She found herself humming a tune as she walked, the heat making her feel good even as the buildings began to cast a shadow over her.
There was no one behind the counter at the sorting office so she rang the bell and waited. A full two minutes later a man with a hipster beard meandered into sight.
“Yes,” he said, sounding as if the prospect of speaking to another human being filled him with shuddering revulsion.
“Hi, I’m here to pick this up.” She slid the card over the counter.
He sighed. “Just a minute.”
Daisy waited as he vanished from sight.
She waited some more.
And waited even more.
She was about to ring the bell again when he finally reappeared, a splodge of ketchup in his beard, bacon sandwich in one hand, her card in the other.
“That’s not from us,” he said, sliding the card back across to her. “I reckon someone’s been having you on, love.”
“What? Who would do that?”
“You tell me. What are your friends like?”
“You’re telling me there’s no parcel waiting here for me.”
“Nope.” He shrugged. “Sorry and that.”
“Great,” she said, turning away. “Thanks a lot.”
She pushed open the door and headed back toward her car. She’d only made it to the next road when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
She turned round to find herself looking into the rheumy eyes of a man far older than any she’d ever seen before. He had the sorting office coat on his shoulders but it hung from him as if it weighed him down.
He was little more than skin and bones. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his lips barely more than two lines on his face.
“We found it,” he said hoarsely, pushing a wooden box toward her. “Your parcel.”
“Oh,” she replied, taking it from him. “Thanks. I mean, I thought you couldn’t find it.”
“The label had fallen off,” he said. “You be on your way.” He smiled as he touched the top of her hand with his own. She expected him to feel cold but his fingers were surprisingly warm. “Time is ticking.”
He let go, turning and shuffling back around the corner out of sight.
She stood for a moment after he went. There was something oddly familiar about him. Had she seen him before? She couldn’t have done.
She felt a heavy weight in her hands as her attention was drawn back to the box. It looked much like the one she’d delivered to Jock MacGregor. Had he sent it back to her?
Of course not. He didn’t even know where she lived. Nonetheless it did look an awful lot like the one she’d taken up to him.
She pulled open the lid of the box and looked inside. A silver key marked with the letter M.
She reached into the box and then two things happened at once. As her fingers closed around the key she heard the deafening sound of a car horn. At the same time she felt rather than saw something hurtling toward her.
She didn’t see what it was. There was the screech of brakes loud in her ears but by then instinct had already closed her eyes.
She felt no pain when it hit. That was strange when she thought about it afterward. There was a roaring noise like a hurricane force wind. She felt herself lifted off her feet as something slammed into her but then nothing.
When she opened her eyes again she knew something had happened but she couldn’t remember what.
