He was closer to his apartment and pulled down the off-ramp.
“I want to see you next time.”
“What about tomorrow? I can show you what I found. If I found anything.”
“I can’t.” She paused. “Oh wait, I can. I thought I had something, but I don’t.”
“What?”
“We normally have movie night then. But Sheryl is changing her second bridge night this week. So the common room is full.”
“Second bridge night?”
“They play twice a week now.”
“So you’re free?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
He got to his building and sped into a parking space. He pulled on the tight neck of his t-shirt and opened the windows as he idled. No one else was in the lot-it was just him and empty cars. He unbuckled himself, then he released the duck and set it on his lap. He turned it over to the bottom. He read the neat loops of cursive, ones that he recognized from the letters he’d found.
“From Patrick to Charlotte, 1974.”
He traced over the writing with his hand. Her husband had been able to carve inside of things, he remembered Charlotte telling him. The only problem was figuring out how to open it. He looked around the base of the duck. There weren’t any obvious holes or doors. Just the writing. But at the bottom of the neck he noticed a thin black line.
He grabbed the bill on the duck’s head and started to jiggle it. When he pulled up and down it didn’t give. Then he pushed it right. It twitched. Then left. The neck began to turn all the way around, and the duck’s head revolved around its body. He kept turning, and like a screw it unwound from the base.
Papers fell out as he pulled the head away. They were rolled up tight and bound by a thin rubber band. Whatever Charlotte had, he’d found it. He peeled off the rubber band and the sound twanged inside the car. He unrolled the pages and placed them on his lap.
The first one was predictable. A bridge schedule for the past three months. He knew that Charlotte would try to tie it back to bridge. Now that he’d found it, it all seemed a little sadder. He looked. It was a schedule for the week-the days Sheryl had slighted her. Monday and Thursday she played in the common room. Charlotte had marked both of them with an X. Jake didn’t want to look at it long. He wanted to get to what she’d found-not what she’d imagined. There was a real conspiracy behind the one she was obsessed with. It was called the Saving Tomorrow Initiative.
He found them on the next page. It was a call log. She’d written down a phone number and a series of times and dates next to it. She’d been calling, trying to find out their agenda. Each time, the log read “no answer,” except for the last call.
She made the call the day before she died. Seeing the three dots in a line chilled him. They were like goose bumps on the page. Why wasn’t there more? He turned the paper over.
She’d recorded everything she’d tried to find out about the Initiative. The problem was that she hadn’t found much. Apparently, the group was less than a year old. She couldn’t get any financial information. The articles of incorporation listed a P.O. Box outside Sarasota as the address. A dead end. They weren’t in any charitable directories or listings. All she’d found was that phone number and whoever was on the other end of the line. And then they’d found her.
Jake took out his phone and impulsively turned it on. He saw his thumb shake as he pressed each number. Area code. Then three more. He looked at the paper-Charlotte had last called the day before she died. Four more digits. It started to ring. Again. Then a click. Was that it?
A recording played.
“You have reached the Saving Tomorrow Initiative.” It was the voice of the woman from the commercial. “Please vote against the Development Proposition. Humans must learn their place. If they don’t, we will show them. This war is just beginning.”
A beep. He clamped the phone shut. He wasn’t ready to leave a message when it was a matter of life and death. There was only one other page left. He unrolled it and flattened it on his lap. It was just a series of questions. Some had checkmarks next to them. Some didn’t.
She didn’t know. But he did. Abram.
Checked. He sighed. More bridge.
Checked.
Checked.
Checked.
There were wrinkles in the page, but it was checked. She knew a lot more than he did, and she’d even figured out the connection, if there was one. If only she’d written it down. Jake was sweating as he read the last three questions. It was a cold sweat.
Checked.
Checked.
He rolled the page up after the last question.
It was blank. But he knew the answer.
He bound the pages together and carefully slipped the rubber band around them. He’d gotten a phone number. And now he knew that the Saving Tomorrow Initiative had threatened her. But he had the same questions that Charlotte did. He twisted the neck back onto the base of the duck. How did Sheryl connect? How was the group funded? And what were they trying to do?
He also had a few questions of his own. Who had attacked him? Why had they done it? He wondered if he could escape when Charlotte hadn’t.
It was enough for one morning. He wasn’t tired, but he didn’t want to think about any of it for a while. He decided to go inside the apartment and rest. Maybe he’d even research Thompson’s celebrity article. There was nothing wrong with having a diversion. Melinda Ginelli wasn’t bad to look at, and he still had a job. If this was all Charlotte had found, he was starting to doubt that he’d have a real story. He screwed the neck of the duck back on and shut the windows.
The exhaustion didn’t fully set in until he reached the stairs to his apartment. They seemed to multiply now that he was tired. He took each wide step one at a time, the wallet, keys, and phone in his back pocket bulging like a pulled muscle. He felt hot again. He couldn’t wait to go inside and finally take his shower.
He put the key in the lock and turned it. Then he opened the door.
The first thing he felt was something pulling at his shoulder. His t-shirt ripped. Then he tripped on the divider between the door and the living room. Something shoved down his head and pressed a cold boot down on his neck. He dropped the duck and his keys fell from his pocket. He heard the sound of duct tape being pulled out from a roll and ripped. His wrists were pulled tight together and bound and the gray tape covered his mouth. He tasted and smelled fresh glue.
He tried to twist his body up, but the foot on his neck had dragged down to his back. Then he felt the tape start
