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PROLOGUE
Miles Rampell's stride carried a weary rhythm as he approached his front door. The day's work had left its mark, adding another line to his forehead, another wrinkle that no cream could fix. With each step up the familiar path, Miles mentally wandered through the mundane checklist of evening routines: a quick dinner, perhaps some mindless television, and an early night. The very thought of such a sedentary evening was a balm to his frayed nerves.
The hallway welcomed him, and Miles dropped his keys into the small bowl on the table, a habitual gesture that marked the end of his workday and the beginning of his private sanctuary. Miles shrugged off his coat, hung it up, and began the automatic process of settling in for the evening.
Living alone had its perks, though the silence of the house still cut deep. It had been a month since Jessica walked out, her absence still a fresh wound. They'd talked about children, a future together, dreams that now lay dormant. Miles remembered the clumps of hair in the shower, the abundance of candles that dominated the living room, the green smoothies in the fridge. Things he deemed inconveniences at the time but now missed terribly.
Miles moved through the house, his steps automatic but his mind far away. The pictures on the walls, the furniture they had picked out together, even the way the cushions were arranged on the couch – all of it felt like echoes of a life that was slipping away from him. The space felt larger now, emptier, the walls holding the whispers of what could have been.
Life went on, Miles reminded himself.
Into the living room, Miles switched on the TV. Channel 292 filled the screen, the channel that offered suitable trash to while away the evening with. Old game shows, alien abduction stories, ghost-hunting shows with bad acting. Brainless content that didn’t demand much attention. It was the stuff that got him through the night.
But by the muted light of the TV, Miles felt a change in the environment. His gaze drifted away from the flickering screen, drawn to his garden beyond his patio doors. Dusk was on the horizon, tinting the overgrown grass – another byproduct of Jessica’s absence – a dark silver.
But there was an anomaly amongst the familiar view, because there, taped to the glass of the patio door, was an envelope.
Miles froze; soles sealed to the carpet. He adjusted his eyes to the odd image, leaning closer but unable to unfasten the nails in his feet.
The envelope was plain, but the words written on it in bold, clear script said; OPEN ME.
He managed to unfix himself from the ground, then nestled against the wall. Miles suddenly felt an invisible force observing him, documenting his movements. The envelope seemed almost surreal, a physical manifestation of the unknown that had suddenly invaded his orderly world. As he got closer, he saw it was taped to the other side of the glass.
Whoever sent it had been in his back garden.
The thought unnerved him, someone being so close to his sanctuary. And how would they have gained access? Gone through every garden in the street? Hopped the fence? The most sinister possibilities raged through his mind, but then Miles stopped, breathed deeply and calmed himself.
Even the strangest instances had plausible explanations.
A creative attempt at junk mail?
An urgent message from the homeowner’s association?
Or, Miles thought with a surge of hope, a message from Jessica.
She was always leaving notes around the house, usually declarations of affection. What he wouldn’t give to get one more note from her.
Maybe this was it.
Miles stepped forward, unlocked the patio door and pulled the envelope off the other side of the glass. He locked the door behind him, then clutched the envelope, noting its weight and the way it seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Miles did a quick scan of the room, checking the closet, peering behind the drapes. For what? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t shake the idea of someone else being here. Everything seemed to be in its place, but he had to confess that since Jessica vanished, he hadn’t been as orderly as he used to be.
The TV's mindless chatter became a distant hum as he focused on the task at hand. The envelope, plain and unassuming, seemed to hold an entire universe of possibilities. He switched on the overhead light, sat in his chair and turned the envelope over in his hands. He searched for any indication of its sender but found none. It was thick, its edges crisp and unbent, indicating whatever was inside hadn't been there long. No postmark, no stamp - this wasn't the work of a postal worker. Someone had been here, at his house, and left this envelope specifically for him. It was as anonymous as it was insistent.
Miles gently tore the envelope and peered inside. He reached two fingers in and pulled out the contents - a single piece of paper, folded with meticulous care that seemed at odds with the unremarkable appearance of the envelope. Miles kept the contents at arm’s length, clinging onto the hope that Jessica’s touch had graced it too.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw it.
A note.
A message.
Blank ink, handwritten.
One half of the note was readable, decipherable, familiar to his understanding of the written word.
The other half, not so much.
Two sentences graced the top of the page, and Miles’ life experience told him it was a riddle.
