The Doorstep

A package arrived on my doorstep.

I sit up in bed, wiping sleep from my eyes as I sneer at the offending light streaming through my curtains. My hair sticking up in matted snarls, the duvet had decided to tangle itself awkwardly around my legs making rolling out of bed ever so slightly difficult.

After a bruised knee from a particularly angled corner and a few choice words, I stumble downstairs to settle in for a day of notetaking and the monotony of my professor as he reads from a weathered copy of Wuthering Heights.

An hour later and multiple insightful looks into Heathcliff’s troubled mind, I give up caring about my academic future and about to slink off in search of food when the doorbell gives a violent shrill through the house, announcing an unwanted individual has appeared on my doorstep. I sigh heavily and mentally assess whether I am dressed decently enough not to frighten the postman and drag myself to the door to peer through the peephole.

Darkness.

I pull away to see if something covering the small tunnel to the outside world. My old roommate, Ben, had an incredibly annoying habit of covering the peephole with electric tape because, “Who cares who’s at the door.”

Yeah, sure. Let’s just stick a sign on the door: Attention all Killers and Psychos! Easy victims through here!

I no longer have a roommate.

After wiping the lens to remove any potential debris, I lean in to see who is outside.

It’s still dark.

Cold fear shoots through my veins. My blood turns to ice as my stomach grows heavy and sinks. My heart begins to thump hard in my chest and the fine hairs on the back of my neck immediately stand to attention. I reach for the door handle, sweat beading my palm and glance up to check that the chain still firmly holds the door. If it’s the postman, I’ll open the door. If not… well, I certainly won’t be another statistic and the umbrella looks like it could fend off an attack.

I pull the door open a crack. Just enough to cast an eye out… on no one. I unhook the chain and pull the door open quickly, hand reaching for the umbrella tucked in the corner.

I peer round my door to see if anyone is walking away from the house. Low and behold, a group of mouthy teenagers are sat on the corner laughing hysterically. I’m a victim of Knock Down Ginger. Great.

I turn to shut the door, only to find a small black book taped to the peephole of my door. Taking a step back, I find my ankles connect with something solid and I go down faster than an amateur boxer in the ring. My butt connects with the concrete as my palms scrape across the floor to prevent my head from becoming a split watermelon.

Dazed, I dust my sore hands on my trousers, heave myself up and drag my legs over the offending object that caused my graceful fall. In the middle of my doorstep was a solid black gym bag. No logos. No wear and tear. My pulse quickens again and the sweat builds on my palms. What if it’s a bomb? Or an abandoned animal? Why would they tape a book to my door? Do I call the police?

I dust myself down and gingerly pick up the bags slim strap, testing the weight to see if I can carry it. It takes some adjusting and hand swapping to get it comfortably up and onto my shoulder before I take one last look around to see if there is anyone watching. I remove the leather book from the door and grimace at the residue glue left by the tape that had secured it to the door that I now slam back into place.

The staccato of my professor’s voice is drowned by the thunderous beat of my heart as I carry the leaden gym bag and cold book into the living room. I lay it and the bag on the coffee table and sit on the sofa opposite.

Several minutes pass as I stare at both items wondering what I should do with them. Do I hand them over to the police? Maybe there’s some ID in the bag or a name in the book. I could send them a message on Facebook and get them to pick it up.

I pick the book up carefully, the cool, coarse leather is an uncomfortable sensation on my sore palms. I turn it over in my hands, checking for a label that might have been plastered on its rough skin. Finding nothing useful, I flip the book’s face to look up at mine and pull back the cover. Three words grace the first page.

Open the bag.

I begin to flick through the pages.

Hide it.

Don’t answer that.

Move.

Pages and pages of bizarre ramblings and short messages. The last page however, made my blood turn to ice.

Don’t tell him the truth. He’ll kill you.

I throw the book violently across the room and pin myself back into the sofa. I need to put it back where I found it.

But curiosity is a fickle thing and it killed the cat for a reason. I take a deep breath and rub my fingers across my tender palms as I peel myself from the back of the sofa. I reach across and pull the oversized gym bag towards me. My heart begins to race as I take the zipper between my forefinger and thumb, pulling it towards me slowly. The sound of the zipper seemed to echo through the house as it inched closer and closer. I almost chickened out twice, having to mentally kick myself each time I falter. The zipper reaches the end and I gingerly pull the bag open.

It’s money. A lot of money. All in five-pound notes. The world blurs at the edges for a moment and I have to shake my head to clear it. I grab a bundle and count what’s in my hand. Twenty notes in the first wad. I begin to pull the stacks out one by one and count how many are there.

By the time I’m finished, it totals up to two hundred stacks meaning that right now, on my coffee table, is a grand total of twenty thousand pounds.

I slump back on the sofa, gobsmacked at the sheer amount of money before me. I could clear my debts. I could put a deposit down on a house. I could finish university comfortably. But then a thought slaps me. Hard.

Hide it.

I throw myself quickly across the room and snatch the black book up again. I flick to the second page and stare at the words for a moment. I slam the book shut, tuck it into my jacket pocket and stride across the room to the coffee table and begin shovelling the money back in the bag.

The doorbell rings again.

Third page: Don’t answer that.

I stop dead. The last stack of cash in my hand, I begin to hyperventilate. The doorbell rings again.

Fourth page: Move.

I snatch the bag up off the table and take the stairs two at a time, turning into the bathroom and making a mental note to figure out how the book knows what’s happening. The ringing doorbell turns into thunderous knocking on the door. I rip the zipper closed after stuffing the last stack in and hide it in my dirty washing basket, dumping some clothes on top to hide it.

As I slam the lid back on the basket, the sound of wood being shattered ricochets through the house and I instinctively hit the floor. Heavy footsteps thunder through across the floor and my anxiety goes into overdrive. I leap up and run from the bathroom for the bedroom only to slam straight into a hulking mass of a man on the landing. Before the breath builds in my lungs to yell for help, he wraps a ham hand over my mouth and pins my arms down with the other. My legs flail and I gnash at his palm as he lifts me bodily off the floor and hoists me down the stairs. He launches me onto the sofa as another muscle-head appears and secures me down again.

Hyperventilating, I realise, though it’s far too late, that I should’ve gone over the book properly. I might’ve avoided this.

“Where is it?” A deep baritone voice sounded from the direction of the kitchen. I turn to face where the voice came from as a tall man strolls casually into the room. Dirty blonde hair clipped close to his head, unusually bright green eyes that carried a deep seriousness in them. A five o’clock shadow peeking on his jaw line, dressed in a well-tailored suit, meticulously clean leather shoes and a thick silver ring on his middle right finger.

Final page: Don’t tell him where it is. He’ll kill you.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you have it. He left it here. I won’t ask again.” He flexes his fingers and rolls each knuckle between his fingers.

“I really don’t know what you’re looking for.” My body shakes violently as the adrenaline leaves my body and the fear settles in.

“Mark. James. Put it in the car and go to the warehouse for some working over. An hour on the board should do it.” He speaks to them like I’m not there. As he turns to head upstairs, I’m lifted from my seat and thrown over the shoulder of hulk one. I beat at his chest and back, doing nothing to slow him as he leaves the house and launches me through the open door of a black Audi. He climbs in after and hulk two slides into the driver’s seat.

This is it. I won’t survive this. We speed from my house and fly round the corner onto the high street. I see the familiar street zip past me, and regret buries itself deep in my gut. I’ll never finish university. I’ll never get my dream job. My family won’t know what happened. How can…

The car flips.

Darkness.

I wake to an alarm blaring and shattered glass pressing into my cheek. I glance round. A crash. I’ve been in a crash. The enormous men next to and in front of me are out cold. As I prepare to push myself, something closes round my leg and drags me from the car. I flip onto my back to protect my face only to find a petite, blonde woman with the darkest brown eyes staring back.

“Run.”

Before I can think, she yanks me up and drags me into a sprint. Van doors burst open in front of me as morbidly interested people begin to crowd round the overturned Audi. I launch myself into the van and pin myself to the wall. The blonde had only just climbed in as it sped away and she yanked the doors closed behind her.

“Who are you?” I pant through violently painful breaths.

“Not important. Do you have the book?” She grabs something from her bag and slides closer to me. I pat my pockets, relieved to still feel it in there.

“Yes, I do. Why do you… ow!” I look down to find a needle stuck in my leg and the plunger pushed down.

“What did you… give me?” My eyes begin to sag, and my body grows heavy. Darkness closes in around me.

“Just a sedative. You’ll be okay.” She sighs sadly, “Looks like Ben dragged you in for the long haul. Sleep. We’ll be there soon.”

I slump forward, my forehead on my knees. The adrenaline leaks slowly from my body as I sluggishly realise the name she mentioned. Ben. My old roommate. What does he have to do with…?

Darkness.