A phone call

The weekend. The only time when Elena ever seems to get anytime for herself. She hardly remembers drifting off last night, her encounter with Lucille feeling like a distant memory. She drags herself out of bed a little bit before noon, enjoying the liberty of being allowed to sleep in.

She sits on the sofa, eating a bowl of cereal. The shrill ring of her phone startles her. Grudgingly she put down the bowl and picks up the receiver.
The phone line crackles with static.

“Hello?” She asks.

“Is that Ms Bancroft?” A male voiced queried.

She stalls before answering, curious as to the identity of the stranger on the other end.
“Yes, this is she.”

“I'm, terribly sorry to disturb you on a such a beautiful weekend afternoon. I represent the estate of Ms Eckhart.” He informs her.

There was something about referring to Diane in such a clinical way that makes Elena want to cry. She half-wants to slam the phone down, but she has to admit that curiosity is getting the better of her.

She blurts out the first question that came to mind.
“Have they found a body?” She demands.

“I'm afraid I cannot answer that question.” The man’s voice is cold and aloof. “I appreciate the reason for your question and I dearly wish I could give you an answer. There is an item which has been passed into my care and I have been given strict instructions to entrust it only to you.”

“Who gave you this Mr…” Elena brushes a hand through her hair.

“Unfortunately I am also not allowed to reveal who has passed this to me. Ah, yes I forgot to introduce myself earlier. I am Mr. Mot.”

“How soon can I collect this from you?”

“Ideally this afternoon. I am somewhat pressed for time.”

What is this mysterious object? If she wasn’t interested before, she definitely is now. She realizes the circumstances seemed strange but maybe in a way this could help her find closure.

“I could come by today. Where is your office?”

Mr Mot gives her an address, which she vaguely recognizes as being somewhere downtown.

“Before five Ms. Bancroft.” And with that he disconnects the call.

Elena put down the phone and mulls the conversation over in her mind. She sinks back onto the sofa and finishes her now soggy breakfast, putting the bowl into the sink as she walks into her bathroom to get a shower. Thirty minutes later she slips into a pair of jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt, eager to meet the mysterious Mr. Mot and his box. She walks several blocks to hail a taxi.
She quickly finds herself on the way to the address she had been given.

She’s a little surprised when instead of an office building the taxi pulls up beside a rundown apartment building. She slips the driver a twenty, who speeds away, thankful to get out of the neighborhood. Elena feels anxious at the sight of smashed windows. She notices a fading piece of graffiti over the doorway reading 'redemisti crucem passus'.

Carefully she makes her way inside, noticing Mr. Mot's apartment is on the ground floor. She presses the buzzer in three short bursts, hoping she hasn’t angered the old man. She hears shuffling from behind the door and the sound of several latches being unbolted. Mr. Mot stands in front of her, his gaunt frame taking her aback.

Elena tries not to stare. It doesn’t help that his skin is sickly and pale. He’s not much taller than her. She tries to guess his age but is only able to place between forty through to his late sixties. His black suit is coming loose around the stitches. She glances at the lily in his lapel.

“Ah, you must be Ms Bancroft.”

He extends a hand to her. She notices his fingernails are stained with nicotine.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Mot.”

“A pleasure it is to meet you as well my dear. I only wish it could be under better circumstances. I have the item in my study.”

He shuffles off down the short hallway of his apartment, disappearing into a side room. She follows close behind. Mr. Mot stands on the other side of an ornate wooden desk, clear apart from an old shoebox. The room is lined with shelves containing various tattered journals and decaying books.

“Is this the item?” She picks it up.

“Yes, this was the item entrusted to me. I feel it will grant me some relief to part with it.” He murmurs.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, my dear. Just an old man's foolishness.”

She glances at the red ribbon tied around the box. She fingers the string, curious to know what is inside.

“Ah, I must stop you Ms. Bancroft.” Mot stops her. “The box's contents are for your eyes only. My assumption is that you are not meant to open it in my presence. “
Elena bristles, feeling as though she’d just been told off by a teacher rather than the executor of an estate. She tucks it under one arm, eager to get out of this hellhole and away from the creepy man as soon as possible.

“As, our business is now concluded I must take my leave of you.”

“Okay, thank for holding this for me Mr Mot.”

She walks back into the corridor, Mr. Mot leading her back to the door. She’s only too happy to be out of his hair, bidding him a quick goodbye before making her way back out onto the street. She hails another taxi and soon finds herself back home.

Before she knows it, she’s staring at the shoebox on her kitchen counter, afraid yet anxious to open it.