by K. Weikel
Chapter 12
“What man?” Becca asks, her breathing shallowing out. “What man in the black mask?”
Twitch looks around the room, shifting his weight nervously and wringing his hands.
“He—he walked up to me after we tried to burn your mask. He said he wanted it.”
“And you just gave it to him?” Eduard starts to shout.
“I’m—I’m sorry—”
“You’re sorry, Twitch?!” Veins start to pop from Eduard’s neck. “Victoria is dead because of you!”
Eduard shoves Twitch suddenly, and he falls to the ground. Twitch’s face twists into a mixture of pure guilt and fear. Becca finds herself stepping forward, almost as if to protect him, but she stops short as Eduard looks at her suddenly.
“We’ll do it.” He says quietly. “Everyone get your things together. We leave tonight.”
. . .
Becca doesn’t have many things to pack up as she looks around her room. She brings her blanket and pillow, and she packs some toiletries, not knowing when exactly she’d be able to shower or brush her teeth again.
She shoves them in her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. She can hear her old mask in the bottom getting crushed, but she doesn’t care. She’d be happy if it had disappeared completely.
Becca takes one more look around, reminding herself that this is the last time she'd ever be in her own room. This is the start of something new, something dangerous, something radical.
There’s no going back.
Not now. Not ever.
She starts to turn around, when something catches her eye.
Behind the back corner of the bed, crushed between the bottom leg of the bed and the wall, something black lies.
She makes her way over to it, caution in her step as her eyes focus on its glossy surface.
She reaches for it and pulls it out as she sits on the cold wooden floor. It’s a box with rounded corners and a little bit bigger than her hand. The lid has two letters engraved onto it in gold cursive: B. F. She runs her fingers over it, feeling the grooves and wondering what they stand for.
On the front of the box is a gold keyhole, matching the color of the letters. She looks around for a key, if someone left one. Becca pulls up the skirt of the bed and her eyes catch on a shiny piece of metal. She reaches under and, with much difficulty, finally pulls it to her.
The gold metal of the key is cold against her fingertips as she looks at it. It seems like it’s the key to the box, and not just because it’s the only key mysteriously placed in her room, but also because the color is the same and it’s the right size for the keyhole.
It slips in with a small clunk, and unlocks the box with a louder click as Becca turns it with her right hand.
The lid pops off slightly and she lifts it up the rest of the way, her heart pounding in her chest and telling her that maybe she should have left it alone.
She catches a glimpse of what’s in the box and suddenly wants to drop it.
Her eyes are glued to what is inside of it, and her hands seem to be frozen solid in their position, unable to let go.
Who put this here? She thinks, her brain panicky. And then another thought surfaced. Who had been in my room that night?
“Becca, you ready?”
Becca jumps at the sound of Mikey’s voice, slamming the box closed. She nods and gulps the spit that had gathered inside her mouth.
“Alright. Well, we’re headed down now.” Mikey says, shrugging to help move his backpack into more of a comfortable position. He stands there a moment before disappearing from Becca’s doorway.
She listens to his footsteps as they recede.
She looks back at the box, her thumb holding it open slightly.
Slowly, she opens it back up and looks at the contents held inside. She picks it up, the black metal cold like the key had been. The weight makes her hand sag towards the ground slightly, her wrist bending a tiny bit. It’s not as big as a normal one…
She looks back down at the box. In the center of the velvet mold of the object, sits a white piece of paper.
You’ll be alone. This shall bring you comfort.
She reads the words over and over on the paper and drops what she holds in her hands back into the box she had set on the floor. She stares at it, not able to take her eyes off of it.
How could something like this bring me comfort? She thinks to herself as she looks back at the item in her other hand.
Becca feels something unsettling in her heart, as if the note speaks the deepest truths she can’t admit to even herself. Disgusted with her thoughts, she throws the object back in the box and slams it shut, locking it back up.
Who had been in her room that night? Did they put this box inside of her room? Had this been in here this whole time? Why did they give this to her? Why would it bring her comfort?
She tries to put the wooden box down, but her hands won’t let go. Her brain says she’ll need it. Her brain won’t let her leave it.
So she shoves it in her bag, hearing the mask at the bottom of her bag bend even more. She pushes the box down harder, not completely understanding why she does it, and hears the satisfactory sound of it crack into two below.
She stands up and places the bag on her shoulders. Her small circle of Maskless companions head down the stairs, and she catches the tail end of them, trying to consciously forget about the gun she conceals in her backpack.
