by R.K. Ryals
~Bezaliel~
I woke up the next morning feeling drained and more than a little exposed. My head was on my pillow, the covers pulled up to my chest, and the first thought that came to my head was Conor. Where was he? All the questions I should have asked him last night reared their ugly heads. What had he been doing here? Had he used the ladder again? Did he want something? I shook my head wearily. The sun was bright and I squinted. What time was it? I glanced over at my bedside table and swore: 11:00. Had I really slept that long? I started to move and something rustled beneath me. I lifted up my pillow to find a note folded neatly, my name etched in fine script along the front. I recognized the handwriting, and I hesitated as I lifted it up. I flipped it open.
You need to leave, Dayton. Before tonight. Please think about it and call me.
Yours,
Conor
