Boxed In

Radiance illuminated through the meek fortitude of the aging blinds as it sought them out moving swiftly from room to room scanning for body temperatures and analyzing their predisposed deoxyribonucleic acid. Mimicking the sound of a hive that had been violently split open.

The eight-propeller red-winged drone arrived at 3221 Dolloff Place during the cover of midnight. Carrying within its artificial clutches a 7x5x4 white cardboard box addressed to no one in particular. The box covered in mold and smudged with what appeared to be the silhouette of a red-inked distorted hand.

“Open it.”, Jane urges. “I just finished polishing my nails or I’d do it myself.”

Jane is an ivy league over-privileged goodie two shoes devil in a red dress coke sniffing snob who was far too self-absorbed to even contemplate the consequences of her actions or ever do a meaningful thing.

Cindy removes her black framed cat-eyed glasses and begins to wipe them clean using the lining of her T-shirt. Disabled by her nearsightedness, she leans in a little closer to thoroughly inspect the unexpected.

“I don’t know guys. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe… (she pauses mid-sentence and ponders a lingering thought)—maybe the drone delivered it to the wrong place”, murmuring with uncertainty.

“Uhhhh yeah, like that’s likely to happen.”, Seraphine remarked. “There’s no sign of civilization around this place within a twenty-mile radius. No way the techno mobile made that mistake.”

Seraphine is incredibly witted, bit of an open book though, and to her detriment. She never hid her emotions nor even knew the meaning of the word restraint, until she had to.

The trilogy that is Janie, Cindy, and Seraphine, life-long classmates in a small wealthy town whose personalities were as contradictory as water and oil, bore undeniable aesthetic similarities in both youth and beauty. Their dark and lengthily flowing hair made it easy to presume them sisters, or at minimum of some relation. But what they lacked in lineage, they made up for in solidarity.

“Let’s just think about this for a minute because honestly, I’m a little freaked out right now. None of this makes any sense. It’s the middle of the night.” Her hands slightly trembling, incapable of steading the anxiety.

“Our supplies come once at the end of the month by noon. We all agreed to this. And the box, it’s far too small; this didn’t come from Gabe. He would have forewarned us. No one else even knows we’re here.

“Cin, please calm down. You’re freaking everyone out.”

“Jane, are you certain you didn’t order anything?”

“With what Sara, my dying wishes? And for the record, if I had ordered anything, it wouldn’t have been delivered in THAT Box!” The disgust for distasteful objects embellished Jane’s face like her green mint night mask.

But neither of them budged, they just sat there with their legs folded beneath them on the impeccable hard wood floor, gawking at it as if they fully expected Jack to pop out of the box. After another fifteen minutes or so, they decided to sleep on it as they retreated to their bedrooms. They all agreed it wasn’t worth the risk and rested assured answers would soon follow on the morrow.

The box remained in the middle of the floor like an un-prized possession, unopened; and unassuming.

The next day Cindy awoke and placed the box outside on the steps. They waited out the typically uneventful day in a different fashion of heightened fear waiting to hear word; a notion the package was delivered by mistake, a word from Gabe; something, but there was nothing.

“Someone knows.”

“Cindy, no one knows. Tomorrow we’ll be out of here, safe. No one, and I mean no one knows what really happened that night. Just breathe, it’s almost over.”

Without notice, Sara crept out the front door and retrieved the box. She sat with it once again in the middle of the floor where she slowly began unpackaging. Cindy and Janie walked over curious to witness.

Within the box was an outdated tape recorder with a yellow sticky note that read Play Me:

Tomorrow the three of you will testify in a court of law you were not involved in Madeline’s death by suicide, but you all know it to be a lie. And the dishonorable judge will fully pardon you because of your parents’ wealth.

But what if I told you that I bugged your supplies and I’ve recorded the incrimination. You know my sister kept a diary and within that diary she detailed every cruel remark, every prank, and every torment for the past four years the three of you inflicted? Yes, even on the day of her death. The prank that allegedly threw her over the edge.

Has staying at Seraphine’s family vacation home of a safe house since Madeline’s death without a phone, a laptop, the internet, or any communication with the outside world as some form of punishment and attempt to protect your pathetic lives from the ridicule she faced every day made you feel as if you’ve been imprisoned?

Well imprisoned is what Madeline felt everyday thanks to your unwavering cruelty and now it’s your turn; now you’re all going to pay.

[sounds of a blank tape recording]

“Gabe?”