I slowly opened the three fold and read in horror the five words hastily typed. 

kIlL the rEpAIR MaN befORE iTs TOO LATE.

I dropped the letter. The blood was frozen in my veins. I didn’t know what to do. I looked up at the door, and tried to make my decision. I could answer any of the questions my brain was throwing at me.

 Was this another test? I had no idea who this guy was. How could I kill somebody I didn’t even know? I guess that would make it easier, wouldn’t it? Could I even kill this person? He was so much bigger than I was, and he had all of those tools. He would destroy me. 

Still, this stranger seems to be the only person I can trust. If they say I have to kill him to escape, that might be the only way I can see daylight again. Maybe I missed something. I looked down at my desk to see if I had.

In life, a lot of things come and go that people are sure they want and need. Cars, sex, a new promotion, a big house. They get upset to the point of throwing tantrums after they don’t get what they want. I used to be one of those people. I used to cry until I got what I wanted, and I thought I would be satisfied with material items for the rest of my life.

 After sitting down at that desk, and seeing and reading that note, thinking about what it said, all I wanted to do was read it again. I would have accepted not reading it, so long as I could see it and feel it, just to know that at one point it had been there. For when I looked down and saw that the note had disappeared, I lost any remaining trust in my sanity. Once that trust is lost, it can’t be brought back.

I tore that attic apart looking for that note. Every crevice, every trunk, box and drawer. It took hours. I must have broken down at least three times.  I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was in hell.

I sat back down at the desk and opened the top drawer on the left side. Inside was another envelope, pristine white. The color made me feel safe. I wasn’t even concerned that the other nine times I had opened it the drawer had been completely empty. I was just relieved to have some instruction. 

I carefully opened the envelope, making sure not to damage the flap or the letter inside. This was my only contact with the outside world. It was the one thing that I could rely on to get me out of this attic. I needed to make sure I treated it as a relic.

Ray-

 We’re sure you have questions, and at the right time there will be answers for them. You must understand though, the answers you’re looking for are not in the attic. If you look for them, you will be wasting your time and ours. We highly suggest that you do not attempt to find anything, for the sake of your own sanity.

In regards to your job, there has been a slight delay. By the time you are done reading this letter, however, you will be ready to start. A man is about to bring you in a new letter, and you will transcribe the words in that letter on your type writer. When you are finished, put it in the right drawer and exit.

I looked up as the door opened. In walked a man wearing what appeared to be the most meticulous suit on the market. His blank face looked like it had been in the room for hours, and his body was just getting with the program. He was very slim, and took long, slow strides towards me. I was startled. I stood up and pointed at him.

“Hey man, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you better tell me what the hell is going on or I’m out of here.”

A smile started to crawl along the left side of his face, but stopped once it reached daylight. 

“Out of here. Out of here? Out? Here? If you knew where you were, neither of those words would have been used in that sentence.”

I paid attention to his wit about as much as I understood it.

“I mean it man,” I replied. “If you don’t start speaking quick, I’m busting out of here.”

The man sat down in a seat in front of the desk. If I was a betting man, I would put all of my life savings that the chair hadn’t been there until he wanted it to be. 

“Let me ask you a few questions first, Mr. Conan.” He said, glaring at the type writer as he spoke.

He pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth unlit. 

“Please, have a seat. I am not a threat to your well being.”

“Yeah, that’s what they’ve all said.” I scoffed.

“And are you injured?”

I thought for a moment, and then sat down.

“Mr. Conan, does your blood smell of vinegar?” He asked.

“I, um.....what?” I stammered.

“Your blood, does it smell like vinegar to you?” He asked, this time more impatiently.

I couldn’t stop staring at the cigarette. The butt was getting damp, as the man’s mouth was clearly soaked with saliva. I didn’t know how, this had to be the driest room I had ever been in. Why wouldn’t he light it?

“I suppose you wouldn’t know the difference if it was, anyways.” He said.

“Why?”

“Well, Ray, you seem to me to be the type of person who has been spoon fed mayonnaise his whole life, and is experiencing his first days without it. There is no more sodium to slow your body, or cholesterol to clog your arteries. You’re noticing buildings, interacting with people. You’re becoming human again. You’re becoming real. But at the same time, there seems to be a bit of a withdrawal process. Some paranoia as well as an inability to follow directions are persisting. You also have a sore throat.”