when I read the text he sent me the other night. Everything feels wrong. As soon as I step into the apartment I realize just how right I am.
The apartment is in complete disarray. Not just a typical bachelor pad mess either, the type of mess that’s caused by someone tearing everything apart as though searching for something.
Ransacked.
The word pops into my head. I close the door behind me and lock it. I’m not sure why, either. There’s no damage done to it from whoever had trashed the place, so either they have a key or a lock pick. It makes me feel safer though.
I take a timid step forward, afraid of what else I might discover, and my foot crunches on something. I lean forward to pick up the item. It’s Jason’s cell phone. The damage I’ve just inflicted on it doesn’t seem to be the worst it’s seen. It’s snapped completely in two, the two parts dangling together by single wire. It is a strong possibility the reply text he sent me was the last thing he had sent before Mr. V’s men arrived at the apartment. My hope that he had gotten away safely is fading by the minute. After all, if he had managed to escape he certainly wouldn’t have left his phone behind.
I drop the phone as a cold chill runs through my veins. If the men who had trashed his apartment had also kidnapped him, I can’t even imagine where he might be. Again, I can clearly remember the sound of Mr. Barron’s head hitting his desk and I’m nauseous for the second time today. I try not to think about that, about someone hurting Jason, and press on toward my next goal. If Jason isn’t here, then maybe he has left me another clue.
“Breadcrumbs,” I whisper to myself, as if the word has become my mantra. I step into the small kitchen and living room area. There’s a hall to my left leading to the bedroom and a bathroom. My feet crunch on broken dishes that someone had tossed onto the floor while searching the cabinets. I can’t help but wonder if they found what they were looking for, the stolen jewels. But if they found what they were looking for, why does it seem like they have taken Jason too?
I try not to focus on all the what ifs, though it’s hard. Especially now that the possibility he has been kidnapped has entered my mind. I need to find his next clue, wherever and whatever it is. Standing in the chaos of his tiny apartment, nothing stands out to me. No matter how obvious it might be, it’s not going to be easy to find in this mess.
I spend over an hour searching the apartment from top to bottom. It’s small, so it should be easy to search thoroughly, but combing through the rubble of Jason’s life looking for some sort of clue is proving difficult.
Eventually I give up my search and make my way back into the kitchen, wondering if there is anything to eat in the fridge. I consider calling Alexa for a little insight, but after keeping her from her sleep yesterday, I’m not sure she will appreciate another rude awakening.
I drop down onto one knee beside my backpack, which I had left on the floor, and pull out my notebook. I read the text message one more time, but still it gives me no further insight. I stand again and survey the damage all around me, feeling an unquenchable fear rising up in my chest.
Desperately I repeat the message aloud, “Need help, only hope.” Something about the words sparks my memory this time.
“Only hope,” I say again, my eyes searching the room. Then I laugh out loud to myself when I spot it.
“Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,” I say, almost laughing as I fall to my knees next to an old Star Wars lunchbox that had been tossed to the ground. I grasp it in my hands, staring at it in disbelief. Could this be the clue? It makes sense, sort of. It is just the kind of thing Jason would come up with in a pinch. I shake the tin lunch box and it gives a satisfying rattle. I wonder briefly if the stolen jewels are hidden inside. If so, Mr. V should fire his men.
I
The apartment is in complete disarray. Not just a typical bachelor pad mess either, the type of mess that’s caused by someone tearing everything apart as though searching for something.
Ransacked.
The word pops into my head. I close the door behind me and lock it. I’m not sure why, either. There’s no damage done to it from whoever had trashed the place, so either they have a key or a lock pick. It makes me feel safer though.
I take a timid step forward, afraid of what else I might discover, and my foot crunches on something. I lean forward to pick up the item. It’s Jason’s cell phone. The damage I’ve just inflicted on it doesn’t seem to be the worst it’s seen. It’s snapped completely in two, the two parts dangling together by single wire. It is a strong possibility the reply text he sent me was the last thing he had sent before Mr. V’s men arrived at the apartment. My hope that he had gotten away safely is fading by the minute. After all, if he had managed to escape he certainly wouldn’t have left his phone behind.
I drop the phone as a cold chill runs through my veins. If the men who had trashed his apartment had also kidnapped him, I can’t even imagine where he might be. Again, I can clearly remember the sound of Mr. Barron’s head hitting his desk and I’m nauseous for the second time today. I try not to think about that, about someone hurting Jason, and press on toward my next goal. If Jason isn’t here, then maybe he has left me another clue.
“Breadcrumbs,” I whisper to myself, as if the word has become my mantra. I step into the small kitchen and living room area. There’s a hall to my left leading to the bedroom and a bathroom. My feet crunch on broken dishes that someone had tossed onto the floor while searching the cabinets. I can’t help but wonder if they found what they were looking for, the stolen jewels. But if they found what they were looking for, why does it seem like they have taken Jason too?
I try not to focus on all the what ifs, though it’s hard. Especially now that the possibility he has been kidnapped has entered my mind. I need to find his next clue, wherever and whatever it is. Standing in the chaos of his tiny apartment, nothing stands out to me. No matter how obvious it might be, it’s not going to be easy to find in this mess.
I spend over an hour searching the apartment from top to bottom. It’s small, so it should be easy to search thoroughly, but combing through the rubble of Jason’s life looking for some sort of clue is proving difficult.
Eventually I give up my search and make my way back into the kitchen, wondering if there is anything to eat in the fridge. I consider calling Alexa for a little insight, but after keeping her from her sleep yesterday, I’m not sure she will appreciate another rude awakening.
I drop down onto one knee beside my backpack, which I had left on the floor, and pull out my notebook. I read the text message one more time, but still it gives me no further insight. I stand again and survey the damage all around me, feeling an unquenchable fear rising up in my chest.
Desperately I repeat the message aloud, “Need help, only hope.” Something about the words sparks my memory this time.
“Only hope,” I say again, my eyes searching the room. Then I laugh out loud to myself when I spot it.
“Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,” I say, almost laughing as I fall to my knees next to an old Star Wars lunchbox that had been tossed to the ground. I grasp it in my hands, staring at it in disbelief. Could this be the clue? It makes sense, sort of. It is just the kind of thing Jason would come up with in a pinch. I shake the tin lunch box and it gives a satisfying rattle. I wonder briefly if the stolen jewels are hidden inside. If so, Mr. V should fire his men.
I
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