Package of Fleeting Time

"The package on my doorstep had my name, but I definitely didn’t order it," my friend said.

I almost hung up right there. It was 4:51 p.m., and my shift was about to start. This was the third time he had called me today to complain about something, but I couldn't hang up on him—not with the fact that he was letting me crash at his place. Though it's been seven months now, so I’m practically living there rent-free. On top of that, I've been living off on him for the past two weeks while waiting for my next paycheck. So, I took a second to compose myself."If you're checking to see whether I ordered something and put your name on it... well, I didn’t," I reassured him.

"Well, it’s exactly the kind of thing you would do. Those chalks you ordered came last week to my address, and—" he started saying about that one time delivery,

"That was a special delivery, a one-time thing. That company only make a few thousand a year. So I had to order it but yeah, it was under my name. I just put your address since I live there. Dude, I swear, I didn’t order anything," I explained. I couldn't fault him for pointing the finger at me for this either.

"Are you sure it’s addressed to you?" I asked him.

"It has my name on it, but there’s no return address, no receipt, no delivery guy that I saw—just a plain brown box that was lying on the doorstep when I got here," he said.

"So, the delivery guy probably messed up," I said. "Or maybe it’s those fertilizer bags for Mrs. Vernie? She orders them often, right?" I remembered hauling a bunch of those big parcels inside for our neighbor, though they were bags, not boxes. Still, it was worth suggesting. This conversation was dragging on, and I needed to hurry.

"Why on earth would Mrs. Vernie order them under my name?" he asked.

"Because she’s at her son’s place. Maybe she placed the order so you could pick it up," I said, recalling that Mrs. Vernie had asked me to check on her house every now and then while she was away. Though I guess I didn't really check on anything either.

"Yeah, right... I should call her and check... I suppose," my friend said.

"Yeah, you do that, and I’ll see you tomorrow…" I said, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Should I open it and check?" he asked.

So much for ending it. I felt like this would drag on for a while. "Open it then," I said, signing in my name under the employee attendance log.

"But what if it’s something bad... or, you know, illegal?" he said.

"Then don’t open it. Just put it aside by the garbage bin," I replied.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Dude, open the damn thing, or don’t. It’s probably nothing. If you’re still worried, call the police. I’m sure they’ll check it for you," I said. I knew that sounded harsh and uncalled for, but I was already feeling annoyed. "Look, I’m about to start my shift. You can manage this, right?"

"Fine, some friend you are," he said.

"See you tomorrow…" I started, but he cut me off and ended the call before I could finish. I felt bad, but it was a childish thing to dwell on, and I had too much going on today and I wasn’t in the mood to play peek a boo box... I sighed and went back to my office.

____________________________________________________________

"...And that’s the last conversation you had with your friend?" the officer asked. The investigator for the missing personals was a young woman probably in her late twenties around same age as me but she looked as if she aged and her dark brown hair which was tucked behind already had stretches of greying, perhaps it was much due to exhaustion and stress of the job added to bunch of sleepless nights and her gloomy yet serious tone look didn't really help her to appear any pleasant either. I thought.

"Yeah, that’s it." I replied.

"Then you left work at around 5:10 a.m. and came back to your friend's house at around 5:45 a.m.?" she asked, looking at her notepad and repeating what I’d told the officer the day before.

"Yeah, it's the same routine every day, except Sundays when I don’t work," I replied. I worked a 12-hour night shift from 5:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. six days a week and life is already hard enough with all trouble around me , and now this interrogation was starting to feel tedious.

"Let’s go through what happened next," she said.

"But I already told the other officer everything," I said.

"Well, now I’m asking again to see if we missed anything. So, please, sir," she said politely.

I sighed and started over. "The door was locked, as usual, when I came home. I used my key, opened the door, and went inside…"

"There was nothing unusual at the doorstep or the door?" she asked.

"Well, it was the same as usual. I didn’t pay close attention, but if something was out of place, I would have noticed. It wasn’t that dark, and the outside lamp was enough to brighten the area," I said.

"You didn’t see anyone on the street around that time?" she asked.

"No, it was empty, as usual. Sometimes I see this kid who walk some dogs, but he wasn’t there that day either." I said. Though, if someone wanted to hide and watch, it wouldn’t take much effort. The other side of the street has enough trees to hide behind.

"After that, I went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a water bottle, drank it, and yelled, ‘I’m back,’ like I always do. My friend sometimes responds if he’s awake early to study, but most days he’s still asleep. Since there was no response, I assumed he was still asleep. Then I went upstairs to my room and slept without changing." I said in all truth I was exhausted and it had been a really tiring and a long day, I had to go through some hundred pages of statements and accounts.

"And you didn’t feel anything odd or strange during this time?" she asked, looking directly into my eyes. I don’t like prolonged eye contact, and it felt like she was scrutinizing my every move.

"Officer, this routine has been the same for the last seven months. Nothing really changed. I work the night shift, come home, sleep until midday, and sometimes my friend is home or at his university. We have lunch together if he’s around; otherwise, I eat and work on my projects until 4:30 p.m., then go back to work. If anything changes, it’s either because I get sick or get a day off. So yeah, nothing felt off," I said and she wrote something in her notepad.

"So, yesterday when you woke up, your friend wasn’t there?" she asked.

"No, and if you are wondering if I found it odd or not no I didn’t find it odd cause like I said earlier sometimes he’s there, sometimes he’s not," I replied.

"You didn’t call him either?" she asked, flipping her pen.

"Why would I? There wasn’t anything important to ask," I said.

"Weren’t you curious about the package?" she asked, still flipping her pen.

"I didn’t even remember it at the time. I took a shower, turned on the TV, opened the fridge to grab some eggs, and looked for cheese. That’s only when I noticed something weird—the milk bottles were both empty. I mean sure my friend could have used both, but he’s never done that before. Every morning, the Dairy Van comes, picks up the empty bottles, and leaves two new ones on the doorstep. My friend always brings them inside and puts them in the fridge. So I went outside to check… Oh, and the door was locked, too." I mentioned it before she asked about the door again.

"I opened it and found the new bottles outside," I said though now that I think about it at that moment it didn’t really bugged me all that much but the feeling that something was off was already there.

"So, you figured your friend didn’t take them in?" she asked.

"I figured he hadn’t woken up yet. Taking in the new bottles is one of the first things he does in the morning. I went to his room and called him, but his door was locked. He usually locks it when he leaves the house or when he goes to sleep, so it could’ve been either. I knocked and called, but there was no answer. I called his phone." I said recalling that at that time I was ringing his phone while banging his door.

"And that's when I heard the phone was ringing inside, I knew something was wrong. I grabbed the spare key to his room and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t go in. It was locked from the inside, and his key was still there. I felt something was seriously wrong, so I kicked the door. These aren’t heavy doors, so after two kicks, the lock jaw socket just cracked and it opened." I paused a bit for a moment and thought looked at her. The officer was attentive and had stopped flipping her pen.

"And?" the officer asked, clearly absorbed in my account and pushing me to go ahead with it.

"Nothing. He wasn’t there. His room looked normal, except for his phone, which was ringing on the table. And there was a brown cardboard box on the same table. That’s it," I said. As worried as I was at the time, nothing seemed out of place, except for the box on his table, which was opened and empty.

"Did you check the room and the house?" she asked.

"Yeah, there was no place to hide, except under the bed, and he wasn’t there. The window had bars, so no one could get out that way. I searched the entire house and didn’t find him. I picked up his phone, but it was locked. It had 11 missed calls—one from me, which I took a few minutes earlier, and the others from his friends at college. I called the first number. on the list" and it was a guy who answered some Trev or Tev who was a member on his group project.

"And they said he didn’t show up and missed his presentation," she said, sparing me from explaining the phone call.

"Yeah, I guess you spoke with them, too?" I asked, just to check.

"Yes, we contacted four of his friends. I assume you've met them?" she asked, giving me that judgmental look that seemed to be fishing for something.

"I’ve met six of his friends over the last seven months, but I guess the four you asked about are in his final project team," I replied.

"After you found out he didn’t go to the university that morning, you called the police?" she asked.

"Yes, and about fifteen minutes later, two officers came. In the meantime, I went to Mr. Kelten’s house, but he wasn’t there, and Mrs. Vernie was at her son’s place. So there was no one to check with," I said.

"Mr. Kelten is abroad on a business trip, and yes, Mrs. Vernie is out of state, too…" she sighed this time perhaps she realized there arent any contradictions with what I said. "We also contacted his parents. I assume you’ve already had that conversation."

"Yeah, his parents will be here tomorrow. Their flight was delayed otherwise they would be already here." I said. It wasnt easy explaining my friend's parents that his son was missing. I told them pretty much everthing save the part about the package I thought it would be better to come the whole explanation once they come here. As for the rest I told them he was fine the day before when I last talked to him, but by noon next day, I realized he was missing. They were hopeful yet worried sick and told me to keep them informed said they'd take the next flight, but it was delayed due to bad weather. Though it was only half a day delay to them it must feel like an eternity cause they would call me every passing hour.

"Mr. Erikk," she said, "You’re the last person to have talked to him. Though it was the waitress at the coffee shop on Crescent Street who saw him last when he left around 4:40 p.m. with a coffee."

This was news to me the fact that he stopped by the coffee shop, but I figured he could have stopped for a coffee. It only takes about five minutes to get home from there, but that didn’t tell me much—except that it all led back to that box.

"The box… Did you find anything about it?" I asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary from the first check, but I decided to send it to the lab. After all, it’s the only... well, I wouldn’t call it evidence yet, but it’s all we have. Your statement will help carry on the investigation. Also, there are barely any CCTV cameras in the area, so there’s no telling who delivered it," she explained. Whether she was suspicious of me or not, I couldn’t tell, but she probably was. After all, I was the last person he talked to, and the only thing connecting me to the situation was that damn box.

"So, what's next?" I asked.

"Well, you can go home unless you have anything else to share. We’ll continue our investigation and let you know if we find anything new," she said as she grabbed her notepad and stood up. I didn’t wait for another response. I stood up and walked toward the door, which she opened for me. She walked with me to the front desk. "Here’s my card. If you remember or notice anything new, give me a call," she said. "Also, I assume you’ll be staying at your friend’s place?"

"It’s 4:10 p.m. I didn’t go to work yesterday, and I thought I might miss it today too. But since we’re done here, I guess I’ll just go to work," I said. As irritating and tiring as it was to deal with all those pages of numbers, they didn’t confuse me or make me spiral into worry.

"Alright, then. I hope when your friend’s parents arrive, you can come with them here, if you can make time." she said. It was a fair request and I suppose it came as a sincere request too considering for my friend's parents.

"Sure. Thank you, officer," I said, taking my bag from the security counter before leaving without looking back at her.

____________________________________________________________

My thoughts were all over the place—confused, frustrated, and that worrisome, ill feeling was creeping in behind my mind too. If I counted from the time I ended the phone call, it had been roughly 47 hours since my friend went missing. Yesterday, I thought about everything related to how he disappeared. I imagined he would have taken the box, gone to his room, locked his door, and vanished into thin air… but no, he probably wouldn’t have locked the door. He would have opened the box, checked whatever was inside, and carried on with his usual routine until he went to sleep. That’s when he would have locked the door and disappeared. That would place it around 9:00 or 10:00 p.m., or later if he was studying, I guess.

'I should have checked on him,' that thought finally surfaced. I tried to push it away, but it just kept creeping in. 'What if I had called him again or checked on him later when I came?' Damn, I hated thinking about it.

I was lost in guilt and walking mindlessly toward the bus station when I almost crashed into someone.

“Watch it,” the guy snapped.

“Sorry,” I muttered, noticing he had a coffee in his hand, which almost spilled when he nearly dropped it. The lid came off and fell to the ground. The guy seemed to be in a rush, cursing at me before hurrying away. I realized I’d walked past the place I was supposed to cross to get to the bus stop.

I started walking back and noticed the lid still lying on the pavement. “Crescent Coffee,” it read. I picked it up and headed toward the recycling bin by the side of the road. The lid still in my hand it came to my mind that it was only about 2 km from here to the coffee shop.

The more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed. Was it a coincidence? Sure, someone could have bought a coffee there and walked all the way here, but I couldn’t shake the odd feeling. The guy was nowhere to be seen—he had probably turned the corner—but I felt compelled to check out the coffee shop.

So, I flagged down a taxi and headed there. I wasn’t sure what I was doing exactly; If I planned to go to work today I couldn’t afford to waste time like this, but I hope for the sake of my sanity at least I could talk to the waitress once I got there. After about ten minute drive during traffic time I got down near the shop. Down along the road from here roughly 400m I would guess was my friends house so it would be like a 5min walk from here. I never really came to this place for a coffee or anything probably because I take the opposite direction of the road to my work and never come across here but I have seen this place enough to know it looks ordinary enough. I walked towards the entrance and open the door and suddenly I felt as if my head was about to explode for a second along with a numbing high pitched squeal. Then it was gone. I realized that no one paid much attention to me though I almost collapsed. I gathered my bearings and walked in.

Inside, the café wasn’t crowded—there was a couple in a corner, an older man talking to the cashier, and two guys standing in line. The waitress, carrying a tray of snacks and a glass of milk as it looked like , walked toward a girl in a white jersey who was reading a paper of sorts and flipping her pen. The waitress smiled and handed her the tray and walked back to the counter.

I felt a strange sense of déjà vu, but I wasn’t sure why. I started walking toward the waitress, but the girl in the white jersey met my eyes first and looked surprised.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed.

My body froze. I wasn’t sure if I was in a dream or a nightmare. She looked pleasantly surprised to see me, but so was I not in a pleasant way cause it didn't took much to figure that I knew who she was. I looked around to see if I was imagining things, but it felt too real to be a dream.

“Wow, and right on time, too, just as your friend said,” she added.

I checked my watch and it said 4:30 p.m.

“Look at this, I have goosebumps,” she said, showing me her hand. But I wasn’t paying attention to that. She looked about sixteen, too young a decade probably compared , but she had the same look and voice as the person I knew—though her bright, cheerful demeanor was completely different from the serious gloomy one I remembered.

“Your friend must be like one of those psychic types, or you guys planned this well,” she said, patting the seat across from her, inviting me to sit.

I sat down, and only then did I notice the brown box beside her bag. I thought to myself perhaps I was hallucinating, So I’m the deliveryman. It started to make sense—at least that part.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure what to think either,” I said trying to make a smile. “My friend told you I would come?” I asked her.

She nodded. “He said I’d meet someone who would give me a tip about my problem the very day I passed my college entrance exam, right here in this café, around this time. I thought he was just pulling a bad pickup line, but I guess it turned out to be true.” She was probably seventeen if she did her college entrance exam, and I saw she was reading a brochure about career guidance.

“Oh, silly me, I forgot. You didn’t eat anything for lunch, did you? I was told to order your favorite,” she said, pushing the tray of snacks and the glass of milk toward me.

It was my favorite—a slice of cream butter cake and a biscuit with milk—but I wasn’t in the mood to eat. Cause as much as my stomach was screaming in hunger my brain was louder screaming about questions on what the hell was going on.

“Where’s your friend, by the way? I kind of thought this was a date he was setting up for himself …" she said blushing. "Are you following the same college degree as your friend?” she asked.

I was trying to make sense of everything. “He’s sort of busy these days…” I wasn’t sure why I said that, but it just came out.

“That’s a pity. I was hoping to meet him. I wanted to tell him I aced my exam on the second try. Last year when I failed, I was really depressed, and your friend gave me the courage to carry on,” she said, with a profound sense of proud and confidence. I could see the similarities between the two women though it was obvious that a difference of a decade brought much change.

“Last year?” I asked, confused.

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head, as if she wasn’t sure why I asked that.

My heart was racing. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but if this was a dream, what part was I supposed to play? just the deliveryman or ? "Did my friend give you something?" I asked, suspecting she was probably had some kind of message.

“Oh… I almost forgot…” she said, slapping her forehead. She handed me a folded paper.

I opened it—it was a note in my friend’s handwriting. “Call me.” I looked at her, stunned.

“Sorry, I sort of read it, but he never gave his number, so I couldn’t do anything but wait a whole year,” she said, smiling.

I checked my watch—it said 4:35 p.m. I reached for my phone, but it wasn’t in my pocket. Was it in my bag? No, I had put it in my pocket along with my wallet at the police station. I had my wallet, but no phone another illusion or whatever.

“Sorry, can I borrow your phone?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said, handing me her flip phone. Well, whatever this is, it’s very detailed, I thought. I dialed my friend’s number, but as expected, it wasn’t in use. More like not in use yet but I had a feeling of sureness that the land line must work.

“Erikk, you need to bring the box,” came the voice on the other end—it was my friend’s voice, not younger or older just my friend.

“Dude, what the… you’re talking about a damn box…”

I wasn’t aware that, I raised my voice, and people in the café started looking at me. The girl looked confused and glanced at the box beside her.

“Tell her you’ll drop it at the library and bring it home. Also, tell her she should check out the seminar at the police station tomorrow. Hurry,” my friend said, and then the call ended.

I looked at my watch—4:38 p.m. The girl’s face showed concern. My friend had called me at 4:50 p.m. when he received the box, so he had probably seen it a few minutes earlier. I had about 7 minutes to run.

“Are you going to donate this to the library?” I asked her.

Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh my god, he really is psychic, isn’t he?” she said.

“He asked me to take it with me since the library is on my way,” I replied, unsure if she would believe me.

“Sure, that’ll be helpful,” she said, letting me pick up the box.

The girl was still cheerful and optimistic, unlike the person I knew. I wondered what had happened to her, but I checked the package—it was the same color as the one I’d seen on my friend’s table. There was tape sealing the top, but no sticker or identifying mark. That bothered me, especially since the one on my friend’s table had a yellow sticker with his name on it.

“Also, you should probably check out the seminar at the police station tomorrow,” I said, wondering if that was the tip that would decide her career.

“My aunt is a police officer. So, your psychic friend figured that too, huh?” she asked.

I just smiled.

“Sorry, I need to rush now,” I said. What else could I tell her? Luckily, she was trusting and didn’t find the whole situation weird unlike her counterpart.

“Oh, okay then tomorrow at the same time, then?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, I wasnt sure if I will ever see her again but I grabbed the box, which was almost look alike of the one which was on top of my friend's table but there was no special name sticker written or otherwise on this one. I didnt bothered about it and headed for the door. I turned back one last time—she was waving, and I waved back as I left I expected the acute pain again with the numbing high pitch tone and it last a second and I shook it off and started running.

I ran as fast as I could, probably so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. Questions popped into my head, questioning my actions and my existence. The elephant in the room—did I go back in....? Nah, whatever. Once I drop this damn box, it will end.

When I finally reached the house, I dropped the box at the door, still breathing heavily. I felt like I had run a marathon, but everything was spinning, and I was about to blackout.

____________________________________________________________

Maybe I did, because when I opened my eyes, my phone was ringing nonstop.

“Erikk… Dude, what the hell, man? How many times did I call you?” I heard my friend’s voice on the other end.

“What…?” was all I could manage to say. My head was pounding like it was splitting.

“Dude, are you sleeping? I thought you were at work,” he asked.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, or what the hell had happened. Here I was, at my office, and the time was 5:10 p.m.

“Ah, why did you call?” I asked.

“There’s a package on the doorstep,” he said. Well, duh, I put it there after running a marathon in my dream, I thought.

“Dude, did you put something on my card again?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded. It’s the same damn conversation from earlier again…

“No, I didn’t,” I said, too tired to argue.

“You say you didn’t order it, but the package on my doorstep has your name on it…..................” and I wasnt sure what how to respond to that.