Stargazing

This time, when you get the call from the unknown number, you pick up on the first ring.

“Very clever,” says the Watcher. His voice is still distorted, of course, but – does he sound almost proud of you?

“Thank you,” you say. You can’t help it. You’ve spent so much time feeling like you were going mad, on this solitary quest, and any affirmation that isn’t just another clue, another puzzle, feels good. “I’m just curious – how did you—”

He cuts you off. “No time for that, now. I need my computer back.”

You’re tempted to say no. You could hold it for ransom, or trade it for answers. But you have a hunch that he would just take it from you anyway, and punish you as well.

This feels like a test. “Take it back to where you got it,” he says. Then he hangs up.

Sure enough, when you hand the laptop – box and all – back to the same bored girl in a different faded hoodie, she hands you a small brass key. “That’s it?” You say incredulously, almost angry. “That’s all I get? Where does this go?”

She rolls her eyes hard. “In a lock,” she deadpans.

Sighing, you walk away, and start surreptitiously turning doorknobs, trying the key everywhere you can think of. You peer inside labs, climb a flight of stairs. After fifteen minutes of this, you laugh mirthlessly. This is like a needle in a haystack. Worse than a needle in a haystack.

That’s when you spot them: a series of gnarled wooden boxes affixed to the walls, with slots in the lids. Old-fashioned paper drops, from the days before everything was online.

Feeling more conspicuous than ever, you try the first box. The key seems like it will fit, but nothing happens. You try the second. Nothing. But on the third, the lock is stiff, it protests against being turned – but there! The lid is unlocked. You lift it, and discover – as you hoped – a red envelope.

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