by A J Rivers
“I know that,” I tell him. “I was nineteen years old. I had no idea what I was doing. And just because she wasn’t declared missing doesn’t mean she isn’t. Nobody knows where she is, Sam. Nobody knows why she left or even how. They don’t know where she went or what she’s been doing since.”
“Were they ever able to trace anything about her? Any movements on her financial accounts? Use of her social security number?” Sam asks.
“For a few days after the last time she was seen, her bank account was used a few times. Minor transactions. Then all the money was taken out of her bank and the account was closed,” I say.
“Probably because she had no intention of still being in the state,” Sam says. “And that tells you what happened.”
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t. But this does.” I point to the card. “The last time we talked, we made plans to study and make Christmas cookies together. This isn’t a name or a question. It’s not even a command. It’s a plea. Hoping I haven’t forgotten. And that email. We used to have lunch together at least a couple times a month. That was our way of making sure even if we were really busy and had packed schedules, we had a chance to see each other.”
“What does this have to do with someone trying to get your information from the University?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe nothing. I do know this is about her. You always say there are no coincidences. Thirteen years to the month that she went missing. Someone riling things up at the school. These cards. What does that sound like to you?”
“If this is Julia, why would she do this? Why wouldn’t she just reach out to you? This person obviously knows your email address and where you live. She could just as easily send you a message telling you who she was, or she could have come to Sherwood. Just showing up at the house would have been a lot less disturbing than these cards. Why the games?” Sam muses.
“Just because it’s about Julia doesn’t mean it IS Julia,” I add, the words feeling bitter in my mouth. “You said there was a package. Was it with the card, or did it just come at the same time?”
“I think it was with it,” Sam says. “The labels look the same.”
I nod and get up. “Can you get our food packed up and bring it home? I need to go find out what it is.”
“Sure. I’ll see you there.”
I kiss him and rush toward the door, shrugging into my coat as I go.
The card sitting on the seat beside me, I drive home as fast as I can. Sam put the package right on the side table next to the couch and I grab it. Just as he described, the address label on the front is the same as the one on the blue envelope. Still no return address, but another sticker on the back.
I set the package down on the coffee table and use my phone to snap a few pictures of it from different angles. When I’m done, I pick it up and sit down on the couch. The package is a thick, heavily padded envelope. It’s not very heavy, but it has enough heft to it I know it’s more than just another card or piece of paper inside.
A thick piece of packing tape holds the end of the envelope closed, so I go to my office for a letter opener. I use the blade to carefully slice open the end of the envelope and tilt it to slide the contents out onto the coffee table.
It’s a small balsa wood frame, with little doors along one side. Each has a number faintly etched into it. The whole thing is so plain it takes me a few seconds to put it together that it’s an advent calendar. One of the simple kits sold at craft stores meant to be painted and decorated. It looks as if it was just assembled to the most basic level and sent.
I take a couple pictures of it, then stand it up on the table to look at it. There’s no note, no instructions. I try to connect it to the messages in the cards, but I don’t see how they link up. The only thing left to do is open a door.
I open the first door and find a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it reveals a QR code. I set the paper down and call Eric.
“Hey,” he says. “I was about to call you.”
“You were?” I ask.
“Yeah. I looked into that email address you sent me, but I wasn’t able to get you a name. It’s through an app and can’t be linked to a specific IP. And there’s no name attached to it.”
“Thank you for checking. But I have another question for you. I’m going to switch you to video call.”
“Okay.”
He sounds wary, but I can’t really blame him. I switch the call and wave when he appears on the screen. He waves back and I pick up the piece of the paper with the code on it.
“I got another of those cards. It came with an advent calendar.”
“An advent calendar? Like those little things that have the chocolate behind the doors?” he asks.
“Same general idea. But this one is made of wood. And there wasn’t chocolate behind the first door. All that was in it was this piece of paper.” I hold it up so he can see the code. “There’s no explanation. Just the code. Should I scan it?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he says. “You don’t know where it came from or what it could be. Give me a minute, and I will call you right back.”
I nod and hang up, setting the phone aside. The front door opens, and Sam comes in carrying boxes from the restaurant. He brings them into the dining room to set them on the table, then comes back.
“Is that what was in the package?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s an advent calendar. I opened the first window, but there was only a piece of paper in it.” My phone rings and I look at it. “This is Eric.” I click the button to answer and he appears on the screen again. “Hey.”
“Hey. Alright, I got a secure phone, so if there’s something wrong with that code, it won’t affect either of our personal phones. Go ahead and hold it up.”
I hold the code up and he uses another phone to scan the code.
“Did it come up with anything?” I ask.
“Yeah. Give me a second to check it over.”
“Do you want your lunch?” Sam asks.
I nod and he walks out of the room, returning with both boxes. He sits down on the floor at the end of the coffee table and spreads the food out. I had just gotten in a few bites of my sandwich when Eric’s face came back onto the screen.
“So, everything looks fine. I didn’t detect any viruses or malware. It looks as if the code is safe.”
“What did it bring up?” I ask.
“A Christmas letter,” Eric tells me.
“A Christmas letter?” I ask.
“Mmmm-hmmm. Go ahead and scan it. Give me a call if you need anything else.”
“I will. Thanks, Eric.”
I hang up and immediately scan the code. A second later, the screen fills with a letter. It looks like a piece of stationery with little candy canes, holly, and bells creating a cheerful border around the edge. The font is very similar to the one the handwriting on the first card seemed to be trying to emulate.
* * *
Dear Emma,
Can you believe it’s been so long? We have so much to catch up on. But before I can tell you everything, I have a few friends who are having a little trouble with their Christmas lists. Maybe you could help them. Don’t take too long. The holiday rush is here. Wouldn’t want coal left for them.
Merry Christmas.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t say anything else.”
I reach for the Advent calendar.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m going to open the other doors,” I tell him. “I don’t particularly enjoy surprises, and I have a feeling whatever is behind these doors is something I’m not going to want to dole out to myself every day for the next month. Whoever is doing this may want to screw with me, but I’m not just going to play by the rules for their amusement.”
I open the door for tomorrow and take out another piece of paper. It has another code on it and I s
et it aside. When I try to open the next door, it doesn’t move.
“What’s wrong?” Sam frowns.
“It’s glued shut,” I say. “I can’t open it.”
“That’s strange.”
“I can’t open this one, either,” I say. “Trying the next one.”
The next several doors won’t open, but when I find another that does, there’s another folded piece of paper inside. I add it to the stack and continue on going through the calendar. Again, there are several days where the doors won’t open before I find another that does.
By the time I get through the entire calendar, I have a stack of four codes sitting on the table. I pick up the one on top and scan it. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but rather than getting answers, I get another taunt. A message appears on the screen in the shape of a gift tag bouncing back and forth like it’s dancing to background music.
“No peeking,” the tag reads.
Underneath the warning is the date from the calendar door, typed in a font to look like scribbled handwriting.
“It’s timed,” I say. I grab the next one and scan the code, but it’s the same thing. “Shit. They’re forcing me to go along with it. The codes are timed. I can’t see what they’re linked to until the date.”
“We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow,” Sam says. “That’s the first one.”
I nod, trying to tell myself it won’t be that hard. I can be patient. But even as I’m thinking it, I know it’s going to drive me insane. I need to know what those links mean. This isn’t the first time someone has decided to play a sick game with me. It’s nothing new.
And that pisses me off.
I’m done with the bullshit. I’m done with people wanting to make a point and dragging me into their twisted fantasy worlds. But I know it won’t stop. Not until I stop it.
This person knows what happened to Julia. They either have her or know where she is, and after thirteen years they’re dangling her right there in front of me.
“I was right, Sam,” I say.
He nods. “It definitely seems like this has something to do with Julia.”
“It has everything to do with her, Sam. That’s not what I meant. I was right back then. As soon as she didn’t show up that day, I knew something was wrong. No one would listen to me. They wouldn’t even give me ten seconds to tell them what I knew. They believed they knew exactly what was going on, and that there could be no other explanation. They didn’t give me a chance. They didn’t give Julia a chance. If they had…” I take a breath. “If they had, she might not still be missing.”
“Emma, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he says.
“I don’t,” I say firmly. “I blame them.”
For the rest of the day, I try to concentrate on anything but the Advent calendar sitting on the coffee table in my living room. When Sam heads back to work at the station, I go with him. I don’t work with the Sherwood Police Department as much now as I did in my earlier days back in town, but I am still deputized.
And I still have the option of working with him on cases and going with him on calls. It’s been a while since I worked with him on anything, and this is a chance for me to keep my mind off the code sitting behind that door in the calendar, waiting for tomorrow. I have no idea what it’s going to say. Or what I’m going to do when I read it.
All I can do is wait.
That night, we pick up our favorite pizza and sit on the floor in front of the Christmas tree to eat it. We keep the living room lights off, so it’s only the glow of the tree around us. It’s a tradition of ours I look forward to every Christmas season, even though I don’t remember why we started doing it.
But this year, I can’t just relax and enjoy it. My mind keeps wandering. At one point Sam catches me staring at the Advent calendar intently. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I hear his voice.
“It might not be real, Emma,” he says.
My eyes move over to him. “What do you mean?”
He lets out a breath and wipes his fingers with a napkin, tossing the balled-up paper into his pizza box. He seems to consider his words carefully for a few seconds. “I wasn’t going to say this. I don’t want you to think I’m one of those people dismissing you, or that I don’t care about what you’re feeling.”
My eyes narrow slightly, and I tilt my head to the side to look at him. “That’s never an introduction to something good.”
“It’s just that I’ve been thinking about this, and I know your first instinct is to jump in all the way. That’s what you do. You don’t hold back when it comes to your work or cases that matter to you. And that’s what makes you as amazing as you are. I admire you for that. But I don’t want you to disappear into this without thinking it all the way through.”
“What am I supposed to think all the way through, Sam?” I ask.
“This might not be real. It could be a hoax. Someone could have found out about Julia and is just using it to string you along. To get under your skin,” he says.
I get up and pick up my pizza box.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I ask, pausing to look at Sam. “Don’t you think after as many years as I’ve been in the Bureau, and as much as I’ve been through, I understand this could just be some whack job mining colleges for stories like this, or even coming directly after me? It’s not like it would be the first time something like that has happened.”
“Exactly. You’ve seen things like this happen. I don’t want you to get yourself worked up over it until you really know what’s going on.”
“Yes, Sam. I’ve seen things like this before. I’ve seen bomb threats and hoax hostage situations. People call in murders where there are no victims, and claim arson attacks when they’re the one who lights the fire. But you know what we do when a case is brought to the Bureau? We send in agents. We do negotiations. We deploy the bomb squad. And you know why? Because people are worth saving, Sam. It’s worth the risk of looking dumb or falling for someone’s game to not turn our backs when it is actually real. And that’s exactly what I’m willing to do now. Yes. This might just be someone playing around, thinking they’re hilarious. Maybe they want to see how far they will be able to take it until I catch on, or they get in trouble. But it might not be. And I’m willing to take that risk.”
I head for the kitchen, my enjoyment of the tree and our picnic gone. Sam comes in after me and puts his box down on the table. I’m already wrapping my leftovers in plastic to stash in the refrigerator.
“Look, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to make you mad. I just worry about you.”
“I don’t need you to worry about me,” I say.
“That’s just the thing. You don’t need me to. But that doesn’t stop me from doing it. When you say you don’t need me to worry about you, that’s just saying you don’t want me to care enough about you to think about situations from another angle. You don’t want me to disagree with you, or even just ask you to take a breath and consider that something might not be what you think it is. I’m not saying I’m right about this. All I’m saying is I don’t want you to run headlong into something because you’ve been carrying this pain for so long and want so much to redeem yourself.”
“Is that what you think this is all about?” I snap. “Making myself look good?”
“It’s not about you looking good. It’s about finishing what you started, which is what you do. You don’t let go, and I don’t want that to cloud how you’re looking at this,” he says. “If you’re going to pursue this, I just want to make sure you know that I’m here to support you. And I just don’t want you to beat yourself up about it if it doesn’t work out.”
The tightness in my chest softens. “I know. Thank you. And I really do know this could be nothing. It’s just right now, I just can’t believe that. It’s easy for people to find out about the cases I’ve worked or the high-profile criminals I’ve brought down,
then use that information to make themselves look involved or to taunt me. But, that’s not what’s going on here,” I say.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Remember, according to everyone else, nothing happened to Julia. There was no scandal. No news story. No moment of silence on campus,” I say.
“So?” Sam asks.
“So how would anybody find out about it? It must be somebody who went to school at the same time as we did and knew both of us and knew about my suspicions. Which wasn’t many people. Even those people wouldn’t know things like confirming a lunch date. Without any publicizing of the situation, there’s no way for an outsider to know about it. Which means this person really does.”
“Good point,” he admits. He reaches a hand out to touch mine. I look down at it and finally relent, letting him rub his thumb over my own.
“Sorry I blew up at you,” I say.
“No, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry, too. I know how much this means to you, and I’m here every step of the way.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The next morning, I’m awake only long enough to get my coffee before I go into the living room to the calendar. Sam follows after me and sits down in the chair beside the couch as I open the window in the calendar and take the piece of paper with the code out again. This time when I scan it, I don’t get the warning like yesterday.
Another virtual piece of stationery appears. This one has snowflakes around the edges and a deep drift of snow on the bottom of the page.
“Did it work?” Sam asks.
“Yeah,” I nod, turning my phone so he can see what I’m seeing. “It’s a letter to Santa.”
“The note yesterday said their friends were having trouble with their Christmas lists. I guess this is what it meant,” Sam notes.
I give a disbelieving shake of my head and shrug one shoulder as I read the letter.