That Little Letter

Chapter Sixty Three

Max slowly opened the office door and slithered in on his two feet. He felt the boards underneath him creak, but that didn't slow him down. His father wasn't home, he could technically do whatever he wanted. He grabbed a stack of sticky notes and sighed, realizing that putting them all over the walls wasn't going to help his situation. With a quick shake of the head, he was stirred back into the right direction. He opened some of the desk drawers to find anything that may help him out, but nothing was useful. The only thing that seemed even the slightest bit helpful was a leather journal with a feather pen on top of it, but Max didn't want to open it. Something about it made him feel sick. Maybe that was his body's way of telling him to check it out, but he didn't do anything about it.

Instead, he just walked out of the office. There was nothing there. And nothing helped him remember a thing. So, he moved onto the next room. Maybe his father's bedroom had some clues or hints as to what happened. With a swift movement, Max twisted the door knob and tiptoed into the room as if someone were sleeping in there. The breeze from the slightly open window blew at his face and made him feel chills, but eventually his body grew used to it. In a new adrenaline rush, we walked over to the nightstand and began rummaging through all of the things in the small drawer. When he found nothing but useless business papers, he closed the drawer and continued with his journey by going to his closet. Maybe he had acted like a teenager and hid all of the precious valuables in there.

But Max was disappointed when nothing amazing appeared as he searched. He was growing more and more frustrated, but he couldn't do anything about it in his father's room. So quickly, he got out of the room and returned to his own to relieve his body's pain.

Something was still not right.

But the pain was too much for Max to continue that day.