I have a little story for you -990 Words

When an irreplaceable document is stolen, an unlikely person tells a story.

          Willie, a clerk in the records department, moved through the firm like a ghost. He preferred the quiet hum of filing systems to the cacophony of human interaction. People rarely noticed him, which suited him fine. They saw a calm, slightly awkward man. Still, they missed the steel-trap mind behind his unassuming gaze, the way his eyes registered every flicker of expression, every nuance of tone, every fragment of conversation. They relaxed, revealing truths they'd never share with anyone else.

          The first thread in Willie's mental tapestry appeared a few days after a theft was discovered. He was retrieving an old deposition when he heard Marcus, one of the younger Records Clerks, on his cell phone. Marcus's voice, usually a monotone drone, was animated, almost giddy. "...soon won't have to worry about this dump," he chortled. "Plenty of money is coming my way, enough to disappear for a while." When Marcus's eyes snagged on Willie, the merriment drained from his face. He snapped his phone shut, a practiced smile faltering. "Just talking to my mom, Willie," he mumbled, his gaze darting away. Willie nodded, cataloging the abruptness, the lie, the talk of money.

          Later that week, the firm's corridors were a labyrinth of anxious energy. Willie was heading to the archives when he heard raised voices from an empty meeting room. It was David, a paralegal known for his volatile temper, arguing with someone Willie couldn't immediately see. David's face was a mask of furious concentration. "I don't care what you think you saw!" David hissed, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "If you know what is good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut." The unseen person whimpered. Willie walked past, his head slightly down, as if lost in thought, but his mind recorded the raw anger, the specific threat, the veiled fear.

          The third piece fell into place the following morning. Willie had his monthly itemization report for the Harrington client due to Senior Vice President Davies. He walked to Davies's outer office, expecting to find the secretary, Ms. Albright, at her desk. It was empty. Willie was about to turn back when the door to the small kitchenette swung open. Ms. Albright emerged, her usually immaculate blonde hair disheveled, her face a blotchy crimson. Red-rimmed eyes peered out from smudged mascara. She looked devastated, not simply sad, but profoundly distraught. Willie, handing her the report, merely said, "For Mr. Davies." She took it with a shaky hand, and he left her to her misery.

          Weeks passed. The firm's leaders scrambled, bringing in private investigators and tightening security, but the vacuum left by the stolen information remained. Desperation led to a firm-wide meeting, an unusual gathering meant to foster 'open communication,' in truth, a desperate plea for any scrap of information. Even Willie was there, sitting at the back, blending into the muted tones of the wall.

          Senior Partner Eleanor Vance, her face drawn, addressed the assembly. "We are at a precipice," she stated, her voice tight with suppressed panic. "If this information ever sees the light of day, it's over for us. For all of us. Does anyone have anything to say? Any observation, however small?"

          A heavy silence descended. Then, from the back, a quiet voice cut through the stillness. "I have a story."

          All eyes turned to Willie. A ripple of confusion, then amusement, spread through the room. Vance, in her desperation, nodded curtly. "Proceed, Mr. Davies."

          Willie cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over the faces, lingering imperceptibly on Marcus, David, and Ms. Albright. His voice, usually so soft, carried surprising clarity.

          "Imagine, if you will, a grand library," Willie began, his eyes fixed on no one, yet addressing everyone. "A vast repository of knowledge, meticulously curated. One day, a priceless manuscript, known only to a few, vanishes from its most secure chamber. Panic ensues, for its contents could ruin the entire institution."

          He paused, letting the metaphor settle. "The librarian's apprentice, a young man prone to daydreams and grand ambitions, is suddenly overheard boasting about a coming fortune. He speaks of leaving the library for a new life funded by an unexpected windfall. He grows silent, however, when he notices he's been overheard by someone who sees everything." Willie's gaze flickered to Marcus, whose face had gone pale.

          "Then," Willie continued, "an ambitious scholar, known for his persuasive arguments and forceful will, is heard in the hushed corridors. He's furious, cornering another, gentler scholar. He demands silence, threatening dire consequences if the truth of what was witnessed is ever spoken aloud. 'If you know what is good for you,' he says, 'you'd keep your mouth shut.' " David shifted uncomfortably, his jaw clenching.

          "Finally," Willie's voice deepened slightly, "the head archivist, a woman entrusted with the library's profound secrets, is found weeping. Not merely sad but broken. Her face betrays a terror, an anguish that stems not from personal loss, but from a terrible secret she harbors, one she was forced to participate in, or perhaps, witness, and desperately wishes to keep buried." Ms. Albright gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

          Willie's soft voice returned to its even tone. "The apprentice, given to greed, was the hand that took the manuscript from its place. The ambitious scholar, driven by a darker motive, was the one who paid him, and then silenced the archivist who, in her proximity to the heart of the library, inadvertently saw too much. The archivist's tears are not just for the library, but for her soul, trapped by complicity or fear."

          The story was over. Willie had spoken. The silence broke, not with questions for Willie, but with decisive, urgent commands. The pieces had clicked into place. The quiet man everyone ignored had seen everything, and in his own unique way, had brought the truth to light. The firm's descent into ruin had been halted, but Huppton, Abbott, Vance, and Dower would never quite be the same.

Word Count: 990
Writer's Cramp: Metastory