Stuck in the Shadows

5- The letter from the mystery man

I was surprisingly calm as I opened the tidily folded letter that had been placed on my bed. Breathing in deeply, I read the message printed neatly in black pen in the centre of the page; 

Dear Olive, 

I hope you are feeling better.

- O'Brien 

My initial reaction was complete and utter confusion. Who the hell is O'Brien? I didn't know anyone by that name. Why would I have been feeling bad? Why would he care? Why would he break into my room? 

Questions were running through my head. I walked over and locked the door, then sat on the end of my bed. Assuming the note was meant for me, I had only been living there for two days, so it was unlikely I was stalked. Something must have happened between my arrival and when the note was left. Something must have happened in the last 48 hours, but what?... 

Then there was the issue of who had written it. O'Brien? 

I would have spent an hour, at least, lying on my back on my bed trying to figure out who O'Brien was, or what it meant. Then it came to me; it was a reference to the character in the novel 1985 by George Orwell. 

O'Brien was the antagonist, maybe the writer of the note was referring to themselves as an antagonist? Orwell never revealed O'Brien's first name, was it a nod to secrecy? Or maybe I was thinking way to much into it. 

It was dark outside by the time my mind emerged from the black hole of questions it had gotten lost in. I still felt no more clarity. 

I needed fresh air to clear my head, so I unlocked and slid open the door. Taking the blanket from the end of my bed, I stepped into the cool night air of the courtyard behind the hall. I padded over to a bench and sat down, arranging my blanket to best keep me warm. 

The area, framed by high walls, was only dimly lit by moonlight. I could just make out the shapes of the paths and trees. I looked around, trying to see a scene I had only seen before through the glass door from my bedroom. 

After about half an hour, my eyes caught onto a shape on top of the wall opposite me, about three stories up. I strained against the darkness to make out what it was, squinting as though it would magically switch a light on or my eyes would magnify the shape. And then it moved. Only slightly, but it definitely moved.

My heart rate increased, but I wasn't afraid, I just sat very still and watched the figure. I saw it move again. This time it moved with purpose and with the moonlight shining on it, I made out the outline of a sitting person raising their hand. 

Once I knew it was a person, seeing the figure was much easier. I watched as they raised their hand in a curt wave and lowered it again.

We both sat there in the dark watching each other. I could see what looked to be broad shoulders. I thought I could make out a hood, like one from a hoodie, pushed back around their neck. They looked distinctly male. I knew, in that moment, he was O'Brien. He left the note on my bed, but I still didn't know why. 

I had a sudden thought and rushed back inside, grabbed a piece of paper and pen from my desk and sribbled out a message; 

O'Brien, 

I'm fine, thanks. 

I don't know who you are, or why you care, but I'd like to. 

- Julia 

I folded the letter into quarters, like he had, placed it on the bench I had been sitting on, took a last glance at him sitting on top of the wall and walked into my room, leaving the door unlocked. 

I don't know what possessed me to invite trouble, or even write a letter in response. I didn't feel afraid, I was curious. But I suppose curiosity did kill the cat... 

I signed it 'Julia', who is the protagonist female character in 1984- bold, pragmatic and defiant- in case my theory about O'Brien was right. 

I went to sleep that night with lots on my mind. 

*****

Well that was a smidge crazy. Leave your thoughts below; is the response crazy?