Jan Levinson stood on the edge of her table holding her left hand out over the edge, her right hand clutching a thin cigarette. The room she was in was spacious and nearly empty except for the table she was currently standing on, and a chair. It was the middle room of three major rooms. The one to the left was the front room it also contained a table and a chair along with the front door. On top of the table however was a white typewriter with a lone white sheet of paper sticking out of it. Then the third room contained a small gray couch and a table with a telephone on it. In the corner was a bed that was covered in tangled sheets and blankets, off in the back was a kitchen, and a restroom. Jan’s humble abode.

She was staring forward through the floor to ceiling windows that flanked the south wall of her apartment, seemingly at nothing. She was a skinny woman, wearing a baggy blue and white striped button down men’s dress shirt. It was un-tucked from her loose fitting pants. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her hair was tousled appearing as if she hadn’t brushed it in days.

She was surprised when she turned and saw a stern looking woman watching her from the ground.

“What are you doing up there?” the short, thin, blonde asked.

“Research.” It was the same voice that had been following James, this was the woman in his head, this was the woman narrating his life but he had yet to find this out himself.

Jan bent her knees and slid down onto the edge of the table, scooting her butt across it and letting her toes hit the ground, she stood up facing the woman who had just entered her apartment. “You must be my new secretary the publishers sent. I don’t need a secretary.”

“Actually I’m your personal assistant. My name is Angela Martin and I am here to serve you as you need me.”

Angela was a petite woman with straight blonde hair that she had pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a gray skirt with a white blouse covered by a pale rose colored cardigan. She had her hands clasped in front of her and was standing perfectly straight. She was the polar opposite of Jan at the moment.

Jan took out a tissue from her pants pocket and spit into it, Angela eyed her quite disgusted. Jan lifted the cigarette and placed it into the tissue wrapping it up and placing it carefully onto the table.

Angela brushed her eyes across the large table covered in empty cigarette cases and ashtrays. “Did you smoke all of these yourself?”

“No, they came pre-smoked.” Jan was cautious and feisty with this new woman who just entered her life unannounced.

“You know there’s something called a nicotine patch.”

“I don’t need a nicotine patch, I smoke cigarettes.” Jan ran her hands across her face then up through her hair. “I read this, in this fantastically depressing book, that when you jump from a building, it’s rarely the impact that actually kills you. I was just imagining James Halpert standing on a ledge of a building and him falling off. I’m just not sure how I would get him to the roof of a building.”

“Ok, so you need help getting him to a roof?”

“Have you ever thought about jumping off a roof top?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Did the publisher’s send you over here because they think I have writer’s block?” Jan crossed her arms in front of her and stood firmly in front of Angela.

“Do you?”

“Maybe…I just don’t know how I’m going to kill him.”

“Well, I have helped finish 23 books and never once been late or had to ask for an extension. So I think we can work this out together” Angela stepped closer to Jan and put her hand on her arm. “I will gladly and quietly help you kill James Halpert.”

“This coming from a woman who’s never even thought of leaping off of a building.” Jan looked warily at the petite woman. She didn’t like being pressured into writing, this wasn’t going to be pretty.

****

James was now surrounded by many business men who were all waiting for the crosswalk light to read WALK, when all of a sudden his wristwatch started to beep uncontrollably. The face of the wristwatch started blinking and turning off and on and the hands were moving quickly where minutes turned into seconds and hours into minutes.

James lifted his wrist to his ear and shook the watch, when it went dead. He gently took it off his wrist, pulled out the stem and pushed it back in. The wristwatch sprung back to life and the hands slowed down to their regular pace.

“Do you have the time?” He asked the short balding middle aged gentleman in front of him.

“5:34”

“Thanks” James then slipped it back onto his wrist and heard the voice.

Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.

James stopped his feet and tossed his head to the sky. “What? What? Hey! HELLOOO! What? Why? Why MY death? HELLO? Excuse me? WHEN?” The men surrounding James didn’t stop when the light read ‘walk’ and James began to yell towards the sky, and they didn’t stop when he asked about his death.

****

James was now sitting across from a rather old woman, and he began to wonder if all therapists were supposed to be old and weird looking. He had called the number that Dr. Bratton recommended and made an emergency appointment with this woman after hearing the voice imply his death was near.

She was very small, no taller than five feet, if even that. She had dark brown hair cut into a perfectly straight bob. There were strands of grey streaked throughout her hair showing her age. She wore small round spectacles on the edge of her nose and sat leaning over her chair with her legs crossed in front of James.

“A woman talking to you in your head…Schizophrenia”

“No, not to me, but about me. I’m somehow involved in some sort of story. Like I’m a character in my own life, but the problem is that the voice comes and goes. Like there are other parts of the story not being told to me, and I need to find out what those other parts are before it’s too late.”

“Ok, about you, in your head…sounds like schizophrenia.” She took her pen and rested it against her lips.

“No, no. I’m not a schizophrenic. It’s just a voice in my head. I mean, the voice isn’t telling me to do anything. It’s telling me what I’ve already done. Accurately, and with a better vocabulary.”

“Mr. Halpert. I hate to sound like a broken record, but that’s schizophrenia.”

“You don’t sound like a broken record, but it’s just not schizophrenia. What if what I said was true? Hypothetically speaking, if I was part of a story, a narrative, even if it was only in my mind, what would you suggest that I do?

“I would suggest that you take prescribed medication.”

“Ok…other than that.” James rested his hands on his knees and looked into the woman’s eyes pleading with her

“I suppose talk to a literary expert.”

“Oh that’s brilliant.” He stood up from the couch and reached out to shake her hand.

****

James stood in front of the college directory and ran his finger down the long list of names, falling just below a Professor Michael Scott, 13th down the list.

James opened the heavy wooden door and walked into the long empty corridor. He counted the doors on his left as he looked for room number 24. He stopped, 29 steps from the entrance, and lightly knocked on the door marked 24.

He heard a voice from inside, “Come in”

James walked in to see a man bent over the back of a reclining chair reaching for something.

“Um, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh…” Professor Scott was startled and the chair almost tipped backwards. James stepped forward and put his hand on the back of the seat. The professor stood up and ran his hands down his shirt. “Sorry bout that. Wow I’m such a clutz. Oh so you are…?” He reached his hand out to shake.

“Oh sorry, I’m James Halpert, I called you earlier.”

“Right, right. The narrator thingy. Ok so sit down.”

James pulled up the chair that the professor had been hanging over earlier and sat down pulling his overcoat around his waist. He eyed the room as the professor also found somewhere to sit.

It was a small office with a large bookcase filled with all sorts of books. His desk was covered with papers along with many toys. As James sat across from him he did notice an air of childlike wonder on the man’s face. There was a picture of the professor framed on his desk and it looked like he was dressed up like Monica Lewinsky, possibly for Halloween but James wasn’t sure.

Professor Scott leaned over and grabbed a white coffee mug and lifted it to his lips. The words “World’s Best Boss” were printed across the front of it.

“You probably think I’m crazy don’t you?” James rubbed his fingers across the back of his neck, scratching the skin gently.

“Well…Ok yes, maybe a little. Can I ask you to tell me about it? What happens when you hear it? What does the person say?”

James leaned back into the chair and recounted the actions and descriptions from the last couple of days. Professor Scott stared intently at James with his eyes never leaving the young man’s face.

“Ok, so I still think you’re a little crazy. I’m sorry I’m not sure I can help you.”

“Oh alright”, James stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, the usual tamed ‘do was now ruffled and loosely falling over his forehead. He stood up from the chair and shook the professor’s hand. “It’s just that I can’t get this one line out of my head…’ Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death’”

“Wait. Did you say ‘Little did he know’?”

“Yea, that’s what she said yesterday on my way home, ‘Little did he…’”

“Oh, then that means little do you know, that means there are things you don’t know. Oh this is good. You know I taught a lesson about little did he know? Wow…little did he know…” The professor trailed off and lifted his hand to his chin turning to stare out of the corner window.

“Um. Professor?”

“Oh please, call me Michael. Wow ok then maybe you are involved in something here, maybe this is bigger than we thought.” Michael clasped his hands together and began rubbing them back and forth. “Alright Jimbo let’s find out what kind of story you’re in!”