Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

N A T
T
he instant the door closes behind Kage, I bolt
into my bedroom, run into the closet, and rip
my engagement album off the top shelf.
When I open the leather cover, David’s letter flutters out
and lands at my feet. I stashed it here that day I left the bank.
Throwing the album aside, I snatch up the letter and
quickly scan it. My hands shake so hard, the paper trembles.
It finally makes sense, this strange safety deposit box
letter.
There’s a clue inside.
I missed it before because I didn’t have the right frame of
reference. I wasn’t looking at it with the same eyes. But now
that I know what I know, the logic is perfect.
David didn’t tell me about the safety deposit box because
it was a secret. A secret meant just for me. His way of telling
me it was something special was to mail me the key.
If it hadn’t gotten stuck in his decrepit outgoing mailbox, I
would have received that key a few days after he disappeared.
Maybe even on the same day we were supposed to be getting
married. And if I had received it then, I would’ve shown it to
the police. Without question. They would’ve tracked down the
safety deposit box and had the bank open it.
And just like when I opened it, there would’ve been only a
love letter inside.