If you're watching this, I'm not dead

After his shift at the office, Greg Greaves went to his favorite Chinese restaurant on West 38th Street. Thank God, it’s Friday, he thought to himself as he exits the train station. Greg is usually average. He’s lived in the same run-down studio apartment since he graduated from college, although he could afford something nicer. He worked the same job for the past eight years, trying to climb up the corporate ladder. Greg didn’t allocate time for anything other than work, not even a relationship. He wasn’t homely or anything but dating didn’t fit into his mundane schedule. Under his daily suit and tie, he had a robust build, and an olive complexion to match his black wavy hair. A few of the women he worked with have even made jokes about leaving their husbands for him.

When Greg entered the restaurant, an uncomfortable feeling washed over him. Greg always stuck to a routine and was aware of his surroundings. So when he saw the same man who has been following him all week sitting in his usual booth, he told the hostess that he’ll take his usual meal to-go instead. Same as every Friday, he ordered shrimp fried rice, chicken wings, vegetable lo mein, and a spring roll to finish it off. It only took ten minutes to bring his food to him.

Already having broken his routine, he hailed a taxi to take him home instead of going back on the metro. The scent of the food overwhelmed him as his stomach grumbled loudly. Normally, Greg would be sitting down eating at this time, but his stomach clearly did not like the change of plans. He took a deep breath and grabbed one of the fortune cookies to hold him over for the rest of the car ride.

“Lucky numbers are 43, 45, 70, 26,” he whispered to himself as he flips over the small piece of paper. “Your life is in danger… what?”

He rummaged through his bag for the other cookie and reads the fortune to himself. “Get out of the city immediately and never return.” Less than a block from his apartment, he told the driver to let him out as he practically ran to his building.

~~~

Greg could barely eat. Panic swept over him as he relived the past hour in his mind. Schedules and routines kept him sane. Something was not right. “Your life is in danger. Leave the city immediately and never return,” he repeated to himself as he ate his food and watched the news. At the bottom of the bag, he found an extra fortune cookie, strange because Greg always asks for merely two cookies. Ignoring the actual cookie, he placed all the fortunes out in front of him.

“Your life is in danger. Get out of the city immediately and never return.” The third fortune didn’t even have any lucky numbers on it; it only had one word on it. “Please.” Greg, confused by it all, got up and looked out the living room window, nothing in the view but train tracks and another brownstone building.

“This is just some sick joke. It was probably Stephen playing one of his office pranks on me… right,” he paced back and forth. The words stared back at him until he noticed only certain letters were in bold. He studied at the words again, sat back down, and opened a blank word document on his laptop.

R. G. G. O. Y. E. R.

“R. G. Goyer?” he asked himself, patting his head. “Do I know anybody with that name?” A quick Facebook search proved to be a dead end.

After staring at the letters on his screen for a couple of minutes, it dawned on him. Stunned, he stood up baffled by the letters. Filled with bewilderment, he hollered to no one, “It is a freaking anagram!”

G. R. E. G. O. R. Y.

A name that seemed so foreign to him. Only his parents had called him by his full name, and they were murdered when he was a freshman in high school. After their funeral, Greg went to live with his alcoholic aunt who would call him every name G name besides his own. She called him names like George, Garret, Gary, Gaven; the closest she’s been to his name was when she told him “I’m proud of you, Gregorio,” at his high school graduation. He loathed her and was more than glad to be on his own and earn it for himself.

After that, no one ever called him Gregory. To everyone else, he was just plain Greg. He adored his normal life. He kept to his routine, never did anything out of the ordinary, and no one bothered him. He couldn’t possibly have made an enemy for his life to be in danger. The words were clear in front of him. He checked his bank account. $2,458. Enough to get out of New York, only if he skipped rent for next month. Desperate for a sign, he flipped over the tiny fortune papers and typed the lucky numbers into the document.

43, 45, 70, 26… 76, 35, 95, 65.

Greg thought it could be winning lottery numbers, a coded message, a PO box, or even a safe combination. None of those had any relevance to him.

“Get out of the…” Greg trailed off as he opened his web browser. “Coordinates,” he exhilarated. “Of course they are.”

“There’s no way… No way I can do this.” Greg griped as he stared at the location in Oswego, NY. The only time Greg left the archipelago was when his parents took him to Disney World. He always opted out of going on work conferences and no one has ever questioned why. In reality, it was probably due to his parents' death. They rarely went on vacation alone, but Greg had convinced them to take one because they deserved a break. Truthfully, he had wanted to impress the upperclassmen in his school by throwing a party. Greg always blamed himself; if he had only stuck with the normal plan, they’d still alive. To cope with the loss, he convinced himself that deviating from a normal routine would lead to awful consequences and not traveling would grant him safety.

“I’ve been okay so far,” he tried to convince himself.

~~~

The next day, Greg found himself packing up his unpretentious apartment into a storage unit and rented a car, an undersized red coupe. He barely slept. All Greg could focus on was why him? What did he do that could put his life in harm's way? As he drove, the scenery changed from skyscrapers and large buildings to nothing but the tree-line and the open road. Greg enjoyed the change of his surroundings and found the quiet air peaceful. No horns, no yelling, no subway rumbles. Greg let the warm spring air kiss his face as he rolled the windows down. However, a sense of dread crept over him as he got closer to his destination. After about 5 and a half hours, his GPS had told him he arrived, yet there he didn’t know where he’d arrived; there was nothing but trees and the shadows that cast over them as the sun set. He pulled off to the side of the road and spotted a path, too narrow, for his car to even drive through. From the looks of it, any car would miss it if they didn't know what they were looking for. Too late to back out of anything, he grabbed his bag and hiked up the trail.

At the far end of the trail, sat a mildew-colored house, and other than the fact the windows were boarded up, it appeared abandoned. Grass and weeds were growing through the trim of the house. Greg made his way to the front door and was taken aback when he saw the worn-down welcome mat. Although faded, Greg could make out the engraving as “The Greaves.” After some maneuvering, he broke the padlock on the front door and entered the building, grabbing a flashlight from his bag. He didn’t recognize this building at all. His parents never took him here and his only known relative was his aunt. Scanning the whole house, he noticed it was empty. Cobwebs surrounded the walls, cabinets, and other spaces in the house, and the floorboards creaked as he searched for anything out of place. Greg stood in the middle of what appeared to be a living room and could feel a hollowness on the floor and noticed a small handle, leading to a basement.

The basement was no different from the rest of the house. Besides a white bedsheet draped over some dusty furniture, the room was otherwise empty. Greg removed the sheet to discover a dingy couch with a red paisley design, some suitcases, a vintage blocky TV with a built-in VCR, a stack of VHS tapes, and a little black notebook. Noticing the TV was plugged in, Greg deduced whoever told him to go here was paying the power bill. He grabbed the tape labeled “No. 1: September 15, 2005” which was a few days after his parents left for vacation.

“Gregory… If you’re watching this, I’m not dead.” His mother's voice taunted him. There she was, beautiful as ever. She wore her favorite blue sweater, her hair was in her signature cut with bangs, although the only discernible feature was her smudged lipstick. “Your father and I…” She sniffled. “Well, our work has made us a target, and we’re going into protection. Someone will come for you in a few days to bring you here with us. I’m so sorry, my love.”

Where is dad? Greg thought as he continued to watch the first video. It was painful for him to witness his mother miserable. Greg had so many questions but none were going to be answered in 15-year old videos. Someone told him to come here. Whatever danger his parents were in back then, was coming for him now. He picked up the little black book, only to discover it was a diary his parents kept. The journal consisted of letters to Greg in case they didn’t meet again. Whoever put his parents in custody, had told them there were issues retrieving Greg, and they’d have to wait. Each day his parents were told, “We’ll get him tomorrow.” But that never happened.

Tears came to Greg’s eyes as he got to the last entry his parents wrote, unfinished. He noticed the date was over a week ago.

Greg, we love you. I guess you were safer without us. This location may have been compromised, so we’re leaving. We’re sorry to have abandoned you. I wish I could have seen you grow up. There’s $20,000 for you under —

“Under what?!” he yelled, his voice echoing throughout the basement. The only logical area would be the couch. Greg lifted the couch and the cushions, finding a stale manila enveloped with 200 hundred-dollar bills without the blue stripe.

“I grieved… I- I watched the caskets go into the ground!” exclaimed Greg, confused by this new information. “How do I move on knowing my parents could be in trouble?”

Footsteps pounded on the ceiling above him. Tap. Tap. Concern washed over him. Greg was either going to face his killer or his parents, either the situation was nerve-wracking for him. As the light shone in from the hatch, Greg put his hands up, hoping for mercy. A tall man with a bulletproof vest sauntered down the narrow stairs towards him. His gun was holstered on his waist but his gloved hands were hovering over it, anticipating to be used. A sense of relief crept over the man as he spotted Greg.

“I see you’ve arrived, Gregory,” the man gently intoned. “Would you like to meet your parents?”