The door slid to and locked behind him. He
stared at the wall in front of him and counted thirteen from the left and eight
down. He didn’t need to count, his eye knew the position of his box from
memory.
He took out a pair of cotton gloves from
his pocket and stretched them onto his hands. Walking toward the table in the
middle of the room he lifted a cotton hankie from his top pocket. He spread it
on the shined wood table its surface aged and warmed with years of polish. In
the middle of his freshly laid virgin white cloth a single key.
He picked it up carefully and smiled at its
shining perfection. Taking a long single deep breath he moved forwards. Even
before he got there he could see there was something wrong. Scratches around
the keyhole. Scratches where there had been none. His eyes flicked at the boxes
around his and quickly scanned the other walls. It was just his, just his that
had been damaged.
He pushed the key into the lock with sound
of pulsing blood in his ears. It wouldn’t turn. He took it out and put it in
again, nothing. This time he counted carefully even though he knew he was not
mistaken, thirteen from the left and eight down.
He turned quickly and looked up at one of the
CCTV cameras monitoring the room. He gestured with his hands, the white gloves
and anxious movements making him look like a manic tic-tac man.
Within moments the door slid open and two
security men plus the duty manager entered. A few words spoken, profuse
apologies, promises of an investigation and an angle grinder requested.
The sound of the disc cutting into the
little door, metal on metal, rebounded around his ears, the sparks and smell
demonic to eyes and nose.
With the door open the security man stepped
away. The container was still in there, it didn’t look like it had been
tampered with. He pulled at the little handle and it moved towards him. In his
heightened state he couldn’t work out whether it felt different.
As he carried it towards the table the
manager and guards withdrew echoing their earlier apologies and promises.
He waited until the red lights from the
CCTV cameras had gone off and he knew he was truly alone. The box had not been
tampered with, the keyhole unmarked. His little key turned and he lifted the
lid and breathed a sigh of relief that seemed louder to him than the angle
grinders efforts. It was there, it was there, IT WAS THERE
His heart. No one was going to get near
that again
Or
His last Rolo
(alternate endings, depending on whether
you want to think or smile this Valentines Day)
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