[short story] The Missing Page in the Book

Maya stared down at the sheet of paper in front of her. There were more tear stains on it than words. She crumpled the sheet and threw it into the trash can and let out a frustrated scream, trying to let go of her angst in the process. Her father rushed in on hearing her cry. Maya looked at him with defeated eyes and said “I cannot, dad. I cannot write anymore. This is it. My career ends here.” Her father sat down next to her and held her until she quieted down. 

Alan McLean had been her favourite author since childhood. It was his books that had opened up the world of reading to her. It was his books that had kept her awake at night. It was his books that had inspired her to become an author. Maya’s mother had died when she was young - she was an only child raised by her father. With her father often away at work, Maya had a lonely childhood. Reading and writing were her defence mechanisms to loneliness, and it had worked out quite well. She had grown into a successful author, her first three books consistently topping the publishing charts. In all her acknowledgements and conversations with her fans, it was Alan who she referred to as her role model. And then one day, she found herself sitting on his couch. She had been invited to his office with an offer to collaborate on his latest novel. Alan’s manager had come across one of Maya’s interviews and had gauged her a deserving writer. Maya, of course, was only overjoyed at the opportunity. Sitting on Alan’s couch, Maya watched Alan as he stubbed the ashes of his cigarette. She wondered why so many writers were smokers. Maybe it helped, she thought. He must have been around sixty-five and was still writing best-sellers every year. She wondered if she should try it, but then quickly dismissed the idea after a mental glimpse of her father’s expression if he ever found out. 

In an attempt to initiate conversation, Maya asked Alan about his latest undertakings. Alan looked at her for a moment, a look that she could not fathom, and said that he had none. This surprised Maya. He went on to talk about how he was unable to write anymore due to his failing eyesight. Maya did not remember the rest of the conversation. All she remembered was waking up at a hospital, engulfed in intense physical pain and the overwhelming feeling that something was really wrong. Attempting to think back, all she could remember was a sudden wave of drowsiness overcoming her as Alan talked about his old-age troubles, and her mind frantically trying to stay awake. 

Four months later, Maya still did not know what had happened in the missing time - she only had the insuppressible gut feeling that it was something horrible. The hospital staff told her that she was dropped off at the hospital in a semi-conscious state by a middle-aged man. Attempting to contact Alan’s office had turned out hopeless as well - her calls were not returned. Maya had no idea who the man was or why she had been taken to the hospital. While she recovered quickly with no signs of illness or injury, since that day, Maya’s life had been a book with a missing page, and Maya was now unable to comprehend the rest of the book. Every time she sat down to write, her mind went back to fruitlessly trying to piece together memories of that one day four months ago and rendered her incapable of writing what she intended to. Now, in her father’s arms, Maya decided that she needed answers. She could not go on like this. She made up her mind to go to Alan’s office the next day and inquire about that fateful day. 

The next morning, Maya felt significantly lighter knowing that she was going to know the truth at last. She wondered why she had not done this earlier. As she walked into the building, she thought about her upcoming deadlines set by the publishers, and how she was highly unlikely to meet them, owing to her newfound writer’s block. The office, to her confusion, was deserted. She felt her heart sink immediately. This was supposed to her last chance.  All the furniture was still there, but no people, no computers, no lights. Maya was befuddled. She went on ahead to Alan’s office, not knowing what she was expecting. There was no one, except Alan’s desk, and the couch she had sat on. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, so did a lot of others. A flurry of memories hit Maya in a split-second. The pain, the screams, the begging. She fell to the floor, unable to think or process. But it was clear to her now. The couch in Alan’s office. The couch she had sat on. The couch she had been raped on. By her idol. It all came back to her. Realizing that that ‘drink’ that had been offered to her was possibly spiked. Screaming for help in a semi-conscious state as Alan took off his belt. Begging him to let her go as he dropped his pants. Then, it was all a blur. Pain and agony. Splotchy memories of Alan leaving in a hurry and his manager later finding her naked in Alan’s office. Being carried downstairs with continuous whispers of “It will be okay, please stay strong” and “I am taking you to the hospital, Miss Maya” from the manager. With the whole scene playing in her mind on loop, Maya grabbed a dusty notebook from Alan’s mostly barren desk. She started writing. She wrote at a speed that she did not know she was capable of. This time, the page of the notebook was completely drenched in tears. But also - words. Words describing the ache and torment bursting forth inside her. Words that questioned everything she believed in, everything she held dear. She sat there on the floor of Alan’s office for hours, until her words were enough to describe to the baseness of the world she was living in.