Page 88 of Hide and Seek
That was a rookie mistake, and I study the board for a few minutes before deciding on my next move. If all goes according to plan, I should have him in four moves.
Satisfied that there are no rogue pieces who’ll swoop in and mess with my plan, I step back from my dresser so I can put my shower stuff away.
Something on my desk catches my eye as I’m heading back to where I dropped my toiletries basket, and I whirl on it like I’m expecting whatever it is to explode or get up and start chasing me around the room.
Laid out on the space between the edge of my desk and the bottom of my keyboard is a long black box, sort of like a necklace box but taller. An identical box about half the size sits on top of it, and next them is my puzzle box.
Curious, I walk over to my desk and stare at the boxes for a few beats. Is this some sort of game? Or maybe it’s a clue? It doesn’t look like they were placed there for any particular reason, and I carefully pick up the smaller box.
It’s heavier than I expected, and I brace for…something as I slowly flip the top up.
Inside is what looks like a folded silver knife, but it’s not a typical pocketknife or a switchblade or anything I recognize. It’s about the length of my palm, and both the blade and the handle are curved, so it looks a bit like an oval folded up. There’s a protrusion on both the top and the bottom of the blade right next to the handle, which also has a ring on the end of it like a finger loop.
Carefully, I pull the blade out and snap it into place. It moves smoothly and with very little resistance, and the blade is thick and curved with a pointy end and sharpened edges.
The knife isn’t heavy, and the shape fits comfortably in my hand, but even though it looks like I could inflict a lot of damage on someone, there’s something off with it.
As a test, I run the blade over a page in my scribble book, which is just a notebook I keep next to my computer so I can write notes to myself or doodle in when I’m bored. The blade leaves an indent in the paper but doesn’t cut it.
That’s weird. Why would he give me a knife that can’t even cut paper?
Making sure I don’t pinch my fingers in the mechanism, I fold the blade and put the knife back in the box. Then I pick up the larger box and slowly lift the top.
Inside is another knife, only this one is nestled in a leather sheath.
Carefully, I pull the knife free of the sheath. The blade is about six inches long, but with the handle and hilt, the knife is probably closer to ten inches. It’s also gorgeous, with a black handle inlaid with intricate silver filigree and a silver and black twisted blade that looks as dangerous as it is interesting.
The edges on this knife look razor sharp, and I carefully run it over the same piece of paper I tested the other knife on.
The blade doesn’t just cut that piece; it slices through multiple layers of paper, and I’m barely putting any pressure on it.
I slip the blade back into the sheath and put it on my desk.
Why did he give me a knife that’s so dull it can’t cut anything and one that’s so sharp it could probably cut anything? Is that some sort of message or clue?
Nothing comes to mind, and instead of driving myself crazy trying to figure out what he means by the knives, I pick up my puzzle box and examine it.
It doesn’t feel any heavier, and the rattle from inside tells me the key I stored in it is still in there, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t put something in with it.
I’ve solved the box so many times I can do it in my sleep, and I quickly perform the series of moves and manipulations to get it open. Inside is the key, but there’s also a rolled piece of paper, like a small scroll, tucked in there with it.
Being gentle in case it’s fragile, I pull the paper out and put the box back on my desk. The paper is different from standard computer paper or a page from a notebook. It looks vintage, and the thick texture and jagged edges remind me of antique parchment paper as I carefully undo the roll.
On it is a simple message in the most beautiful calligraphy I’ve ever seen:Happy Birthday, Myles.
That sensation of being watched, which has become such a normal part of my life that I barely notice it anymore, intensifies, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up as goosebumps rise on my skin.
Slowly, I turn around and face my closet.
The familiar figure leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed and one leg bent in a casual pose is dressed all in black, with his oversized hood up and hanging low over his face. I only have my desk and bedside lamps on, so circles of light from them don’t reach where he’s standing, and he’s completely shrouded in darkness.
“You got me birthday presents?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.
It doesn’t escape me that my first reaction is to be touched and not to freak out that he’s in my room and was waiting for me.
“Isn’t that what people do on birthdays?” His voice is soft and teasing, and so different from how he usually sounds that I can’t stop the sad smile I feel tilting my lips.
“Usually,” I say. “But considering you’re the only person who actually gave me anything this year…” I swallow the stupid lump in my throat. I refuse to get emotional over something as shallow as not getting any birthday presents.
