Roman spent the rest of his morning doing very little. He made himself some bacon and eggs for breakfast, lazily browsed social media for a while, and then decided to run some over-due errands. Slipping on a pair of black shoes, he headed out to his bike and went to the nearest Target to pick up some food and other living essentials that he had been procrastinating on buying.
He made a short trip of it, purchasing a few TV dinners, paper towels, and solo cups. It was nothing special. However, the grocery run wasn’t completely uneventful.
When he got back to his motorcycle, he stowed the items in the saddlebags he had hitched to the back and climbed on to drive home. Just as he was about to turn the key in the ignition, he spotted something small and white out of the corner of his eye. He looked up to see a piece of paper tucked into the corner of his windshield. “What the hell,” he groaned. In his experience, paper in a windshield was never a good sign. It was always a ticket or a note left by some do-gooder apologizing for hitting his bike.
He swung his leg back over the side of the motorcycle and walked around to the front, plucking the paper out from beneath his wiper blade. He looked at it curiously. It definitely wasn’t a ticket, but he also couldn’t see any damage to his bike. Maybe somebody had thought they hit him and just left the note to be safe? Either way, it was weird. He opened up the folded sheet and stared at it in surprise. Now he was sure it was a note, but it was the strangest note he had ever seen.
There’s been a change of plans. Come to this address tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock sharp:
476 5th Ave
P.S: Say nothing to Abigail Astor
“The hell is this shit?” Roman balled up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He got on his bike again and backed out of his parking space, his heart beating slightly faster with nervousness. He wanted to believe whoever had left the note had mistaken him for someone else, but the last line was too personal. This mystery person had meant it for him… and they knew about his interactions with Abby.
--
October 3, 2015
New York, NY – Roman’s Apartment
2:26PMRoman stared at the wrinkled piece of paper on his dining room table. He had gotten home a little over an hour ago, but he couldn’t do anything else until he figured out who had written it. Someone had been stalking him, and he was going to find out who.
Suddenly, Cindy’s face flashed into his mind, and he felt a pang of anger. Of course. It had to be her. She had been trying to ruin his life ever since he had left her. She must have left the note to spook him and ruin his relationship with Abigail somehow. He picked up his phone and furiously punched in her number, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table as he waited for her to pick up.
“You have some nerve calling me, asshole,” Cindy growled across the line.
“I wouldn’t be calling you if you would just leave me alone,” Roman snapped. “What’s up with the note you left on my bike, huh?”
There was a brief pause before she replied, “What are you talking about?”
“The note,” Roman repeated, growing irritable. “Don’t play dumb. I know it was you. You’re trying to sabotage my date with Abby tonight, aren’t you?”
“You’re an idiot. I didn’t leave you a note, and I have no idea who Abby is—although if you give me her number, I’d be happy to give her a
thorough picture of who she’s going out with.”
“It really wasn’t you?” Roman faltered. If Cindy didn’t know about Abby, the note couldn’t have come from her.
“No, it wasn’t,” Cindy said sternly. “Maybe you’ve made more enemies than you realize, Roman. Check your list more closely before you accuse me next time. Goodbye.” The line went dead as she hung up on him.
Roman stared at his phone. It didn’t make sense. It
had to be Cindy. Who else would have left him such a cryptic note? He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. Maybe he could just ignore it—pretend like he never saw it. After all, it was pretty risky to show up to a meeting when he didn’t know who had sent him the invitation. Maybe, if he didn’t go, the whole thing would just go away.
I should just forget the whole thing, he crumpled the note up again and tossed it into the trash.
Just then, his phone chirped with a new text from Abigail:
Hey Roman! I just wanted to know if you wanted anything in particular for dinner, or if you have anything that you don’t want in your food?
He chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking over the question before he simply replied:
Surprise me.
Sending the text, he got up from the dining table and headed back to his room. What was he worrying about? He had a date with a beautiful woman tonight. Life was good, and he wasn’t about to let a stupid piece of paper change that.
--
October 3, 2015
New York, NY – Abigail’s Apartment
5:57PMRoman stood outside of Abigail’s apartment, holding a small bouquet of flowers he had picked up on his way over. He did a quick adjustment of his tie, making sure it was still on straight, and then ran a hand through his hair one more time to fix it up. Lastly, he double checked the number on the door with the number she had sent him over text. He didn’t want to show up to the wrong place, after all.
Once he was confident that he had the right apartment, he knocked twice and stood back, leaning against the balcony railing as he waited for her to answer the door.
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