What Rose Above

Eight

The next two days felt like a drag as I had put myself on lockdown in my room. It didn't bother me too much. Not like I'd been missing anything important anyways. Well, except maybe the chance to snoop. Patty's invitation to go vision hunting yesterday was tempting. But I had turned her down. That way, I could think undisturbed. Too bad my plans were working a little too smoothly. I could think alright—just not in the ways I wanted to.

Saturday night, a few hours after returning home from Mr. Jefferson's diner, I fully expected to catch another shadow lurking around our house. But nothing. All of Sunday was the same, and I was thinking of calling it quits for today too. After all, stalking the streets from my window felt hopeless. Maybe I'd imagined things like Patty thought. Hell, I didn't know anymore.

"Right on time," I cheered under my breath as the postal vehicle cruising down the street broke me from my trance. I then hopped off the window sill and darted out of my room.

"Don't eat while you're laying down! You'll choke!" I called out to Junior, whilst rushing past the living room. He was flat on his back, a bag of chips lying on his stomach. He shot back, what I assumed was, a smart remark, that I couldn't understand through his crunching and munching. I rolled my eyes and let out a long sigh at his childish behavior.

Since locking myself in my room, my mother thought it was the perfect opportunity for me to keep an eye on Junior while she worked. And of course, he chose today to act like a little spoiled brat. By the time I approached the curb, Byron parked his truck in front of me.

"Good afternoon, Tyler. Here's your mail for today," Byron said, his usual small smile gracing his face. He handed me a few envelopes—per usual—and surprisingly, a small brown box with a thin brown string tied around it. A package? With my name on it? Well, that was unusual.

"Is this for me?" I asked, my nose screwed up.

"Uhh, that's what it says, isn't it? You weren't expecting a delivery?" Byron's eyebrows pinched together as he leaned forward, examining the package with me.

I shook my head, murmuring, "No, I don't remember ordering anything recently. . ."

"Maybe your mom ordered something?" he suggested.

"I don't know, maybe." I shrugged. I doubted it though. She always told us when she had a package out for delivery. "Thanks anyway, Byron. Drive safely."

"No problem, kid. And thanks," he said. Then, he was off.

If I didn't order anything and my mother didn't order anything, then where the hell did this package come from? Junior, possibly? No, I didn't think so. The white sticker on the box had my name and address. Nothing more. So, I was dealing with an unknown sender then. Just Perfect. Because sure, that was exactly what I needed on top of everything else.

My hands were busy with the string as I kicked the front door shut behind me. Sheesh, this thing was tight. It didn't budge until I was back in the privacy of my room. I flopped down on my bed, the package fit snugly on my lap.

"What the hell is this?" A frown touched my lips as I pried the box open. What greeted me from inside, was an old piece of newspaper taped to the front of an old tape recorder. That wasn't the weirdest detail of all though. After a quick scan of the article, I noticed it was dated back to 1965. What? No, that wasn't right. Someone had to be messing with me. Right? That had to be.

"Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens celebrates its grand opening. . ." I read the title of the article word for word. The more it sucked me in, the higher my nose screwed up.

Oh, this article was from 1965, alright. It was so old it was turning brown. Not to mention parts of the article were missing, as though someone had shredded sections of it. For whatever reason that might've been. I didn't think I wanted to know the answer to that.