(Story for Writer’s Digest Contest #14 (750 words max)
Prompt: “A man receives a package with no return address.
It contains a pirate-style eye patch and a note.”)
Threatening footsteps echoed in the hallway and stopped at my door. I turned off
the lights. The wind howled, as rain pelted against the windows. A narrow rivulet
ran under my door from the hall. A heavy knock rattled the doorknob.
“Special delivery for John Doe.”
I stood silent. He hammered again.
“Wrong address,” I whispered with annoyance.
“Right address. Open up.”
Some witness protection program, I thought, then said, “Just return it.”
“Can’t, no return address.”
“Just leave it!”
“Can’t. You gotta sign.”
“Fine! Slip it under the door.”
I turned the light on but moved to the other side of the door, in case he had a
surprise for me. A generic receipt appeared. No clue who’d sent it. I found a pen
and scribbled “John Doe,” then fed it back. He laid heavy steps, clomping down
the stairs.
Looking through a rain-blurred window, I watched a large man with a cap and
ponytail cross the street and disappear.
I ran to the door and brought in the small, brown package. I placed it on the
table, and I sat in my only chair. Too light for a bomb. I opened it. It couldn’t be! It
was unmistakable—Vinnie the Viper’s eye patch. Someone had killed him, or he’d
gotten a glass eye. But who cared if I knew he was dead? Better yet, how did
they find me?
In the bottom of the package, made from the same brown paper, sealed with
scotch tape, a folded note sat. My eyes closed as I fanned it near my nose:
Burberry’s Weekend. Laura’s perfume. I sighed, opened my eyes, and split the
seal.
Darling,
Yes, it’s true. He is no more and those around him have lost interest in you. But, I
will never stop loving you. Yet, we must wait. Be patient! Please.
All my hopeful love,
Laura
I starred at the note. Read and reread it. Counted 36 words and twelve points of
punctuation. Red symbol. Written in black with a firm hand, embossing the paper.
I stumbled to the window and slammed it open. I resisted a gut-wrenching urge to
scream out to the man who’d brought the note.
For days, I couldn’t sleep. I paced as if caged, obsessing about Laura. Then
finally, my contact, Detective O’Brian showed up.
“Good news, Russ.” He looked me up and down. “When’s the last time you
slept?” He glanced at the table. “What’s this?” O’Brian lifted the eye patch. “We’
ve been looking for this.” He pulled out a white handkerchief, wrapped it, and
pocketed it.
He peered at me from under the brim of his hat. “Did you?”
At first, I didn’t understand his insinuation, then said, “Oh, no, no.” I sat down.
“So, Vinnie is really dead?”
O’Brian nodded. “Murdered. Professional job. You must have one friend left.
Now, get your stuff.”
I patted my back pocket for Laura’s note. “I’ve got all I want.”
“Then let’s get you processed out of the program.”
Later, back in my old home, I studied the news accounts of Vinnie’s murder, and I
spent hours walking the city, searching for Laura.
One night, discouraged, I reread Laura’s note, 36 words and twelve points of
punctuation and—the red symbol. It was the slanted leg of a letter. It was an “R.”
A brown paper bag from a Ralph’s grocery store!
In the phone book, I found six listings for Ralph’s stores. Day and night, I watched
each store for a week. An entire month went by. Then, one day, I saw him, the
man in the alley, the cap and ponytail. He went in the store and later came out,
holding two bags of groceries.
I followed him to “Mail Boxes R Us.” He was an employee. He stuffed the bags into
a large box and locked it. I’d found Laura!
Close to midnight, Laura peddled up the street, a basket mounted to the front of
her bicycle. My Laura, she wore a scarf. Her ears always hurt in the slightest
cold. She dismounted and ran to the door, but when she placed her hand on the
handle, I rushed from around the corner and sealed mine on top of hers.
“Oh! Russell! How, how….” She latched onto me as if she would never let go. We
kissed and hugged and kissed again.
“We’re together again. Finally!” I said.
Wailing, police cars swarmed around us. Laura pounded on my chest,
screaming, “Damn you, I told you to be patient!”
The End
Be Patient
(2008) (Unpublished)
A Short Story by Russell Traughber
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