Archive for March 30, 2012
She flew over and peeked out the peephole. She couldn’t see anyone in the hallway which struck her as odd since she’d gotten to the door so quickly. She took off the chain and opened it, looking down the hall to either side. It was empty. She glanced down and saw a small, rectangular box placed perfectly in the middle of the floor as if it had been set there very carefully. She hesitated before picking it up. Her full name was written on the top in cursive, the penmanship beautiful and flowing.
It looked like some kind of jewelry box. She took it to the table and set it down in front of her, regarding it for a few minutes. As long as she didn’t know what was in it there was the possibility that it could be from Wil, and despite her anger and hurt and rejection she found that she desperately, pathetically wanted it to be from Wil.
Curiosity eventually got the better of her and so she lifted off the top and peered inside.
Within lay a pendant on a black cord necklace. She lifted it out carefully. The pendant was some kind of very hard clay or ceramic, and three-cornered. It resembled a crude stylized fox head.
Everything was just getting more strange. She had no idea who would give her a fox necklace. Or how the person who’d dropped it off had managed to get out of the hall so quickly and silently. She was second from the farthest end. If anyone had ducked into the outer stairwell she would certainly have heard the door, which was large with loud hydraulics.
She tucked the necklace back in the box and took it to the kitchen. She had a small drawer she reserved for things she wanted to keep track of. She tucked the box in the front but as she was about to close the drawer again something unfamiliar caught her eye. There was a dark shape sticking out slightly from under a sheet of paper a bit further back. Since her organization system for this drawer was to shove things in haphazardly it was a mess but it didn’t usually contain anything but paper. She shifted the sheet in question and jerked her hand back as what it concealed came into view.
A gun. There was a gun in her drawer.
She’d never owned a gun. She’d never held a gun. Yet there was a gun in front of her, in her home, in a drawer she reserved for things she felt were important. She stared at it in shock, wondering how, how such a thing came to be in her possession. There was no way she’d have a gun in her home voluntarily.
She grabbed a paper towel and gingerly picked up the gun by the grip, careful not to get any of her fingerprints on it. She carried it to the table. It was a handgun, she guessed, small, black and sleek. She didn’t know anything about guns in general but this one seemed fairly small, the word ‘STONE’ spelled out along the top of the grip. She pulled her laptop over and after a quick Google search determined that it was a Stone LCP; a very small pistol designed for concealed carry and self-defense. She picked it up again, a bit surprised at how lightweight it was. The site said it was made of steel and polymer and she had to admit that it was a tiny bit thrilling to be holding a gun. Thrilling or not, though, she knew she had to turn it over to the police. Whatever invisible things were going on with her this gun was solid, real and undeniable.
She carried it over to the kitchen counter and got a freezer bag to put it in until the police took it. As she began to slide it into the baggie she noticed some writing on the other side of the barrel. She pulled it back out and looked at it more closely. There on the barrel, engraved in fancy script, was her full name.
She dropped the gun. It bounced onto the counter and into the sink. She flinched back but it didn’t go off. She wiped her hands against her jeans as if to clean them of any association with the gun, mind whirling. It was one thing, inexplicable and unsettling as it was, to find a gun in her home. It was another to find a gun that was clearly meant for her in her home. That was more than unsettling. And how was she going to report a gun with her name on it to the police?
Someone else had to have been in her apartment. She leaned back against the cupboards behind her and sank down onto the floor, knees drawn up against her chest. She was so tired of this constant barrage of frightening and strange things happening to her. It seemed as if she’d been thrown into a nightmare where the world no longer made sense. Someone knows, she thought to herself. There is someone out there who knows.