4357

Day One

 The phone looked like any other. White, with a small crack along the bottom of the screen. There was no case. The photo on the screen, a generic beach scene, gave no clues to its owner. But something about it intrigued the young man, so he picked it up, flipped it over a few times in his hand. His eyes scanned the area around him, but everyone was moving too quickly or with too much purpose to even begin to decide if one of them had dropped the phone. Besides, almost all of them were using their own phones as they scrambled about to their lives.

The young man clicked the button on the phone, illuminating the screen, but much to his disappointment, found that it was locked, and without the passcode he couldn't access the contact list to try to return the phone.

He typed in a few random codes, 0000, 1234, 2580. But nothing worked. The man contemplated simply laying the phone back down and letting someone else deal with it when it buzzed in his hand. A text.

The text was from a random number, and below it were four numbers, 4357. The young man furrowed his brows, confused.

He bit his lip, glanced around again, this time looking for someone watching him. With a shaky finger, he clicked the phone on and typed in 4357. The screen sprung to life as the phone unlocked, the man's heart hammered in his chest. Someone had to be watching him, had to have known that he had picked up the phone and was trying to unlock it.

The next thought made his hair stand on edge.

Maybe someone put the phone there on purpose for him to pick up.

The man looked around again, finding himself strangely drawn to the phone, though he knew he should be on high alert.

After seeing no one around paying close attention to him he scrolled through the phone until he came upon the contact list, but was surprised, and a bit disappointed to find that there were no saved contacts. He dug a bit more, but the call log was also empty. There were no social media apps, or any apps other than the basics for that matter. The only text was from the random number, the one who had given him the code to unlock the phone.

He clicked on the message, his fingers hovering above the screen. After a few moments of hesitation he quickly typed out a message.

Who is this?

The reply was almost immediate.

My name isn't important.

The man frowned. He debated once again leaving the phone where he had found it. He noticed the time. He cursed softly, under his breath. He looked around one final time then went on his way, the phone clutched in his hand.

As he walked, he realized he hadn't replied to the last message. He quickly unlocked the phone, typing in the code given to him, and the message popped up on the screen.

Okay. Is this your phone?

The man sent the message then tucked the phone in his jacket pocket as he crossed the street, following the flow of people hustling down the sidewalk. It only took him a few minutes to arrive at his destination, and as he stepped inside the tall brick building, he felt the phone vibrate once again.

The man moved towards the elevator and slid inside just before the doors closed. There were only a few other people inside and he pulled the phone out, his eyes scanning across the newest message.

No. It's yours.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This most certainly was not his phone, because his phone was tucked in his back right pocket of his jeans.

The man let his hand slide back to his pocket, reassuring himself that his cell phone was in fact there. He felt the bulge of it in his pocket then returned to the phone in his hand.