The Writer – Part 6

writerGodlessmonkey will be away from the computer for a month on a much needed holiday. While I’m gone I’m rerunning some of my multi-part stories for the benefit of those who might not have read them the first time around or would like to read them again. I’ll be back with new stories from October 16th. Thank you all for your support.

Ivan leaned forward and put his head in his hands. His mind was reeling. Deep down he had feared this was possible, but he hadn’t let himself actually think it. It would have meant giving up his writing, and he didn’t want to do that. But now the fear was real. His characters had come to life. Two of them. They were bent on living out the path he had written for them, and the crime would be his fault. What was to stop Randall from making it look like he was behind the crime in order to make good his getaway? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Ivan got up and poured himself a glass of wine and dropped back into the recliner to think. So Randall had found the gypsy. How was that for a joke? His creation had done something he himself had failed to do. He had made Randall smarter than himself, or more resourceful, at any rate. He drank his wine and thought long and hard. So he couldn’t affect Randall any more. Or so Randall said. He got up and went to his desk and sat down and started writing. He put the pen down and waited. After awhile he sighed and closed his eyes. It was true then. He had tried to make Randall return, but no, he wasn’t coming. It was true; he couldn’t affect him any more.

He thought about his life and wondered how it had come to this. Did this mean he could no longer write any characters at all without them coming to life? That would be the end of his career. There had to be a way out of this nightmare. There just had to be. A knock on the door brought him back to the moment. He shuddered. Was it Randall? Perhaps what he had written had worked after all. He jumped up and went to the door. There on the stoop stood the gypsy woman from the fair.

“May I come in?” she asked.

Ivan stared, dumbfounded. “Yes…I mean, sure, please, come in.”

She moved slowly, as if reluctant, but sat down on the sofa and looked at him sadly. “I want to apologize to you” she started. “I had no idea you would do such a thing, and that it would come to this.” She looked away for a moment and then continued. “I was irritated that day at the fair. Always, people think I am a charlatan, that I am only fooling them.” She leaned forward and Ivan could see a strange light in her eyes. “But I have powers. Yes, and sometimes I use them.” She sat back and stopped as if that was that.

Ivan took in every word and tried to think where to begin. “How…I mean…”

“I followed him here. He is not a good man, that one. How could you write of such a man?”

Ivan was nonplussed. “I’m a writer. It’s what I do. He’s a character in my novel. How was I to know he would come to life?” He ran his hand through his hair and tried to calm himself. “Why? Why did you give me this power?”

She shrugged. “You wanted the ability to do away with people who irritated you. You told me you were a writer.” She said no more and looked around the room as if it suddenly interested her.

Ivan looked at her accusingly and suddenly her face brightened. “But I think maybe I can make this up to you. If you are willing, that is.” She smiled and looked at him expectantly.

Part 7 tomorrow…

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