A pen clinked as it rolled off of the edge of the desk, a soft thunk came shortly after it landed. The sound jolted my entire being upright. My skull suddenly throbbed as if someone had carved a violin into my spine and plucked every nerve. The kind of throbbing where the pulsing is centered right at the base of my skull, drilled upwards like the worst hangover I've ever had. My arms were sprawled across a desk. It groaned as I stirred, followed by the sound of a raspy, exhausted wood creaking.
The air felt strangely thick and damp. I doubt that the air-conditioning in the conference room has had this underlying issue. In addition to that, it reeked of old smoke and pipe tobacco, damp wool, and something faintly metallic, like dried blood or rusted metal.
Why would these be around at this day and age?
Is the humidifier perhaps broken?
I barely succeeded to force my lids open. The ceiling above was wooden and paneled. It was riddled with water stains. Shadows danced on the window pane far across my peripheral view, coming from the flicker of something yellow... is that gaslight? I blinked again. There weren't any laptops, projectors, nor mean-looking members of the jury in front of my view. Only shelves stacked with hardbound books, some bound in cracked leather, others sprawled open around the desk.
This wasn't my room. Nor did it feel like the same timeline I originally came from... but who was I to judge? The owner must have been someone that enjoyed collecting vintage.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Three loud knocks pounded across the wooden door. My limbs instinctively jerked, nearly knocking over a brass lamp. Luckily, I held onto it before it touched the desk. I didn't want to break whoever's antiquity it belonged to.
"Here, I expect you to be there in ten." A voice sounding of smoke commanded.
My gaze then directed to the door. There I saw a tall silhouette of a man, almost reaching the edge of the frosted glass on the door. It didn't seem like he had enough time to waste further. He proceeded to slide down a piece of paper on the gap underneath the door. Then stepping back into the gloom. He was roughly someone who leaves impressions rather than footprints.
I didn't question what he said. I know I should have, yet I didn't.
My feet moved on their own, walking closer to the only entrance and exit of the room. I bent down to fetch the folded slip. There was an address, written with charcoal ink on cream paper in old-school cursive. Nothing about what was written made sense in my perspective.
The name of what I assume to be the town was unfamiliar. The street even more so. And yet I stood quickly as ever.
No, I obeyed.
Raindrops greeted me the soonest I stepped outside. The air was cool in an eerie, almost intrusive way. None of that warm drizzle I had grown up with and gotten used to. This was undeniably sharp, one that snuck beneath the coat and still is able to reach me from within. My eyes squinted to see clearly amidst the fog that weaved through alleyways like specters at nighttime. A faint scent of coal smoke lingered through my nostrils. Somewhere far from where I stood, a bell tower tolled at least seven times.
Where to was I headed, again?
The boots I wore hugged my feet tightly. It clacked like they belonged to someone with purpose. The coat I had taken from the rack brushed against my knees as though it had done so a hundred times before. My body behaved strangely. I wasn't walking by choice, it was as if it knew where it was going before my mind could begin to process.
A few twists and turns through the streets with unfamiliar names, my legs finally came to a halt. I think I have arrived at my final destination.
Physical barriers were present all around a certain area in the middle of the road. It probably wasn't enough, since some police officers had to assist with the cordon. It didn't stop people that already gathered over, whispering behind muted umbrellas. The cops held old flashbulbs that sparked like pocket lightning. There were no drones floating nor security cameras on the lamp posts, just men in dark coats and women with umbrellas the size of storm clouds.
"Inspector!" An older male's voice shouted once. "Inspector, over here!" The same person screamed again.
My head tilted towards the source of the call. Not that I thought it was me they needed, but I only want to see the identity of the unfortunate detective assigned on the case—nosy as I ever could be. To my demise, a young officer waved over to me.
"Glad you made it, sir. Detective Inspector said you'd want to see it before the crowd thickens, although they already did." He wore a nervous smile, eyes were wide enough for comfort.
"The whole thing's been left untouched, just as you ordered, Sir." Another officer stepped closer, explaining as he tipped the younger one's hat.
My eyes scanned left and right, however, there was no other soul where I was standing but me. I could only stare at them in return. My mind scrambled for context I didn't have.
Me?
Why me?
I couldn't bring myself to fake a nod to these people before me. Rather, I moved forth towards the location of the cordoned area in this narrow street. The wind whistled low enough to be hidden beneath the murmurs of the crowd.
There was a body. I dare say it was beautiful even in death. Her lips were slightly parted, as though she had died while still speaking—or screaming in agony, for that matter. A red trail of seemingly sticky substance curved down her initially fair, now pale neck like spilled red ink that one professor used to mark my evaluation sheet. My gaze traveled down to one of her gloved hands extended towards nothing.
"Her throat was slit clean," another unnamed young man in uniform began muttering beside me. "No blade was found. It might be a personal item the suspect managed to hide."
Why was he speaking as if I was a man of authority, a respected higher up, who was deemed fit to successfully solve this real-life riddle?
"I need... I need the restroom." These words the only words I forced to come out.
Aside from the one I was conversing with, my words seemed to have garnered a few other officers' attention, causing them to briefly look up to us from crouching on the ground.
"Pray pardon, Sir?"
"It's urgent. I seem to have had too much caffeine in my system."
How I hope they understood what I meant to let on.
They glanced at each other's faces before waving me off with sympathy visible in their eyes, or so I think. I quickly took off, turning at a corner quickly. Then onto another, several blocks away from everyone else. Then again, until the crime scene was simply a muffled noise behind the calming sound of rain.
I needed to clarify something. I needed to know.
And there I saw it.
In a store in the middle of what looked like a business district of ancient times. It was perfectly shown upon by the gaslight in the middle of the road. There on its glass windows, reflected in the rain-streaked surface of the pane...
Me.
Is it me...?
That's not me. I am aware of how I look. That is most certainly not aligned to my knowledge of how others perceive my features.
I kept moving, closer towards the storefront. It was a moving image of a man with sharp bones, definitely older than I was. He seemed extremely wise. His eyes were unlike any other I have seen, but it didn't look like he used contact lenses. It wasn't the usual hazel, blue, or brown. But gold. He felt like someone who had seen too much and told too little.
I stepped back as slow as possible. The reflection did the same.
I raised a hand.
So did he.
My finger reached forward until it met the cool, wet pane of the glass. He mirrored it uncannily. As if I were the reflection and not him.
"What the hell..." I didn't get to finish my sentence as I noticed my voice crack.
A sense of tightening began forming around my chest. I clasped tighter, silently wishing it would go away on its own. Then came a flash of nausea from the pits of my stomach rushed through my very being. All of this must be because a part of me recognized that man. It may not be from memory, but from feeling.
He was me. Although, not the me I remembered.
Either I hadn't woken up… or I'd just stepped into someone else's nightmare.