Amabile by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Amabile

Page 107

He hesitated, thumb resting on the clasp. The house seemed to hold its breath.

When he finally opened it, the hinges gave a quiet sigh.

Inside lay a single object; a smooth, river worn stone, pale gray, etched with a symbol he didn’t recognize. It was something like a spiral intersected by a straight line. Beneath it, folded neatly, was a scrap of paper.

He unfolded it.

The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was unmistakably meant for him:

“You went looking for answers out there.

You forgot the ones waiting here.

— A Friend – “

It was more than a little disconcerting. Morey thought that he had taken the trip without anyone other than his immediate family knowing. He now had to entertain the idea that someone did; or likely did. He was being watched, and that thought was uncomfortable until it became comfortable.