Reckless Kiss

I don’t answer, and she quietly leaves the room.

25

Deacon

Standing in the center of the county warehouse building, I’m surrounded by boxes stretching to the back wall and stacked to the ceiling. It’s not as big as Hangar 51, but it’s just as daunting.

The guard left me at the door to figure out the order, if there is any.

Stopping at the closest box, I open the lid and look inside. Manila folders are mixed with brown envelopes in stacks that look like someone emptied file drawers into boxes and taped them shut.

If that’s the case, these boxes have to hold years. Scanning the documents, I find the year 1968 on this one. Too early.

Shoving it back in the pile, I dig a little deeper and pull out another folder, opening it. Yes… The date is also 1968. I pull out a black marker I shoved in my jeans just in case and mark this box 68.

Going down a few rows, I pull up at what I hope gets me back ten years. Lifting the box off the stack, I open it and repeat the process. My stomach is tight, and I realize I’m holding my breath when I read the date 1975.

“Shit.” I swear out loud.

“Ready to give up?” The female voice calls to me from the front of the room.

Using the marker, I write 75 on this one and go back to where I started. “Not yet.” Once I’m back at the original box, I walk forward what I hope is ten years.

“There’s supposed to be an order to this madness, but I think everyone stopped caring in the 80s.” Mary lifts the lid on the box closest to her and waves a hand in front of her face, coughing. “So much dust. Think you need a mask?”

“I’m not allergic.” And I’m in a hurry. The longer this needle hides in the haystack, the longer it takes to mend our bridges.

“This one’s 1971. What year are you after?” She drops the lid and looks around the large room.

“I’m guessing the second half of the 1940s.”

Mary’s brown eyes widen. “You don’t know the year?”

Exhaling deeply, I look down. “My grandfather would’ve been buying property up to 1950. If he went in with someone it could be as early as 1945.”

She passes me, heading toward the back of the room. “Those are going to be some of the first records put here. Older stuff is usually claimed by the historical society.”

My stomach tightens, and I feel a little encouraged as I follow her to the back of the room. “You think you can find it?”

“No, but maybe we can isolate the location.” She pulls the lid off a box and lifts out an envelope.

It’s paper-thin and yellowed. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Let me see.”

She turns it to me and smiles. “Fifty-two.”

“Here.” I take the marker and put a 52 on the outside of the box.

“These numbers are supposed to do what you just did.” She runs her finger along a barcode printed on a sticker on the side of the box.

It has a mixture of letters and numbers I can’t decipher. “Do you know what they mean?”

Her lips press into a frown, and she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for a scanner for it.”

“At least I’m getting warmer.” I go to the next box and lift the lid, digging deep into the contents.

I make a note 50 and go five rows down. Mary continues searching row by row, closing boxes and helping me note them.