A Sentients Secret

I still have yet to mask the continuous cascading earnings of my many days selling my soul to those who can't seem to find the connection between them and theirs. I return the same hours of every day only to be drained of the overflowing desires to escape the walls in which I reside.

5:46 pm, the irony in that time slot will always bring tension to my mind. She was so lost, not even wanting to accept that she created the maze. I still carry the piece of her she said would bring me what I seek as if she isn't the one sitting on my couch. I usually throw things like this in a box of "gifts" I've received over the last four years of wearing the suits I once only imagined I'd wear out to things that brought me a fulfilling feeling of having something to block out the emptiness of being awake.

Despite this being the reflex, I kept it. Something about how it sat in the palm of my hand felt fitting, like being on a stage with full control of your perception to the eyes that haven't ever really seen you. Out of respect, I never bothered to wonder what was inside.

She's been missing for only a few weeks with good signs of being found but, I knew better than to believe she was just gone somewhere. She's searching for the center of that maze while forcing others to play the game she crafted to be impossible for anyone but herself. Considering the absolute amusement my work brings to those too asleep to understand, I, myself, was never asked of my knowledge of where she might have gone.

2:57 am under the yellow light of my desk lamp, sorting files and organizing emails from my laptop; I catch myself keeping that book in my peripherals. Not noticing, my elbow knocks the book off my desk, giving me a very well-received excuse to bend down and stretch my lower back to pick it up. The leather band that once kept it shut fell loose, and the book landed upside down open on the floor beside the handful of wires that charge my devices and allow me to see and do work every night.

I stare, debating whether it's worth the risk of disappointment reading the contents of the little black leather book dented with the imprint of my hand. Without thinking further, my curiosity finally kicks in, leading me to, in one reflexive motion, pick up the book and lay it on my desk, beginning to scan the words written on the yellowed pages. Most of which are ominous and puzzling to the naked eye but common for someone of my profession. I didn't bother reading any of it.

After mindlessly flipping pages, I find something of interest: a map of sorts, maybe just scribbles of the clinically unstable but still something I could recognize. I wasn't surprised nor disturbed by the mention of my name, considering how long she's been seeing me. However, how did she know my first name? That's when I was able to piece together the familiarity of the map. Its X point was my home but more specifically, the wall that was right behind me. One would think to be afraid or concerned, quick to run or call someone yet; I can't help but be intrigued. Was this woman connected to the path on which I walk? Was she the one studying me? What was she looking to do exactly? I decided to examine the wall while still under cover of darkness that went without a stop outside.

After removing the hanging pictures and mirror, I knocked on each square inch of the wall, hoping to hear a difference in the wood density. I went heavy at the hard sound that released from the bottom center of the wall. There was no way of opening or getting into the area. I decided to see this through, so I got my toolbox from under the kitchen sink, tied my hair back, and began gently carving a square of the wall around the dense part of the wall making sure to be clean and neat of the marks I was creating to get whatever was inside.

After hitting, 4:18 am, I had one last piece to chip away before unmasking the thing this woman, I assume, wanted me to see. Placing my fingers behind the opening as I slash at the last piece holding the wall to itself, it breaks. Pulling the piece out, I'm met with a mental block, most likely steel with a small modern style handle attached. It was quite a beautifully made little box. After staring at it in administration, I lift it up and out of the wall, only for the handle to swing out, opening the open door of the box. Bills descend from the small opening like water flowing down a waterfall. I sat beside the fallen money and began counting in curiosity as to why this woman left me money as a way to find what I seek.

Twenty thousand dollars even with the job I work and the place I live, this bit of change would be nice to put towards something important that wasn't mandatory, like living and being fed. Still, the thought lingers what was this for? Even she knows money wouldn't be an issue for me nowadays working in the field I do.

6:27am, after putting the money back in the box and locking it away for the day, I had to put the mask back on for work. Time to wash the unhelpful things away and fill the body with fuel to work another day. I often found myself envisioning the book in my pulsating fist. Lunchtime even, I did not need entertainment besides my thoughts and questions; what was this puzzle she wanted me to solve? Is there even a solution? Of course, there is why else would I, of all people, be the one bothered to find its purpose.

6:45 pm, I don't find myself to be the impatient type, so why am I ardent to get home to my office and read more into that book I've been carrying around for over a month now. As the weather gives me a reason to run inside as it begins to pour, my house feels more cozy and comforting than usual. After fixing myself a glass of cranberry juice to sip on and a bowl of general chicken and rice, I tie my hair up once again and begin reading the words written across pages of the soft leather book at my desk.

"Don't write when you have nothing to say, no words to describe the feelings, no ways to express the emotions on paper or through speech. It does nothing but distract and frustrate you; it brings you a sense of blankness and a need for physical affection you may need and emotional attention that you will never receive". "No matter how much you give them, it's still their choice to receive." "Now I know why I dread getting in because I know I won't want to get out. It's the only place I'll get close to what physical touch I never get to have". "The black brick, the single light, the scenery coming from the one and only entry and exit. You, the beauty that is your bright blue wings."

Entry after entry, nothing unusual or of interest to me, I mean, I see this stuff five times a week, and this isn't even scratching the surface of how much I have had to expose myself to make use of the time I've spent on my work. This description though I've seen this place before only in a dream, something about its simplistic attributes moved me to see if it may exist.

After reading on, I found a description of a pathway along the trails around the edge of the city where the greenery was left untouched by human hands. I decided then to head there in the morning since it was the weekend and I had no extra work.

7:24 am Saturday, just about leaving the house with the book and money box in my backpack. The trails were set on my phone's GPS to figure out what this was all about. In the sense of having a higher intellectual explanation. The air was cool, and the trees were wet from the rainstorm last night. It was sunny for once, but most of the way I was going was washed with the trees' shade. It was truly a breathtaking sight to feel on one's skin. I remember walking trails with my father; it was always a pleasant and refreshing reminder that my knowledge and self-perception are mine to protect.

Mere minutes had passed, and I was almost there, the place that would kill my curiosity or feed my interest in this little scavenger hunt. I could see a small building up ahead. Was this the place? Was I dreaming about an entire room? On my approach to the place, I begin to shake from disbelief. There's no door. The once sunny kissed sky begins to fade to grey and blue, and rain begins to pour. "There's no way this could have been a coincidence." I begin saying out loud as I speak to myself, trying to restrain the parts of me that want someone else to understand, someone else to make the connection, someone else to see.

I jerk to the left side of the building to see if the window was in the correct spot. The dark rosewood of the four cut panel windows dripping with water just a crack open from the top. I open the window and climb inside, not looking around and only thinking of keeping the book and money dry. There was the single-lit translucent light bulb hanging from the ceiling's center by a thin black wire. The black stained brick walls all that was missing was the blue butterfly that hovered adjacent to the window. I sat down and opened the book to read on anything I had missed and set the steel box of money down next to me. It was then when I looked up and saw it, the blue butterfly. It almost looked animated in the way it moved and the piercing nature of its azure blue wings.

After what felt like hours, I finished up my time there and headed home. Laying in bed wondering how such a reality could be, I mean, how could I have dreamt of a place I had never been to before. Now all else to do is figure out a place for the money. I got up and headed over to my desk where the box sat. I opened the box in my complete panic, and the money was gone. All that was left was a note. It read, "You've failed to escape once again 5:46 pm."