The Little Man Who Wasn't There Novels & Stories

He’d be here in half an hour. I got to work setting up the scene. I wasn’t a chef, but I could boil pasta and throw some pre-made marinara sauce in a pan. I put on a playlist of mellow indie music—the kind of stuff I’d seen on his Spotify profile when I sneaked a glance at his phone. By the time the doorbell rang, the apartment smelled like garlic, and the lighting was low and relaxed. I opened the door, and Nathan was standing there, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked a little tired from the lack of sleep, but the second he saw me, a soft smile touched his lips.

The kind of sentence that is the kind of sentence a man writes when something is wrong. I look at the sticky note. I look at the mugs. I look at the scrub top. I look at Lincoln. Lincoln is looking at me. Lincoln is doing the small thing of a small dog who has been left alone in an apartment and who is going to be alone in an apartment for a while, in the way that small dogs are left alone in apartments when men are called to hospitals.

But now Julian was telling me that the man that night was not him. If it wasn’t Julian, then who was the man who called me Little Lo so gently and treated me with such care?

They came without talking, which was wrong, because a crowd that size makes noise and this one made none, and the only sound in the whole courtyard was the fire working under the rock and the wind off the wall. Mina set me at the front, against the edge of the cleared ring, and stood at my left shoulder. "It's starting," she said, barely a breath. "Don't talk now." An old man came out onto the stone. He was small, bent, bare-armed in a cold that should have finished a man his age. White paste covered his face from the hairline down, dried and split at the creases so the dark skin showed through in cracks. Small bones hung at his throat. He carried a black iron bowl against his hip in both ha

Maybe because nobody had said them to me in a very long time and meant it. "I will," I said. Marcus was waiting for me at the bottom of a narrow staircase on the south side of the house that I had not known existed. He was a big quiet man with close cropped hair and a scar that ran exactly where Damien said it would. He looked at me once, nodded, and started walking. I followed. The south exit came out through a garden behind a row of thick hedges and onto a side street where a plain grey car was waiting with the engine already running. Nothing expensive. Nothing noticeable. Just an ordinary car that nobody would look at twice.

Coins. A few. Not many. “Stay alive,” he said. That was it. No explanation. No goodbye. He turned and walked away. Just like that. “Wait—!” I called out. He didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. Didn’t even slow down. Within seconds, he disappeared into the darkness. Like he was never there. I stood there, frozen. The coins felt heavy in my small hand. The noise of the market surrounded me. Strangers walked past. No one looked at me.

The man in the middle, spoke in a gentle voice. Miss Charles swallowed her saliva, and forced a smile. “ He is in the toilet doing funny business. Just give him one hour, he will be here just as he promised.” [•] Hands curled around the iron bars of the small window, the only path of light rays and air for the frail man that stood in front of the window. All he could see was tall trees and nothing more. Buzz...

- She moved away, looking around with a motherly look, noted: - She has become thin. — Mom, what could you see under winter clothes? Lily was surprised. “Lily, I can see your haggard face. The dialogue was interrupted by an alarmed cry: "He's about to jump!" These words made everyone switch. In the window of the third floor above the waiting room, a thin, tall man was standing. A crowd of onlookers formed instantly: someone filmed on the phone, others excitedly watched every movement of the man in the window. Spreading his arms to the sides, he pushed off, as if jumping from a tower into the water. Loud cries calling for calm, women's squeals, a thud on the asphalt ...

Don't say I'm here. Ryan laughs. The girl was fun. He stands up as footsteps approach. - oh! Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Did you happen to see a little one around here? Ryan, pointing back, replies: - I haven't seen any girls around here. The woman smiles, understanding Ryan's gesture. - Where did she hide? - She says, smiling and advancing to the tree. Quickly, she throws her arms and catches the little girl, who screams. As she holds her, she tickles her and the girl giggles.