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The Final Mystery Of Allison Howard

A Purpose in life

By sandra pikePublished 3 years ago 4 min read

Her smile was illuminated by the afternoon summer sun. Her wise, grey eyes glowed as rays passed through them. Her hands were held tightly by my own, our faces inches from each other and yet I craved to be closer.

“I love you.” Her words spoken so simply overwhelmed me with joy.

“I love you too.” Emotion caused my voice to crack but I didn’t have time to be embarrassed.

Her soft lips were pressed against mine. Finally! I held her close knowing at last that she was mine.

That had been six years ago. Today I sat in a cold room in a black suit, waiting to be called into the next room for my beloved wife’s bequeathal. Everything had happened so quickly, a part of me was still processing it. I still couldn’t believe that her body couldn’t be found off the rocky coast of the Atlantic.

“Micheal, I’m ready for you.” My good friend Zachary said from the doorway of his home office.

We had chosen to read the will as soon as possible after Allison’s death. It’s better not to let these things linger.

“I’m sorry to be here today.” Zachary started solemnly, “She will be missed.”

“I know.” I responded quietly.

“We’ll let’s get right to it then.” Zack sighed, “she has left you two things in total. First being the $20,000 of her savings she didn’t leave to charities. The second is a little black book she requested not be opened by anyone but yourself.”

“A book?” I asked incredulously, then snickered lightly, “she always had to be so mysterious.”

With the reading over and dealt with I sat in my car on the way home, with thoughts of her sitting shotgun in my mind. Of course there was nobody in the front seat beside me, only a little black book that had yet to be opened.

I carried it into my house, my mind spinning with curiosity. What could she have written in this little book barely bigger than one of my hands. I sat it down on the dark blue table Allison had painted the week we moved in together. After making myself a cup of coffee I pulled back a matching blue chair and sat to open the book.

The first page read; “Micheal, I’ve loved you since the first day we met. Do you remember that day? You were awkward and stuttering and you told me later it was because you couldn’t believe how beautiful I was. Do you remember that night at the bar how I told you I wanted to save the world one day? You laughed and I told you I meant it. And then you told me you would do anything to help me reach that goal. Well the time has come and I must hold you to that. As you know for the past decade I’ve been developing a biofuel that can replace oil. Unfortunately I was never able to finish it, but not for the reason you think. I was made an offer to cease my research by someone high up in the oil industry. I am so terribly sorry that I’ve done this to you but out of fear of being assassinated I was forced to fake my death.”

The blood pumping through my veins seemed to freeze in its tracks. Where an empty hole had been left in my heart by her absence anger quickly filled it. I threw the book across the room and gripped the top of my head with strained hands.

Her damned life-long quest to save the earth had damned our marriage. But she had always been honest. She had always let me know where her priorities lied. Still shaking with anger I went to pick the book up off the hardwood.

“It is my belief that the oil industry has been sniffing out any oil alternatives that come into existence and paying off their inventors so they won’t be released. Or, when this fails, something much more sinister. It is imperative that this is prevented and that my research is finished. Of course I’m not leaving that task to you. All I need from you is to deliver all the research kept in my safe to one Dr.Kinney, in Vancouver, Canada. You can not let anyone get their hands on this, air travel will be too dangerous so you will have to drive. Please let me fulfill my purpose on this earth. I love you with all my heart.

Love, Allison Howard.

I flipped to the next page and there at the top was an address. Below that the information I’d need to contact her and instructions not to do that until I was across the border.

With a huff I sat back in disbelief and attempted to rub the tension from my forehead.

“Fine, Alice.” I whispered to myself, almost believing she could hear me wherever she was. “I’ll play your game.”

literature

About the Creator

sandra pike

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    sandra pikeWritten by sandra pike

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