A Spy Story

It was the third day since I arrived home from university, the first time I've been home in years. It was good to be home and away from the endless amount of work for my courses. And, I thought it would be like old times--hanging out with my friends for the few weeks that I am home before I finished the rest of my term. Well, I was wrong since life doesn't stop since I finally came home. I texted everyone I know to hang out, but they were either busy, out of town or at work.

After hours of going through an embarrassing amount of videos and photos on Instagram and TikTok, I finally dragged myself out of bed (around 11 am) to find some breakfast. My mum and dad stocked up with food the day before, so I went with the classic choice-- cereal with milk. I would have gone with pancakes, but it seems kind of sad to eat them by myself.

I walked into the living room to put the TV on for background noise while I tried to find something to do today. After doing nothing for the last two days, I was going out of my mind and needed something to do—anything but staying at my parents' house doing nothing. I desperately craved human interactions.

Ironically, I was looking for the films playing at the local cinema when I received an email from one of my professors, Dr Williams. Since his usual emails were like lengthy novels, I only skimmed the key points to find out what he wants for my mental sake. Otherwise, this email would be lost in the sea of 'unreads' for the entirety of my vacation. 

'Go to the library'... 'find a book'...' write a report'... 'techniques used to maintain reader's interest'.

I couldn't believe that Dr Williams had to take away my freedom and fun from my vacation by assigning a book report. A book report?! Did he think we were kids that needed busy work? Or, was he doing this because he gained satisfaction from our misery? Probably a combination of the two. 

'I guess I know what I'm doing today,' I mumbled to myself. The fact that I started talking to myself was a clear sign that I needed to get out of this house. 

However, my lack of motivation to go to the library and find a book was evident as I sat on the sofa for another half hour before getting up. I essentially had to compromise with myself that I didn't have to get up now, but before the library closed at 5 pm. What finally got me to drag my tired body off of this incredibly cushiony sofa was the thought of this assignment ruining my vacation. Professor Williams didn't say it had to be a long book or a particular genre, so I literally could pick anything. The goal was to find a short novel that I could read in a day or two, so I can spend the rest of my vacation doing whatever I wanted. 

At the local library, I went towards the action-themed books. I was hooked on these type of storylines for the last weeks as I've been watching action and superhero films during most of my free time. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but they became my escape from reality. With the stress of what was going on in the world and my life, it was easier to live in "their" worlds rather than mine. Don't get me wrong, I know I've lived a great life so far and have been given many opportunities, but the stress and pressure put on me can be too much sometimes. 

I quickly glanced at the titles on the spine of each book, searching for a story that would grab my attention. My eyes were jumping from title to title, going in a zig-zag pattern from the top shelf to the bottom, which would repeat at the next section. 

After thirty minutes of looking for a book, I began to feel that I wasn't going to find anything today. Maybe I was too picky because reading a book is the last thing I want to do during my vacation. Or, my best chance of finding a somewhat interesting novel was to buy something from an online bookstore that gave more options.

I was about to give up and leave when I spotted a navy book with gold lettering that read "A Spy Story". I thought it seemed a bit theatrical and on the nose with that name, but something about it made me pick it up. I flipped it over to read the summary on the back. 

The back of the book read, 'This is a true story of a man I met years ago during my time in Europe. Something mysterious about him kept me coming back to learn more about the man behind the mask that he shows the world ... I didn't realise it at the time, but the man I fell for was a spy that was gaining secrets...'

I laughed, and I heard someone nearby, but not seen, shushed me. This book sounded like a parody of a James Bond story but somehow claimed to be true. After watching shows like Fargo stating to be true but are complete works of fiction, I was sceptical. 

I opened the book to read the first few pages, and the picture I saw sent a wave of ice that chilled my bones and veins. My heart was beating triple time, and I felt almost dizzy. The man in the photo staring back had my face and was the owner of the man that told me not he won't be home for dinner tonight. The man that is extremely tough on me to do my best but loves to brag about my accomplishments to his colleagues. That man is my dad.

On shaky legs, I carried myself and the book to a nearby desktop. I needed to find out if this story was true and not fiction. I needed to know if the author stole my father's photo and used it as the face of her main fictional character. But I mostly needed to know if the man who raised me was living a double life and whether everything ever said was a lie.

I typed the title and the author's name into the search bar. I read nearly all the articles that popped up. The author, Maggie, did tons of interviews when her book was released fifteen years ago and claimed every detail was true. 

I felt like I was just going in circles, leading me down a rabbit hole of doubt. I googled my father's name, and everything appeared to be normal. Everything about his childhood, the schools he attended, his work experiences seemed to match what he had told me as a child. But, everything from age 18-28, a year-and-a-half before meeting my mother, seemed too perfect. It felt like there was too much information to be believable. As if someone was trying to fill the gaps for that 'missing' decade of his life.

I ran my hand over my eyes. I needed a break because this was getting too much. When I opened my eyes again, I noticed a green light at the top of the screen. The camera indicator light next to the built-in camera was on. And I knew for a fact that it wasn't on when I started my search.

I looked around, and the librarian was sorting books away from the computer. Which meant someone hacked on to this computer when I was using it and was watching me. But the question was why and how. Why would someone be interested in what I looked like

Maybe it was my overactive brain, but I felt like I was now being watched because of what I was just searching. I felt like I just set off a bunch of alerts and someone was looking for me. I quickly closed the windows on the screen and scrambled off the chair, nearly tripping on my own feet. I needed to get out of here and get to the safety of my home.

I walked hurriedly towards the librarian's desk to check out the book. But she didn't look up. I cleared my throat to get her attention as I realised that she didn't notice me. After a few minutes of impatiently waiting, she finally walked over to me. It felt like a cruel joke as the middle-aged woman checked out the book for me.

I kept glancing at the car mirrors on the drive home to see if anyone was following me. I didn't notice anything unusual. Regardless of what I wasn't seeing, I was terrified, and I couldn't stop the thoughts circling in my mind. I tried to reason with myself that I was being ridiculous, and it was a bunch of coincidences that I would find hilarious...one day. There was no way that my stern (and sometimes clumsy) father was once a covert agent for nearly a decade. There was no one watching me at the library as I probably opened the camera app without realising. And no one was following me home because none of this was happening.

I pulled into my parent's driveway a bit too fast to be safe and jumped out of the car seconds after the engine shut off. I pulled out my house keys as I ran up the cobblestones. I twisted in the key into the lock, flung the door open and shut it closed with equal force. My shoulderblades hit the wood of the door as I tried to catch my breath.

A few days later.

I was out with a few friends at a cafe for lunch, retelling them my equally embarrassing yet hilarious story about the rabbit hole I went into when I thought my father was a spy. By the time I was done with the story, my friends were in tears from laughing so hard.

'Wills, that's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time. Dude, I think you are losing it--all of that alone time during the day is making you a bit crazy,' George said as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

The conversation continued for a few minutes before everyone had to leave as their lunch break was over. They had somewhere they had to go while all I had waiting for me this afternoon was the half-read, navy novel at home. It felt odd how different our lives turned out despite growing up together and going to the same schools as kids.

I was swinging my car keys around my index as I walked back to my car, lost in the thoughts in my head. I turned the corner when a black SUV pulled up twenty feet in front of me. As I approached the vehicle, two men had gotten out and were talked, their backs facing me.

And then everything was black.