by Mac Flynn
Thus ended that Friday afternoon. I returned to the apartment and found that Timothy wasn't home. As I said before that wasn't so unusual except that he'd been gone for nearly a week. I wondered at what point I needed to call the police and submit a missing person report when there was a knock on the door.
I looked through the peephole and saw it was a uniformed officer. That was service for you. I opened the door. "Can I help you?" I asked him.
He held up a wallet with a badge, but flipped it back inside his coat before I caught a good look at it. "Officer Sutton with the Third Precinct. Is this the residence of Timothy Hamilton?"
My heart picked up speed. "Yeah, why?"
"I'm afraid something's happened to him. Are you related to him?"
Horrible images and possibilities passed through my mind. "No, I'm just his roommate. What's happened to him?"
"Mr. Hamilton's been murdered. His body was found a few hours ago along the river." My mouth dropped open and I stumbled back. The officer stepped inside and caught me. He helped me over to the couch where I sat down in numb disbelief. "I'm sorry about this, but if you could come down to the station we're going to need a statement from you."
"What? Oh, yes, of course." I mechanically stood and stumbled toward my room. "Just let me change and get a coat." I was still in my uncomfortable work clothes.
"Certainly," the officer kindly agreed.
I went into my room and closed the door behind me. That's when the full force of the officer's words hit me, and I burst into uncontrollable sobs. I slid onto the floor in a blubbering mass of tears and denial. Timothy, my Timothy, was dead. I didn't want to believe that he was gone, that something horrible had happened to him and I wouldn't see him again.
My eyes widened. "Something happened to him. . ." I softly repeated aloud. Those were the words he'd used when he handed me that box all those years ago. Sitting as I was I could see under my bed and the box stared back at me. Hope surged inside me that maybe this was some cruel joke of his, and that maybe the box held the punchline. I quickly crawled over to it and noticed there were fresh fingerprints on the dusty top. I fumbled with the clasp and the top popped open. Inside was a slip of paper and a ring I'd seen Timothy wear constantly. He must have put the ring in the box just before he went off to get himself-well, get himself in trouble.
My hands shook as I opened the paper which turned out to be a note.
Dear Liz,
If you're reading this then either you're sneaking a peek when you shouldn't or something's happened to me. If the former, then put this note back and don't look at it until the latter happens. If something really has happened to me then you're in danger.
My heart stopped beating for a moment, but I continued reading.
I'm sorry I couldn't explain all of this while I was alive, but I didn't want you to get involved. With my probable death you're knee-deep in my troubles, and I'm sorry for what you need to do, but know that it's the only thing you can do. Take this ring to the address at the bottom of this letter and wait inside the warehouse until after dark. No matter what, even if someone you trust comes to get you, you have to get to that warehouse. If you're reading this at night then put on the ring and pray. Pray for me, too, okay?
Love, Timothy
I covered my mouth to stifle my sobs. He really was dead, and through this letter he'd warned me about some unknown danger. I jumped when there was a loud knock on the door. "Miss, are you all right?" the officer called to me.
"I-I'm fine, just-" I paused and glanced down at the letter. Timothy instructed me to hurry to the warehouse and the sun was even now setting. I glanced around my room and noticed the window and the fire escape. I could get down that and drive to the warehouse-
Wait a minute, why the hell was I running from an officer? All he wanted to do was take me down to the station to give a statement. Still, Timothy's note made me suspicious, and I snuck over to the door. I opened it a crack and glanced at the officer. He was working the apartment over like a pro burglar as he stuck his hands and head into every hole and corner. Nothing too unusual about that. He was probably getting a head start on the investigation.
I slipped on my coat, stuffed the letter and ring into a pocket, and stepped out of my room. "I'm ready," I announced to him.
The officer jumped, grabbed his gun, and swung around with the barrel pointed at me. I jumped backwards and my back hit the wall beside my bedroom door. He smiled and re-holstered his weapon. "Sorry about that. It's a habit of mine."
"T-that's a bad habit," I commented. Even without Timothy's instructions ringing in my mind I didn't want to go with a guy that had such an itchy trigger finger.
"No harm done," he insisted. He turned to the front door, paused, and turned back to me. "Oh, did you happen to know where Timothy kept a ring?" he asked me.
My heart picked up speed. "N-no, why?"
"We suspect he stole some jewelery, and that's part of the missing stash," he told me.
I unconsciously reached into my pocket and clutched the ring. I faked astonishment. "A jewel thief? When'd he steal it?"
"Um, about two years ago, but that's not important. Let's get you down to the station for the questioning, and then we'll get you back here." That was actually very important to me because I'd seen Timothy with the ring far longer than two years. The officer was lying, and I didn't want to find out why.