Page 58 of A Box of Wishes
“That box must be crammed full of paper.”
“Maybe.”
Ben leaned until his shoulder touched Ryan’s, relieved when Ryan relaxed and gave him a little of his weight. He moved stiffly, and Ben wasn’t sure whether pain or irritation had prompted that change.
“We should check that,” Tarbert said.
Ryan went rigid. “If you’re going to ask me to open the box, you can spare your breath. I’ve put the box away and won’t bring it back out until the autumn equinox.”
“That’s next September.”
“Correct.”
Ben hadn’t forgotten how Ryan had reacted the last time they’d discussed opening the box. It was a topic that made Ryan uncomfortable, and as far as Ben was concerned, he’d suffered enough discomfort for a while. He tried to catch Tarbert’s eye, but his governor was focussed on his notes.
“Surely that’s—”
“Let me ask you something, inspector. If you were investigating a crime in a church, would you ask the priest to open a shrine?”
“Would I what?”
“Break into a shrine?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not?”
Tarbert sputtered. Ben remembered the first time he’d seen the box in action. He’d watched an elderly woman write a wish and place it into the box. Witnessing the event had left him feeling like a voyeur, and it had only occurred to him later that he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if he’d been in a church instead of a coffeehouse.
“I might ask to have a shrine opened if someone’s life was in immediate danger,” Tarbert said. “I’d not disturb the dead at any other time.” He took a breath. “You’re saying that you regard the box as something… sacred?”
Ryan leaned his elbows on the table and scrubbed both hands over his face. “I have no idea,” he said again. “It’s a box. And treating it as anythingbuta box is completely cuckoo.”
“Then—”
“No. Wait. I can’t explain it, nor do I try to. I found the box years ago in Ireland. I wasn’t looking for it, but the moment I set eyes on it I knew it was mine. That it would help me help other people. Because I can feel if someone is truly desperate. So desperate that they need… a miracle. If that happens, I give them a square of coloured paper and a pen. I ask them to write a wish and place the paper in the box.”
“And they get the help they asked for?”
“They do,” Ben chipped in. “In one way or another.” He held Tarbert’s gaze. “A few weeks ago, I found Morris on my doorstep, unresponsive and covered in blood. He’d clearly been in an accident. I took him to the vet and then I came here. I was convinced there was nothing the vet could do, and that Morris would die. Ryan made me write a wish. And a few hours later, the vet told me that what I’d thought was blood had been red paint. That it had burned Morris’s skin, and that he’d poisoned himself trying to lick it off his fur.” Ben’s hands shook with remembered fear, and he was grateful when Ryan twined their fingers. “Sir, I can tell blood from paint. I know what I saw, and I know what I was afraid of. But I wrote a wish and asked for help when Ryan told me to. And as you can see… Morris is fine.”
To Ben’s relief Tarbert didn’t laugh. He took a sip of coffee, set the cup back into its saucer and regarded Ryan. “If you were to open the box, the wish Ben wrote would be in it?”
Ryan shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve never checked what happens to the wishes.” He held up the carafe and Tarbert nodded and lifted his cup for a refill.
They sat in silence until Tarbert had finished his coffee. “Unexplained phenomena are not part of our brief,” he said in the end. “Nor is the desecration of sacred objects. But there’s still the matter of someone reporting you as a drug dealer, and someone else searching for a recipe. The two men who attacked you have been charged with assault and we’re checking their background. If you could try and remember the names of people who used the box, that might also help.”
“Thank you, I will,” Ryan said. The angry, frustrated frown remained on his face, and Ben couldn’t think of an easy way to erase it.
Misgivings
Ben was used to the unpredictability of his job, but the next few days brought call upon call without pause. His plans to go furniture shopping fell by the wayside, and he’d even had to call Ryan and warn him he’d be late. It left him wondering whether he needed to rethink leaving Morris with Ryan every day, now that the tabby was recovered.
“What are you still doing here, Hobart? Go home.” Tarbert showed no surprise to find him at his desk.
“I’m done, sir. Only wanted to have all my notes straight.” He turned off the computer and stood, stretching. Tarbert hadn’t moved from his place beside the door. “Was there something you needed, sir?”
“Just making sure you’re not going back to work.” He held out a folder. “That’s for tomorrow. Background on Ryan’s attackers.”
