Not Meant To Be Found

I walk parallel to the creek reflecting on my night at the bar. It was filled with drinking, friends, and laughter. A hiccup escapes my body. A stumble informs me of how drunk I am. My belligerent foot bumps into something, the object skids off in the darkness. I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight. That’s odd, it’s a book. I pick it up and closely examine it. It smells ancient and the black leather has a nice patina. On the front there’s a stamped hour glass and the pages are worn. I think nothing of the book, place it into my jacket pocket and continue the stupor home.

The sunlight hits me dead in the eye, then there’s a buzz from my night stand. It’s Matt, wanna get breakfast? Over breakfast we talk about the night before. I place my jacket over the back of the booth, Davis laughingly says “hey, remember when I whooped your ass in… what’s that in your jacket pocket?”. As I’m about to reply I notice a shady figure across the diner. His jaw line is sleek, a Dodgers hat and sunglasses obscure his face. He looks away when I make eye contact. Maybe he’s hungover too. Davis stares at me as if he was talking to a brick wall. I say “yeah, yeah, I’m going to use the bathroom.” The rest of breakfast is filled with tales from the night before. We pay our checks and step out of the café. I notice the guy in the Dodgers hat leave after us and cross the road. He heads towards another suspicious figure looking at his phone. The figure stretches the seams of his black track suit.

Target confirmed, black book located. Target is approximately 5’10 normal build Caucasian.

What are my orders?

Track target and retrieve the book at all cost

The TV fills the room with light, it’s already 10pm. I hop into bed and switch on the lamp. Pulling out the book, I see mysterious shapes and dots. The patterns seem to look like a crop circle. Are they just drawings? Maybe some doodles? It’s a lot of doodles, it practically fills the book. I inspect the hard cover at the back of the book and run my hand along the edges where the paper is glued to the hardcover. There’s a curl on the paper where the glue has given up. I fiddle with it, pulling up on the page slightly. It starts to peel back, my OCD doesn’t want me to keep pulling but I do anyway. It comes off easily and reveals a photograph. My mind starts to race; who’s book is this? In the picture is man wearing a brown Stetson, hugging someone. They are in front of a weathered red barn and there’s a spire in the background… Wait, that spire looks familiar. It’s the rock where a climber had an accident years ago. I flip over the picture and it reads ‘If your reading this I’m dead. My life was filled with numerous pleasures, but looking over my shoulder my entire life was not one of them. I only had one love in my life and I will never forget the day she was taken from me. Laura was the only one who could see the real me. –CHS’

I stare at the photo in shock, contemplating what I’ve stumbled upon. My mind races thinking about the contents of the book. Is it a message? Secrets? More importantly are they after me? I try and convince myself the note is a joke. Placing the book on my nightstand I turn my attention to the TV and watch mindlessly.

My inner insomniac keeps me from drifting off. Looking at my watch it blares 2am. My jeep starts with a squeal as I pin it out of the driveway in search for answers. Driving in the outskirts of the town I can’t help but to think I’m being followed. I haven’t seen a pair of head lights since I left town and I chalk it up as paranoia. I begin to slow down as I pass a private property, no trespassing sign. It begins to feel dangerous. Heading down the two-mile stretch of uneven gravel road I see the rock formation and then spot the now collapsed barn. I slide out of my jeep, pull out my flashlight and make my way through the rubble. Meandering around the barn I stumble over an old aerator, then turn on the flashlight. A car engine rumbles by, my heart pumps faster, but the car doesn’t stop. I shine my light towards the large cliff in front of me and notice light reflecting off of a window in the distance. On the way over the land begins to become populated by trees, it clicks in my head that its national forest land.

What’s your status?

Target located outside of town, will keep you posted.

I swing the door open and am welcomed by an ominous creak. Once inside I point my light in the run down shack, realizing it hasn’t been lived in for years. There’s a bedroom, inside is only a bed and an empty nightstand. The floors creak as I make steps throughout the shack. A fancy bookshelf with haphazardly placed novels lights up as it enters the flashlights beam. The titles seem to be worldly and the author’s signature CHS meets my gaze. I recognize the gold elegant initials. It seems something was calling me to that book. It connects in my head that it’s the same signature from the picture. I blow dust off the cover and ingest the information on the first page. Laura, on the right of the front door. floorboard 1, 3 inches back from the nail. Unable to contain my excitement, I put the book down. I move towards the front of the house and start prying. It reveals a grey duffel bag and unzip it to find more clues. It unveils a plethora of passports, a single sheet of paper and underneath is a stack of cash. I understand what its contents are for, the boards flex below me as if they too realize the gravity of the situation. I stand up from the bag and whisper, “fuck”. I start to scramble and pick up the go-bag. The hair stands on my neck as brakes squeak outside. Faint voices mumble outside. It’s him. I contemplate whether it’s teenagers or the property owner. A faint back and forth metallic clack rings danger in my ear. A barrage of bullets forces their way through the windows. The smell of wood fills my nose as my body clings to the floorboards. My breathing becomes uncontrollable. People want me dead, what are those messages in the book? A creak on the front steps triggers my flight response. I scuttle my way towards the back of the house. Opening the door, I meet no resistance and shimmy my way towards the front. Shockwaves from an explosion rattle through me. A black cloud of smoke hovers over a car. Poking my head around the corner, I discover my Jeep ablaze. I head back into the house to find cover. Find him! There’s the pitter patter of quiet steps from around the shack. holding my breath, I rest my back against the wall and sit down thinking that I’ll die here. A loud thud alerts me as the bookshelf next to me opens. Below I see a cement stair case and never consider where it goes, I close it behind me. My flashlight illuminates the old cement and curiously follow the maze without conscience. It concludes at a rusty hatch and I open it. I’m in the wilderness now, there's not a sound. The trees should offer my escape. My gait begins to increase to build a gap between me and the people who are chasing me. The adrenaline tapers off as the chaos fades, I’ve been hit. I feel the warmth of blood running down my leg. Upon inspection, I realize it’s a…

“Where the hell did he go?”

“I have no idea, I see the blood trail but it leads nowhere. It just ends!”

“What was that noise? Did you hear that?”

My eyes open slowly and I am met with a stabbing pain. My leg feels like it has been victim to an improv surgery. Bandages make my leg hard to move, why am I not dead? It’s still dark outside and there’s a small fire but no one is around. I feel a cool breeze sweep through the trees. Next to me is a water bottle, and a piece of a bullet. Stumbling up from the ground I make my way back to the shack. Every other direction is endless miles of forest, the only thing I can do is go back. After hobbling for a while, the sun starts to casts shadows from the trees. I start to care less if I die, fear has been taken out of my thoughts. The house becomes visible over a small hill, and I only hear birds chirping. On top of the hill I peep over the crest. A black SUV is sitting in front of the house. I peer my head into the front door and see a foot sticking out of the kitchen doorway. Limping towards the kitchen I notice another body. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, I trying to not look at them. Exiting the shack, I ask no questions of what happened. The charred remains of my jeep are the least of my concern. Each step warns me I need to go to the hospital, I head for the intact SUV. Racing off of the dirt road I make my way into town. I’m safe for now, but I have to get far away from here. Punching directions to the airport, my phone lights up with text messages. Welcomed by an information desk employee, I wonder where to go. My bladder notifies me to spot the nearest bathroom. Sifting through the go-bag, I pull out the folded page inside. It looks like it’s meant to decode the black book I’d found earlier. Beginning to reveal the message on the first page it says ‘if found, return to MI6 headquarters. They will offer protection’. This information is all I need to know for now. A speaker echoes ‘flight 347 to London is now boarding’, I zip up my pants. plopping into my seat, I look forward. Everyone seems to be acting normal. I’ve decided that if someone wanted to kill me on a plane there was little I could do about it. I decide to decipher more of its messages, it uncovers clandestine operations, weaponry, and contacts. The book was meant to be an insurance policy for a spy that had been burned. Looks like this spy never got to use their insurance. The plane bumps around and a man with a brown Stetson pops out of the bathroom, he nods to me. My vision is blurred by a flight attendant a few rows ahead. I double take and he’s gone. The stewardess blocks me from investigating. The flight attendant asks what I want to drink, I say “I don’t really care, just make it a double.” After finishing my drink, I put on a movie. The sounds of the movie don’t register. Thoughts are zooming around my head. Who was helping me? Why was it me who found the book? Who is the man in the brown Stetson not meant to be found?