Monday, 0700 hours: The alarm set off – it was time to wake up. Another morning of chores, of heading to work, of having little else to look forward to. It was all eerily familiar, and he hated every bit of it. On the contrary, he always looked forward to evenings.

 

Raymond was the perfect assortment – quite literally, the complete man. His life revolved around his 9 to 5, but there was always more. A people’s person, he got along with just about everyone at work and was considered to be the nicest bloke around. His energy was outright infectious and whoever met him, instantly took a liking to him. But for all the extraversion and the charisma he exuded, there was always an air of mystery to the guy – the kind that worked in his favour.

There was more to Raymond, more to his day than a desk job and he claimed to enjoy it.

His colleagues at work never really knew what he did or where he went post work. For reasons unknown, he always maintained ‘it was personal’. But they were all happy for him. Happy because they knew he had struggled to settle in a whole new city and his homesickness was pretty obvious for the first few months.

“Four years since I left home,” he reminisced – preparing to leave for work. “And it still feels like it was yesterday.” He did miss his family at times, but this was home now.

1700 hours:

Raymond looked up and saw the clock strike 5. It was time to leave – the end of another day at work. He said his goodbyes and stepped out of the office. He figured he was going to be home late and shuddered at the thought as he recalled a headline from the morning paper – ‘Serial Killer on the Prowl. Another Man Dies. A series of killings had rocked the city over the past couple of months.

Seconds later, he shook it off and continued on his way to a café downtown. He was about to meet an old friend, or so he thought.

Flashback – 0715 hours – *Raymond receives a text on his phone* – ‘Good Morning Ray! I have something for you –Meet me at Café Riverdale today – 5:30pm. Regards, John’

John was one of Raymond’s oldest friends. They had known each other since school but hadn’t been in touch for more than a few months now. Raymond was pleasantly surprised and to some extent, confused. “What now?” he wondered.

1730 hours:

“Hello Raymond! It’s been so long,” he was greeted by a familiar voice.

“H-Hello”, he responded nervously.

He shouldn’t have had a reason to be nervous. Meeting an old friend was supposed to be pleasant, after all. But he was trembling from head to toe, sweating profusely, trying to make sense of what had unfolded.He settled on the adjacent chair.

It wasn’t John.

The man handed him a die and gestured for him to roll. Raymond obliged.

The die rolled for what felt like an eternity. It read ‘one’ when it did settle.

“That looks like the number for today. Doesn’t it Ray?”

Raymond nodded and hurried out of the café.

2000 hours:

He smirked as he entered the train terminal.

“This is it,” he said to no one in particular.

He saw a man take the escalator heading to the platform above and followed suit.

A deserted terminal and Raymond following another man – to anybody who knew the guy, this wouldn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. Why would it ever?They didn’t know him as well as they thought they did.

With no inkling of approaching danger, the man collapsed as Raymond stabbed him in the back. He looked around for no signs of witnesses and fled the scene in a rush.

2100 hours:

The bus terminal bore a deserted look. A few people scattered around, waiting for their rides.High on adrenaline, Raymond took the ride home feeling accomplished.

“No traces left behind. No CCTV cameras either. I should be okay” he thought.

Tuesday, 0700 hours:

Another dull day at work beckons. Followed by an eventful evening, surely?

The glass doors slid open as Raymond enters the building. He avoided the elevator, climb up to his office on the third floor – enclosed spaces made him excessively paranoid.

The morning paper highlighted yet another killing. Just then, his phone beeped.

A familiar text – ‘Café Riverdale – 5:30pm. Regards, John.’

He looked forward to meeting an old friend, or so he thought.

Back at Raymond’s residence, the police broke in. A few minutes into the search they discovered medical reports.

“This is messed up!” an officer remarked.

And in a moment, half of Raymond’s life became an illusion. Or was it completely so?