Elle's fictional prose

Criminal Behaviour (18+)

Walter rewound the tape, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk until he reached the beginning of the scene. Eyes narrowed, he watched the action play out again. He had seen it so many times it was as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror, yet he knew he was missing something. Still he noticed nothing new. He rewound it yet again. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

Walter sat bolt upright and reached eagerly for the play button. Of course! He needed to close his eyes and listen to the scene. He tried to remain calm as the shouts and cries of the main characters reached his ears, and then that inevitable gunshot. Walter leaned forward. A gasp, he knew he'd written that in there. Wait, what was that? He rewound the tape a fraction. Yes! Yes, that was it! He had it!

Walter scribbled down the words on the pad of lined paper and nodded to himself. Yes, that was the missing ingredient, the final finishing touch. He swiveled in his chair to reach his computer and opened his manuscript in a word document.

An almost silent vow whispered past his lips. "I'll see you soon."

That was what the scene had needed. Walter saved the document and carefully began preparing his submission for the publisher.

***************************************************************

The publisher leaned back in his chair. "The thing is, Mr Schmidt, I can't publish this. It's essentially fan-fiction, and while there's a market for that, there are serious copyright issues. It's good, it's well written, but it's not original, so I'm afraid I can't help you."
Walter frowned. "I don't understand."
The publisher quirked an eyebrow. "Did you think we wouldn't notice? Come on, it's practically identical, every little detail, just from the other view point."
Walter shook his head. "What? Identical to what? How can it be fan-fiction?" His heart started beating faster, and his palms were growing damp. Something was seriously wrong, but what?

The publisher sighed and stood, moving to a row of books on the shelves behind him. A quick perusal and the man moved to open his office door. "Does anyone have a copy of the latest Grant McIntosh novel I can borrow for a second?" Walter heard others in the background, talking and moving, before the publisher returned to his desk. A hardcover novel was placed on the desk in front of Walter. Stalker by Grant McIntosh. The glossy cover was everything Walter wanted for his own novel. It was even the same genre, crime fiction. Frowning, Walter flipped the book over to read the blurb on the back.

William, a wannabe author, notices strange behaviour in the house nextdoor. His young female neighbour is furtive and downtrodden. She struggles to hide the bruises she sometimes sports. Desperate for his breakthrough story, William starts surveillance on the house, watching and listening to his neighbours and recording their story. But how far will one author go to get the bestseller? Will he watch murder unfold before his eyes?

With shaking hands, Walter placed the book back on the desk. Dear god, someone knew. Someone had been watching him this whole time. Someone had already written it and published it for the world to read. Walter dared a quick glance at the publisher, whose sympathetic gaze had become more wary and guarded. His breath came fast and he knew he had to regain control of the situation, but panic flared through him. Someone knew.


Written 30 September 2014