The Edge of Honour

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Morgan's POV

A strange sound awoke me from my much needed sleep. It grew louder in its volume as if it were trying to attract attention to itself. It sounded oddly familiar as if it had once been a common occurrence and sound to my ears.

I rose from the seat and quickly scanned the room to make sure that I was still alone. The old house was utterly silent except for the monotonous ringing that reverberated from the unknown object.

I followed the sound and listened carefully as it became louder as I became closer to it. I retraced my steps as it dropped by mere decibels. Finally, I realised that it was echoing from the thick black box that had remained locked since my grandmother had died.

The sound stopped suddenly and the house returned to its usual quiet state. The only sounds were the mice scratching in the attic as they created yet another nest for their rapidly expanding family and the sound of the broken clock as its hands bounced sporadically around the clock face, not keeping the time of anywhere in the world.

I pulled open the door of the cupboard and squatted beside my bed as I searched for the slightly rusted object. My hands wrapped around the small key and I eagerly made my way back to the box with it. Finding the source of the noise was my only aim. I needed to find the connection that it had with something deep inside of me. It was as if it had been a part of my life a long time ago- a part of my childhood perhaps.

I struggled to push the rusted key into the lock. With a nervous hand, I removed the loose rust and it finally clicked into place. Gently, I lifted the lid and revealed a treasure trove of memories; some cherished, and some that I was still struggling to forget.

The box had been locked when I was seven years old. They had said that it was for my own good. My social worker handed me the key and told me to open it when the memory of my grandmother’s death was less raw, less painful for me.

Despite often contemplating it, I had never once opened that box. I was uncertain if I was willing to resurface all those painful memories. I could not remember much of my life with her, however I remember the feelings- the love that we had shared. I recalled the happiness that I had continuously felt, right up until the day that she had drowned. After that day, an unfixable hole had been left in my heart, a gaping void. It was something which nobody could truly understand unless they had been through something as tragic themselves.

The noise began again, the volume once more increasing with each passing second. I pulled out the various articles of clothing that lay at the top of the box as I searched for the object that I desperately desired.

My lightly shaking hands clasped around it. I could not believe how obvious the cause of the sound had been all along. It had been a phone- my grandmother’s phone. With a quiet laugh, I remembered the hatred that I had felt towards it as a child. That ring always meant that my grandmother would have to talk to somebody, someone other than me. I always dreaded the sound. She was the only person that I had, yet she had many caring friends who were eager to speak to her. I could remember hiding the phone from her on multiple occasions. My grandmother never got angry when I did, she simply hugged me and I assured me that I was the centre of her universe and always would be.

The realisation that the phone would have been locked away in the box for seven years confused me. The social worker had told me that he had turned it off in case anybody started ringing the phone, but yet it was ringing. The screen’s battery informed me that it had a full battery. I could not understand how it had not run out of charge, let alone being full. It was not making any sense to me. It was only as I stared at the battery meter that I realised that I should answer the phone call.

With quivering hands, I pressed the answer button.

“Morgan Foster,” a commanding female voice said. There were no unnecessary greetings just my name. I wondered how the person could possibly have known that I was the person who would answer it since it was my grandmother’s phone after all. It had to be a stranger, everybody knew the circumstances of her death, but yet they knew my name. It made no logical sense. I suddenly became worried that someone had heard that I was living alone and would try to return me to fosterage. Life was tough for me, but I was wise enough to live on my own. I would carve out a future for myself, a path that only I could create.

“Yes...” I replied simply as my head struggled to process what was going on. “Who is this?”

“It does not matter who we are Morgan,” they replied slowly. “What matters is who you are.”

“Who I am?” I repeated, my voice shaking with confusion.

“Yes Morgan, we know all about you. We know about the man who is after you and most importantly we have the power to stop him. You need to stay away from him, his plans are terrifying,” she said, her voice taking on a serious business like tone as she spoke.

“How do I know that I can trust you?” I asked as I shifted the phone closer to my ear so that I could hear better.

“We are the only people who can help you, you need to trust us. There is no time for questions now; I do not want him to track this call.” A stranger had just rang me to talk about my most dreaded fear and biggest problem and they were now going to hang up on me.

“But, I don’t understand. How can you help me, if you won't even tell me what is going on?” I asked.

“Morgan. You need to trust us, that is all I can tell you for now,” she said, the annoyance building in her voice, but it did not sway me from my questions.

“So when do I find out?” I asked. I was beginning to become increasingly aggravated with the person at the other end of the line.

“Come to Central Park tomorrow at one o’ clock. An agent will meet you there, they will find you. Just be there!” she ordered.

“An agent?” I repeated, unsure if I had heard her correctly. As I waited for a reply, I realised that the phone line had already disconnected. The unanswered questions began to circulate rapidly through my already overcrowded head.

I was left with the decision of whether or not to place my trust in a mysterious phone call from someone who I had never met and knew nothing about or to live the life I had lived for the past few years and be hunted like a piece of prey.

I knew that I would have to get up very early the following morning to catch the subway to the city centre if I were to meet this stranger and the dangers that were associated with the meeting, but it was my only viable option.

Despite what I had learned about not trusting strangers as a child and the feeling deep inside of me I decided that I would do it. I needed to learn more. Whatever happened in the end, if it was a trap set up by that man, I was sure that I could get away.

After all, I had nothing to lose and I had everything to uncover.