Collide

Chapter 18

"I will not be discouraged. I will find a lead," Alison chants optimistically to herself as she forges out into the blossoming city street. The biting winds and gloomy times of a hard winter are now only a distant memory in the minds of a joyful, new spring that ignited new life into every aspect of the city. Chirping birds, fresh, green grass, and soft rays of sunshine spark a cheerful pep to her step as Alison makes her way to one of the final dozen locations to investigate. Over the past few weeks, Alison diligently traveled from one location to another in hopes of finding a home for the mystery key. "That's okay Sir, thank you for your time," Alison politely concludes as she opens the door to exit a local UPS store in Queens. "Another one bites the dust," she mumbles to herself as she crosses the location off her list, "Four more to go. Next up, USPS substation in the Bronx".

After a crowded ride on the subway to the other end of town, Alison exits the train and joins the millions of other locals and tourists walking the streets. The further she walked into the heart of the Bronx, the more the streets cleared and she began to notice how run down the area was in comparison to other parts of the borough. "Liquor store, pawn shop, dollar store, pawn shop again," Alison notes as she walks down the street, feeling more and more depressed by the obvious economic disparities of the local community.

"Baby girl you look out of place," an elderly woman sitting in front of a storefront declares as she watches Alison analyze each business she passes.

"It's that obvious," Alison laughs with a warm smile.

"Honey, pretty white girls don't come to these streets," the woman stated flatly, "Whatcha lookin for?"

"I'm actually looking for your post office," Alison replies, "I seem to be a bit lost".

"Naw, you're actually right on track. It's just around the corner on the right. I hope you find what you're looking for" the elderly woman smiles as she points to the street corner behind her.

Nodding her head and flashing a thankful smile, Alison rounds the corner and finally locates the local post office. Amazed by the run down, microscopic storefront, Alison pauses in disbelief that the location is still open for business. With a slight nudge of her body, Alison opens the glass door, causing the small cluster of bells on the doorhandle to gingle in the process. Much to her surprise, a small countertop lined the wall to her left and the majorty of the rest of the walls were jampacked with various sized mailboxes from the title floor to the top of the ceiling.

Appearing from some back room out of sight from a customer, a thin, middle aged, African American man spoke loudly as he greeted, "Hello pretty lady. I'm Lester. What can I do for you today?"

"Oh hello," Alison cheerfully replies, "I know this is going to seem a bit odd to you, but I need your help. I need to know if you have a box that will open with this key.... 473".

"Oh damn," Lester responds with a dramatic step backwards and a surprised look on his face. "Pops, you better get your ass out here. You're not gonna believe this," he hollers soon after recollecting himself.

The scratching sound of a walker  dragging across the tile floor fills the room before a frail, old man appears with a warm smile and says, "What's all this hollering about?"

"I'm sorry Pops," Lester apologizes while placing his hand on his father's shoulder, "But this little lady here is asking about box 473."

"Box 473," he repeats with widened eyes that suddenly rest their focus in the blonde before him on the other side of the counter.

"What is your name," the old man asks as he takes a seat on the barstool next to him.

"Alison Dilaurentis," she replies quickly, feeling the rush of adrenaline course through her veins, "I'm a law student at NYU. I'm investigating a cold case for one of my semester's assignments. I need your help in solving what I believe to be a murder that was made to look like a suicide".