Tenfold

Max wasn’t particularly well-off; at twenty-four, he held a basic job in information technology and lived in an equally basic, one-bedroom apartment just outside the darker part of the city. He’d moved from his hometown right after graduation to attend University and had finished his degree in the requisite four years with just slightly above average grades. He didn’t own a wealth of possessions, but he was comfortable and proud to own a mid-sized television, a relatively new computer and, he was saving up to purchase a good condition, used vehicle. His life was by no means fancy, but perfectly average instead.

Luck was not something he really believed in, at least not for himself. The few lottery tickets he’d purchased since turning eighteen had all turned out worthless – not a penny won. He’d also never won an online contest, and of all the 50/50 raffles he partook in to support the local community, Max had never been among the winners. He never expected to receive that which he hadn’t earned for himself.

Until a little black book changed everything.

***

Max had been sitting patiently under the water-spotted plexiglass awning of his bus stop, awaiting the seven am transit that would take him to work, as it did every other weekday morning, when his average life became anything but.

He had watched with detached interest, to pass the time, as a figure, the hood of their black raincoat pulled up to protect against the morning rain, approached a bright yellow city taxi that was parked alongside the curb. It took only a moment for them to climb inside the vehicle’s interior, and only a moment more for a small, dark object to fall from their person to land on the street with a quiet splash.

He was up from his seat in a second. A hurried, “Wait!” leaving his lungs, as he jogged the distance to retrieve the object, a book it would seem, from the murky puddle it had landed in. Standing, he tried in earnest to wave to the taxi’s passenger beyond the glass. The tinted back windows obscured his vision, but he could make out the silhouette of the person as they seemingly turned to acknowledge him. He held the book up so as to make it visible through the window, but where he thought it would roll down or the door would open, he was dumbfounded to find the taxi pulling away, a ghostly half-wave from the darkened back seat the only reply to his efforts.

He stared after the retreating taxi in confusion, shaking the moisture from his short hair just as an animal would, before focusing his attention on the book gripped in his cold hands. It was about the size of a paperback novel and pliable like one too. The flat black cover, made of a soft and supple imitation of leather, was blank, save for a single word etched in gleaming silver filigree.

TENFOLD

He ran his thumb over the metallic letters, appreciating how they seemed to not only reflect, but magnify what little natural light was afforded by the overcast sky. Suspiciously, he realized that the book bore no sign of the muddy puddle he had retrieved it from. It was dry to the touch and, as he watched, each raindrop that landed upon its surface rolled harmlessly off, leaving not a trace of moisture behind. He wondered at that oddity, releasing the elastic that held the book closed as he walked back under the protection of the awning; hopefully he could find the mysterious owner’s phone number or even an address within its pages. Max wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t at least try to return it.

Replacing his position on the now cold, concrete bench where he had previously sat, Max opened the book to its centre, marked by a black fabric ribbon. While normally, he may have marvelled at the fact that, like the cover, the journals pages were miraculously dry and devoid of water damage, he found himself quickly shutting the book on his lap instead, a surprised intake of breath emphasizing his actions.

Slowly, after he’d confirmed no one was around, he opened the book once more. He hadn’t imagined it! There, nestled between the otherwise blank pages were two old fashioned Canadian bills in remarkedly pristine condition, each reading ‘ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS’.

Had anyone been nearby they probably would’ve asked if he were okay, because it surely felt as though his eyes were bursting from their sockets. Max had never seen such a large amount of cash money before; the largest bill he’d ever had was a fifty. Why on earth then, would the owner not take the time to retrieve the book knowing what was inside? Were they just that well off or had they truly not noticed him before?

Max had no way of knowing the truth of the matter, but he was more than aware that his conscience wouldn’t allow him to plunder that money, even if the two thousand would make purchasing a vehicle much easier. In his mind, he knew he hadn’t earned the money; therefore, it wasn’t his to take – it was as simple as that.

So, steadfastly ignoring the pull of those bills, he flipped through the remainder of the pages, all neatly lined but otherwise blank, in search of something that would identify the books owner.

Finally!

There on the inside of the back cover was a single address, no name or phone number provided, but it was within the city, so at least he could return the book and the money to its rightful owner. In a matter of moments, with the help of a map he pulled up on his cell phone, he’d placed the address as only a few streets away from his own apartment. He supposed it made sense that they would live nearby and was pleased to discover that he would be able to return the book after work that evening, before returning home. It was with this thought that he tucked the book safely away in his pack before climbing the stairs and taking his seat in the back of the city bus that had since arrived to whisk him away to work.

***

The workday passed much the same as any other after the events of that morning, save for the nervous energy that seemed to pervade every one of Max’s muscles. It’s not like he’d done anything wrong, but he couldn’t seem to stop the shaking of his leg, the slight twitch in his fingers or the many, hurried glances he’d thrown towards his bag and the book that lay just hidden just inside of it.

It came as a great relief then, when six o’ clock finally came, and he was able to sign out of his station and leave the office for the day. He took the same bus as usual, but got off one stop earlier, occasionally checking the map on his phone as he briskly followed the sidewalk to his destination, the rain had let off earlier but there was still a chill to the air.

87 Oak Tree Drive was a quaint, single floor home with neatly trimmed grass and flowering lilacs instead of a fence. White curtains hid the interior from prying eyes, and a generic brown welcome mat greeted him as he climbed the few stairs of the wooden porch. It wasn’t what Max pictured when he’d ruminated on what sort of person would leave two thousand dollars casually tucked within the pages of a journal, but who was he to judge? Maybe they just lived modestly.

The middle-aged woman who answered the door after just one knock looked as equally unassuming as the house in which she lived. Dressed in comfortable but neat black slacks and a muted purple sweater, her long single – toned brown hair waved lazily around her shoulders and showed the beginnings of greys in the pieces that framed her face. Kind, hazel eyes regarded him as she asked,

“Can I help you?”

“Yes actually,” he paused, reaching into his bag to retrieve the book, fingers brushing over the cool silver lettering and said, “I think this belongs to you,” before holding it out for her to take.

Recognition sparked in her eyes as her fingers curled around the material, pulling the book gently from his grasp to hold it securely against her chest.

“Thank you for bringing this back to me,” she said with a soft smile, “but where did you find it?”

The question seemed honest enough, but shouldn’t she already know? She was there after all and Max was fairly certain that whoever had been in that taxi had seen him holding their book, if only for a short moment.

“You dropped it as you were getting into a taxi this morning, but I was too late to give it back to you.” He replied, instead of giving voice to his suspicions.

“Oh? How interesting.” She mused, and Max had the distinct feeling that he was missing something important, but she continued to speak,

“You deserve a reward for taking time out of your day to return this to me, but I’m afraid I don’t have much to give… is there any way I can repay you?” she asked.

“Oh no, you don’t owe me anything,” he said hurriedly, waving his hands to emphasize the point, “I was just trying to do the right thing.” He didn’t like the assumption that he required a reward for doing so and suddenly felt awkward standing there.

His gaze drifted to the sky above him, noticing the encroaching darkness of night as he spoke again, “I should really get going anyway, it’s getting late,” before turning to descend the porch stairs.

“Well thank you again!” the woman called from behind him. He spared her a glance and a short wave from the sidewalk, noticing that a small black cat had appeared to wind affectionately around the woman’s ankles. The feline’s bright yellow eyes seemed to flash in his direction for a moment before it turned away, but he thought nothing abnormal of it.

“You’re welcome!” he returned, before finally leaving to walk the remaining distance to his own home.

***

His life returned to average for only the brief time it took Max to walk home and unlock the front door of his apartment. For almost immediately after he stepped inside the small space, he noticed something off.

There, resting on the chipped oak wood of his thrift store dining table, was a perfectly sealed, flat black, envelope. It was blank, save for a single word,

TENFOLD

written in the same shining silver filigree that had adorned the little black book and now seemed ingrained in his mind.

With shaking fingers, he broke the seal along the side of the envelope and pulled open the flap to peer inside. It slipped from his clammy hands to land on the table, spilling its contents upon the wood.

One, two, three … twenty he counted, one-thousand-dollar bills decorated the cheap surface; more money than any item in his apartment was worth, more money than he’d ever had at a single time. He stood there in muted shock, eyes fixed to the white and red bills in apparent disbelief as that one word played on a loop in his head for the better part of the night.

***

Max would return to 87 Oak Tree Drive seeking answers from the woman whose name he hadn’t asked for, only to find that the quaint little house he’d visited the day before had been replaced with an empty lot. He’d take in the dying grass and scattered twigs and all that could mean for a time, the envelope tucked in his coat both curiously heavy and light before moving on.

Maybe luck was real, but then again, maybe luck had nothing to do with it at all.