Short Story: Chump loves to read

“Ms. Deborah Willington was an ordinary middle aged lady. Kind and humble, slow and forgetful. Her neighbors were very fond of her, except Harold who had an allergy to dogs.”
Uncomfortably wiping his sweaty brow, Chump had a strange kind of satisfaction on his face. Reading these title-less books was all he ever did, apart from the natural and professional commitments which he had to fulfill.
Not to say, working in the Police Department as a clerk had many commitments to start with. He had few friends and fewer human interactions.
Loud banging on the desk disturbed the serene satisfaction on his face. It was the angry plump face of Darrel, waving a big ruffed up folder in front of his face. He yelled some words in Chump’s direction, but he was too disoriented and off guard to register any words.
When Darrel left, he sighed deeply. Every human interaction left him filled with adrenaline, especially if it’s one of these strong hard headed police officers. One glance at the folder and he knew he was to compile another victim profile from the little tidbits they were able to collect. It was always up to him to fill in the missing details and piece together all facts and make a smooth victim profile. It was all the mundane crimes and all the mundane “victims”. Chump chuckles a bit to himself. “Victims” of theft and mugging, hell, even people who lost their cats were referred to as “victims”. They were profiled and a file created on them for any future reference, at least that’s what the government said.
But this was different, a lot of cases lately were murder cases. These types of cases deserved full attention from him, these were the real victims he joined the law enforcement to help out.
Lately, the officers had appeared to be very annoyed and frustrated. At lunch time he was with one of his few friends, a mute boy who transferred files from place to place. Cafeteria is what kept him connected to what was transpiring in the office. Not that he was interested in the petty office politics playing out in the office daily, but it helped him be prepared and rehearse his sentences when he had to converse with any of the officers.
Today, he came to know about how the case Darrel is heading is turning out to be a tough one. There has been 11 murders and they have no clue, no pattern to work with. They are trying to solve it from last month, funnily that’s when he got transferred here. Maybe that’s why he was bullied the first week here.
He is handed over another folder at lunch. It’s 12 people now.
Next couple of days, he works really hard to finish up the victim profiles and case files. It’s 14 people dead already and there’s still no clue. He might not be dealing with the stressful site work, smelling dead bodies and consoling inconsolable relatives, but he didn’t find any time in the past couple of days to read a book, the only hobby he had. He still had to complete one case file, but he left it at the desk and nervously raced his old clunky car home. Sat down with one of his books and read it like a greedy little kid devouring an ice cream sundae.
He is so close to the end, just a couple of pages and he will be out of books to read. DING-DONG!!!!! A loud doorbell demands his attention, he tries to just finish off the book, to consume the end before entering the real, boring world he happened to live in. DING-DONG!!!!!!!!!!!!! Puts down his book with a hint of anger on hi face. He finds Darell at the door, with the same burgundy folder he intentionally left back at work. A low sinking feeling in his heart, at all the ways he might have angered the already agitated muscle man. He invites him in, the slight anger on his face turning to evident guilt. Darell doesn’t look pleased, and shoves the folder with an overly aggressive push in his hand.
“Give me 10 minutes, I will be right back. You can make yourself comfortable here.” Leaves him in the drawing room and withdraws into the study. Darell’s anger vanishes as he realizes he just bullied a grown man at 11 in the night, to drop everything and do his work. He was struggling with the case and had vent out a little on Chump the previous day as well. Only if he could find some clue, some pattern to work with. The only thing they know is, all the people who died had some sort of criminal background, big or small. Maybe someone was killing criminals to take revenge, but who would kill someone who stole a smartphone from an apple store.
He begins to wander around the drawing, restless. There’s a very big bookshelf in the corner, which appears as if extending into nothingness. He starts to browse through it. All of the books have similar covers, but peculiarly no title, just authors. The first one was “ By Ted Lewis”. He picked it up and read a few lines, it read very mundane, it went on and on about some person called Ted. Probably the same person who wrote the book.
He was about to return to the couch, as it felt a little chilly in this corner of the room, but something drew his attention. What was that name, “Tamen Roring”, that was the first victim in his case. Surely, this must be a coincidence, he picks it up and reads the first page, it matched the victims description perfectly.
He dropped it in disbelief, how does Chump have a 200+ pages book on one of his victims; is it just one of his victims?
He frantically starts searching the rack only to find “ By Jace Alchemy”, “ By Abby Williams”, “ By Joyce Smith”. He keeps on looking for more and more books, moving into the darker end. The visibility is low and it’s very chilly in there. His hands start shaking a bit, maybe it’s the odd situation he is in. THUMP!!!!! He falls unconscious on the ground.
Chump almost hit a car while speeding to work the next morning. He was very late for work today. A book he started yesterday was very interesting and he got caught up late into the night. When he reaches office, there’s a commotion, apparently Darell is not reachable from last night. Chump ignores the commotion, there’s still 1 chapter left before he gets back to the boring world he lives in. He finds a silent corner in his office and gets to read. He has read the last chapter many times, but it’s always the best part.
“Mr. Darell Jacobs was good hardworking man. Albeit, a little loose on manners and a little big on curiosity. It’s funny how he became the book number 15 just when he got hold of the 14th one.”
