his return was always Belinda’s wake-up call.
She immersed herself in the experience of the cabin––its serenity, beauty, and the departure it offered from the frustrating life she’d left behind. She was living a utopian fantasy that she didn’t want to end.
The decoder in Brandon’s laptop produced an average of two letters per day. Belinda found her calling by studying them intently to see if she could glean anything from the location it was slowly spelling out. So far, there wasn’t enough to identify, but helping with something so vital gave her a feeling of self-worth.
Brandon often found himself watching her as she studied the letters. Even the way she chewed her hair when she was concentrating gave him a warm feeling inside. He’d never seen anybody do that before.
Their relationship grew, day by day. While the laptop processed the code, Brandon occasionally gave himself a break. They sat together watching movies, had snowball fights, fed Snooky together, and acted as free as children, enjoying their reprieve from the horrors of the world. Their lives became intertwined, sharing every facet of daily life. They worked as a team, with their only disagreement being over music. Brandon had a penchant for eighties-style arena rock, but Belinda preferred soul and blues. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any soul or blues in his CD collection.
He quickly discovered what real cooking was all about when Belinda took control of the kitchen. He smiled inwardly, embarrassed by his initial offering to her. She was a fine teacher in that department, although burning the potatoes on his first attempt became a source of mutual laughter.
On their seventh night together, snow was falling again. Brandon lit the fire and continued with his task on the laptop. The sheet of paper lay next to him with the sequence of letters having grown considerably. “I’m so close now,” he said. “I’ve got most of the location letters, but I still can’t quite make it out. I’ve got a time and confirmation of this month. I’m just hoping it hasn’t already happened.”
“There’s been nothing else that looked like Carringby on the news,” Belinda said. “I’ve been keeping a close watch.”
He gave her an appreciative smile. “I know you have. You’ve been absolutely awesome.”
A beep from the laptop caught his attention. He looked down to see the number ‘1’ with a cursor flashing beside it, awaiting the next numeral. He’d have preferred it to have been a ‘2’ as the first digit. The anticipation of the missing second number only put him on tenterhooks. Despite Belinda having not seen anything during her days of searching news channels, his paranoia of failing for a third time was compromising his rationality. His hands began to tremble.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I don’t know if it’s already happened.”
“I swear nothing’s been on the news.”
“I know, but I’ve got a ‘one’, as in ten, eleven, twelve, or thirteen.”
“It could also be fourteen through nineteen,” she said hopefully.
He rubbed his eyes nervously, stared at the cursor, and muttered impatiently through his teeth, “Come on, come on, you son of a bitch.”
And then the missing number appeared: ‘4’.
His heart went into palpitations. “Oh, my God.”
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at her with dread in his eyes, and his scar deepened again. “It’s tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“That’s what it says. February fourteenth, at twenty-three hundred hours. Why the hell would they pick Valentine’s Day? Sick bastards. But what if it’s wrong?”
“How so?”
“It’s like what happened at Carringby. I decoded the time, but they arrived earlier than what it said. They could’ve changed the plans, and I still have no idea where it’s going down.”
Belinda picked up the paper on the table and studied the letters: S, T, L, K, E, C, I, Y, U, T, C, O, T, N.
Brandon studied her expression as her eyes
She immersed herself in the experience of the cabin––its serenity, beauty, and the departure it offered from the frustrating life she’d left behind. She was living a utopian fantasy that she didn’t want to end.
The decoder in Brandon’s laptop produced an average of two letters per day. Belinda found her calling by studying them intently to see if she could glean anything from the location it was slowly spelling out. So far, there wasn’t enough to identify, but helping with something so vital gave her a feeling of self-worth.
Brandon often found himself watching her as she studied the letters. Even the way she chewed her hair when she was concentrating gave him a warm feeling inside. He’d never seen anybody do that before.
Their relationship grew, day by day. While the laptop processed the code, Brandon occasionally gave himself a break. They sat together watching movies, had snowball fights, fed Snooky together, and acted as free as children, enjoying their reprieve from the horrors of the world. Their lives became intertwined, sharing every facet of daily life. They worked as a team, with their only disagreement being over music. Brandon had a penchant for eighties-style arena rock, but Belinda preferred soul and blues. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any soul or blues in his CD collection.
He quickly discovered what real cooking was all about when Belinda took control of the kitchen. He smiled inwardly, embarrassed by his initial offering to her. She was a fine teacher in that department, although burning the potatoes on his first attempt became a source of mutual laughter.
On their seventh night together, snow was falling again. Brandon lit the fire and continued with his task on the laptop. The sheet of paper lay next to him with the sequence of letters having grown considerably. “I’m so close now,” he said. “I’ve got most of the location letters, but I still can’t quite make it out. I’ve got a time and confirmation of this month. I’m just hoping it hasn’t already happened.”
“There’s been nothing else that looked like Carringby on the news,” Belinda said. “I’ve been keeping a close watch.”
He gave her an appreciative smile. “I know you have. You’ve been absolutely awesome.”
A beep from the laptop caught his attention. He looked down to see the number ‘1’ with a cursor flashing beside it, awaiting the next numeral. He’d have preferred it to have been a ‘2’ as the first digit. The anticipation of the missing second number only put him on tenterhooks. Despite Belinda having not seen anything during her days of searching news channels, his paranoia of failing for a third time was compromising his rationality. His hands began to tremble.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I don’t know if it’s already happened.”
“I swear nothing’s been on the news.”
“I know, but I’ve got a ‘one’, as in ten, eleven, twelve, or thirteen.”
“It could also be fourteen through nineteen,” she said hopefully.
He rubbed his eyes nervously, stared at the cursor, and muttered impatiently through his teeth, “Come on, come on, you son of a bitch.”
And then the missing number appeared: ‘4’.
His heart went into palpitations. “Oh, my God.”
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at her with dread in his eyes, and his scar deepened again. “It’s tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“That’s what it says. February fourteenth, at twenty-three hundred hours. Why the hell would they pick Valentine’s Day? Sick bastards. But what if it’s wrong?”
“How so?”
“It’s like what happened at Carringby. I decoded the time, but they arrived earlier than what it said. They could’ve changed the plans, and I still have no idea where it’s going down.”
Belinda picked up the paper on the table and studied the letters: S, T, L, K, E, C, I, Y, U, T, C, O, T, N.
Brandon studied her expression as her eyes
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