(Fan) Fiction

Wake up.

Drive to work.

Work.

Come home.

Write FanFiction.

Go to bed.

Day after day, and the same thing to report. And yet, when she decided to take a day off, bought a salad, or took out the garbage, it was important.

I was told this job would be boring, but I underestimated how easily I would be bored.

“Sal,” I said to my partner. Or my superior, as he would put it. “Tell me again why this girl is a 'danger to our national security?'”

He groaned. It wasn’t like I asked much, especially in the beginning. I was expecting him to say something like she was communicating with terrorists, or she wasn’t a threat yet and someone from the future warned him.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Rose,” Sal said, prepping himself for another sip of coffee. “That little black book she carries around—”

“Yes, I get it.” I ran through his textbook answer a million times before; from him saying it so much, and in my head trying to make sense of it. “But it looked like scribbles and nonsense.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t report her broken locker to loss prevention.” He looked at me, pointing with his finger with the cup in his hand. “And I didn’t report you to the head honchos.”

“She writes FanFiction, so what? Millions of people do it every day! What makes her so special?!”

Sal took a long sip of his coffee like it would be a cigarette if his health would allow it.

He looked into the almost empty cup and sighed with his last sip.

“You know who we work for.” He said. “We don’t have legal ground to stand on. Yet the gates of Hell would open if she published what she had in that little black book.”

“What do you mean?” He’d never given me such a direct answer before, or not so indirectly direct.

“I mean, we’re dealing with forces we don’t understand.” I groaned. There he went again, giving half-assed answers.

“Sal, I’m starting to think even you don’t even understand why we’re following this girl.” I picked up my tea and took a long sip of my own. Silence was better than bullshit.

“That’s the thing, kid.” He looked at me. “I don’t.”

He looked through the windshield, and I did the same, seeing the girl walking out of work quickly into her car to avoid the rain. We both put down our drinks and watched as she warmed up the car and fiddled with her phone.

“So, that's it then?” I asked. “We watch and pray she doesn’t publish whatever she has?”

“Her social media said she plans on releasing her stuff soon. Meaning, we’re out of time.” Sal pointed to the backseat with his thumb as he followed the girl driving. “See that briefcase?”

I looked and saw it, a very standard, plain, black briefcase.

“Let me guess, there’s a million dollars in there.” Sal snorted.

“A million? No, our department isn’t that rich.”

We stopped at a red light as the girl drove ahead. In the movies, we’d be running it, but we weren’t paid enough to risk our lives like that, and we knew where she lived. Plus, maybe the money in the back had something to do with Sal’s less than reckless driving today.

“How much?” I asked.

The light turned green and Sal continued onward to her street.

“Twenty grand.” He answered as he drove into the girl's building parking lot. “It's not much, but these broke writers will take what they can get. Twenty grand is a lot to them.”

Twenty grand was a lot to me. It would change my life right now, pay a lot of debts.

“So, what's with the dramatics of the briefcase?" I asked as we found her car and parked beside her. Thankfully, she was still in the car.

“How else do you see this transaction going? E-Transfer?” I laughed.

“You’re right. A briefcase full of cash is way more dramatic.” Sal pressed his lips into a line as he took another drink of his coffee, covering his smile. The only time he’d let me see him smile or laugh was if it was at mine or someone else’s expense.

He must be great at parties. I thought as I pictured him hosting a barbecue, flipping burgers with a Kiss the Cook apron, serious as anything while people complimented the food. I smiled in humour and took another sip of my tea when I saw her getting out of the car.

“Go time,” Sal said, handing me a matching umbrella to his and getting out of the still-running car. I followed soon after.

The girl got closer, closer than I realized I’d ever been to her in the past few weeks.

“Excuse me!” Sal called after her.

The girl turned, eyes wide. I couldn’t tell if she was scared from being approached by a strange, tall, balding man, or annoyed that she couldn’t go home in peace and wanted to stab him.

“Do you have a minute?” Sal smiled politely, but it didn't phase her.

“No, sorry I'm in a rush.” She turned and kept walking.

"It'll only take a minute!" I saw her fiddling with something in her pocket, probably her keys in case Sal became violent.

“Miss?” I called, drawing attention that a woman was nearby. She turned, calmer now and approached, handing her my umbrella. “I apologize for my friend, Sal thought you looked familiar.”

“To who?” She asked, curiously.

“We’re looking for the FanFiction writer who goes by the name of StarlaWolfe1623?” The girl gasped.

“That’s me!” She beamed in excitement. “Well, that's not my real name, but oh my god, you recognized me here? I thought all my fans moved on, especially since it’s suddenly cool to hate Gina's Spell!”

“Not Sal!” I put my hand on his shoulder. “He’s in love with all your works.”

I could feel Sal’s hate emanating off of him, but he maintained his less than convincing smile. The girl didn’t care though, she was ecstatic to be recognized.

“Thank you so much!” She smiled. “You just made my day, thank you.” She looked so happy like she could cry.

I knew it was in the job description to lie, but I didn’t like doing it. She seemed like a genuine person, especially now.

“You know,” Sal finally spoke. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to finish your prequel, Gina's Curse: Before the Spell.”

“Oh! Well, I'm publishing the rest of that soon!” She held up the little black book in her jacket. “I have my notes ready to go in here! I just need to write and publish the rest!"

“Actually,” Sal was now down to business. “Rose and I represent Robin Publishing, the publisher of Gina’s Spell.”

“Oh! Okay?” The girl looked only slightly optimistic now.

“Well, we loved what you had so far of Gina’s Curse.” Sal tried to soften what came next. “You managed to capture every character so perfectly, the backstory is flawless, even her personality before she casts the spell on the—”

“Sir, it’s FanFiction." She interrupted, like she knew where this was going. "I make no profit. I’m well within my right to write and publish what I wish.” She was smart. A smart girl doing something for fun, yet here was Sal ready to crush her dreams.

“Oh! No!” Sal chuckled. “No no, you’re not breaking any rules, Miss. But, we do have a proposal for you.”

Sal motioned for me to take out the briefcase of money from the back. I put it on the hood of the car and opened it.

“Twenty grand,” Sal said. “For you to stop writing Gina’s Curse.”

The girl was silent. Staring at the money.

“I… I don’t understand.” She said.

I closed the case so it wouldn’t get any wetter from the rain.

“Coraline O’Hara, you know her as the writer of Gina’s Spell, is considering writing a prequel as well. Answer the questions the fans want answers to.” Sal explained.

“And… You want to pay me to not write my fan-made prequel?”

“Well, you’ll have to delete the story online too. We don't want any others online when her's is released.” Sal smiled and took the case from me. “Do it and you’ll be set for about two years of rent. Easiest money you’ll ever make, and without taxes.”

The girl stared at the case, then at her little black book, flipping the pages of her hard work.

“So, let me get this straight.” She wasn’t looking at us, still. “I delete the story, hand over this book, all my hard work, something that I made up O'Hara will take, and you pay me twenty-thousand dollars?”

“Actually, your version will be destroyed. O'Hara won't see it. But otherwise, yes.” Sal nodded, holding out the case again.

She looked so disappointed and confused, but money talks. She was putting years of effort into something that would never turn profits, and here we were giving her money to take it all down without much of an explanation.

The girl sighed.

“Okay.” She whispered, handing the book to me with her shaking hands. I took it, expecting even some resistance, but she didn’t have any.

The girl then took out her phone and showed us a screen saying her story didn’t exist any longer on the site. Sal handed her the briefcase and she held it to her chest as she did with the little black book before.

“Nice doing business with you, Miss,” Sal said as he got into the car. I followed close behind, glad to be out of the rain.

“So,” I said as I put my seatbelt back on. “Who do we have to crush next for O’Hara?”

“What do you mean?” Sal asked as he backed up.

“The other people online who have also written prequels to Gina’s Spell. Are they also getting twenty grand?”

Sal snorted.

“O'Hara's not interested in writing a prequel. And our department isn’t rich, remember?” Before I could ask for an explanation, he spoke again. “Rose, you’ve been asking why this girl is so special. Well, it's the little black book you’re holding and her imagination.”

“What do you mean?”

Sal was silent for a second as he drove onto the highway. I had a feeling, finally, he'd answer my questions now that the job was done.

“When Miss O’Hara wrote Gina’s Spell, she did so on a napkin." He said, "Every character, plot, and detail. Gina’s Spell was only the middle of the story, meaning some events never made it to the page, except on that napkin, which she burned shortly after finishing the last book.”

“What does that have to do with the girl?” I sat practically at the edge of my seat. But Sal looked pale. Like his answer… scared him?

“She got it right.” He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

“What?”

“Rose,” Sal took the book in his hand, eyes still on the road. “There were characters never mentioned in the Gina series that she knew about, that she, somehow, made up and wrote in here. Down to the colour of their eyes. With the only source of this original story destroyed, this girl just came up with it.”

That was freaky. I knew that some writers of film and books probably left hints of backstories all the time, but it was impossible anyone but O'Hara would know.

“Isn’t it just FanFiction though?” I asked. “Or she could have hacked into O’Hara’s computer or—”

“No.” Sal shook his head. “We looked into every possible angle. And with the evidence destroyed, no connections, and O’Hara not even wanting to write the prequel so having nothing written, this girl somehow wrote the canonical prequel to Gina’s Spell with just her imagination... Tell me, Rose, could a girl like that be capable of something worse?"