The Book Of Anonymous Chapter 5: Chapter 3: Him

Read chapter 5 of The Book Of Anonymous by Untethered_Seraph on NovelPedia.

"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life." ― Fitzgerald F. Scott, The Great Gatsby Through the glass window, Felix Corwin stood motionless, watching the last sliver of the pale moon dissolve behind the slated rooftops. The moon left a faint shadow trace before it finally disappeared, swallowed by the rising glow of a crimson sun bleeding slowly into the sky. Dong. Dong. Dong. The distant toll of a cathedral bell rolled across the city, low and hollow, its echoes clinging to the narrow streets below. Felix rested his fingertips against the cold glass of the window, feeling the faint tremor of the morning chill seep into his skin. Far beneath the apartment, the alley dogs barked relentlessly, as the first voices of early risers drifted upwards from murmured greetings to the scrape of carts and carriages and the dull rhythm of a waking city. Hallow City was rising. And with it, the hazy memories from last night. Felix had spent the entire night scrubbing the blood from the room floors, working until even the faintest stains had been erased. By dawn, almost nothing remained to suggest what had happened, not a trace nor evidence. Nothing except the journal he had found wedged between his wall and the bed frame. With a deep sigh, he snapped the journal in his hands shut. Deciphering it would be even harder now. The entries he knew he had seen the night before, pages filled with strange symbols and frantic writing, had mysteriously vanished. In their place were a few jagged nonsensical scribbles that had no meaning. None of it made sense. He slid the journal carefully into the drawer, fearing it might change again if he left it unattended, then reached instead for his mechanical toolkit. Metal clasps clicked softly as he opened the slightly rusty box. If last night had taught him anything, it was that some things couldn't be left neglected. For example, family. For now, his priority was simple. Fix the music box brooch his sister had given him. As he reached into his right pocket to retrieve the brooch, Felix paused. His fingers brushed against something cold and unfamiliar. Frowning slightly, he pulled it out. A pocket watch . He stared at it for a moment, his brow tightening as he turned it over in his hand. Strange. I am sure I left this on the bed last night. The thought lingered tirelessly as he sat in deep worry, A sudden laughter burst from him. It came out louder than he expected, sharp and uneven. His shoulders shook as he doubled slightly, one hand clutching his stomach. The sound twisted into something almost manic, his expression flickering through strained, unnatural shapes as he tried and failed to contain it. Eventually, his laughter broke free. He dragged in a long breath, filling his lungs until it almost hurt. For a moment, that was enough to fill him with relief. I almost died yesterday… His grip tightened around the pocket watch. No. He paused. I definitely died yesterday. "…What's the point in worrying about a few strange details?" he muttered under his breath, a faint, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's not like I can trust my memory anymore." The weight of this thought settled heavier than he expected. He remembered the blood, too much of it. The tearing pain. The glimpse of bone where his flesh should have been, skull exposed. He exhaled slowly, staring down at his hand as if expecting to see it unravel the same bloody scene. Whatever had happened, whatever had brought him back. It wasn't something he understood, but he was certain of one thing. He had been dead. But he was standing right here now, so he would make the most of it. Felix drew a magnifying glass from his toolbox and held the pocket watch up to the light. He squinted as the casing gleamed, a soft, muted silver that looked… too clean . It was definitely not plated nor an imitation. It was definitely Real . His fingers traced the fine indentations etched into i