Welcome to Manifesto, my fantasy/sci-fi novel. If you’re new here, you can go to the beginning here.
Quick recap: After visiting Pat to ask about an experiment of Shawn’s, he was offered a loan from Pat to travel to the Amazon. Afterwards, Shawn received an unpleasant call from his mother, that Elmer has gone missing.
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Having received the call from his mother, he could not help but worry a bit. It wasn’t unusual for drunks in Manchester to get robbed, beaten, or stabbed when strolling aimlessly through the night. Elmer worked for a magazine —The Right Verve— as a journalist at the far end of the city. Shawn jumped on a bus, and half an hour later, he arrived at the office. The building was rather weathered down. A lot of the interior was wooden, and it wasn’t too spacious. He walked up to the counter where a grumpy old man did the welcome.
“Hey, my dad works here… Elmer Woodward?” he asked, then added, “I’d like to know whether he is in the office already. I was supposed to pick up something.”
After he stared at him for a brief moment, he typed away at his old keyboard. There are not that many workers here, Shawn thought.
“Just a moment,” he replied, “Your dad hasn’t been here since Tuesday morning. We were also unable to reach him.”
Fuck.
“Uhm, would it be okay for me to go into his office? He said it is urgent.”
“Show me some identification…”
Shawn took out his ID and pointed at his surname. He looked at him and, with a sigh, said, “Okay, but be back quick, or I’ll come in to get you.”
He walked up a few stairs and down a hallway, hoping he still remembered correctly. He read the names on the doors until he finally saw “E. Woodward” on one of the old, wooden, glass-paned doors. He stuck in the key he received from the counter, and with a click, the door opened.
“What a mess.” Big windows in the back with half-closed roller shades dimmed the room. “I knew he’d close the blinds,” he said with contempt. In front of them stood a big office table and, next to it, a bookshelf. Opened binders and documents were scattered all around the table and the floor. It reminded Shawn a bit of his own workspace. I will not be like this. He resolved to improve, rather disgusted to see his father in him. He knew he shouldn’t, but after the last confrontation, he couldn’t care less about what one should or shouldn’t. He wanted to get an edge, to reveal some dirty secret. Anything to stifle his worries. He took a deep breath and sighed, “Let’s see.” He took a seat at the table and skimmed through the papers. He saw a few articles, probably from the leftist’s newspaper, for they had a lot of circles, arrows, and notes written in red. Uninterested, he pushed them aside, then tried to open the drawer. “Locked,” he affirmed. His heartbeat sped up, and his curiosity aroused. He had to know what was inside. It’s worth a try, he thought, then took a paper clip from the pile on the table and unwound it. “Lockpicking one-o’-one,” he said aloud and felt cool. He took out his phone, put on the video he practiced with, and talked himself through, “One is the tongue, the other is the ripple.” He had two paperclips, one of which had two wavy bents, that he made with scissors, the other straight. He put in both at the same time. The straight one he kept still, the wavy one he moved in and out, feeling for the cylinders of the lock. He knew he didn’t have much time left. He gave it a few more jerks when he felt a click. “Now don’t move, don’t move,” his heart banging in his chest. He held both of the pins together and twisted them. The sound of the barrels moving into the lock gave him immense pleasure. “Yes, no way that actually worked.” He remembered his classmates laughing at him playing with locks. Jokes on you.
In the drawer was a binder titled 'Timur Petrov” Shawn read it out loud, and felt terror wash over him. He heard footsteps approaching. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. He had a few seconds left at best. He turned skittishly from side to side as if he were to hide somewhere. Then he realized the idiocy. The old man was at the door, gave it a knock, and said, “Young man, I told you to make it quick.” He opened the door and saw Shawn staring out the window with his back to the door. He turned around and said, “Oh, sorry, I got lost in thought,” he took a few brisk steps, stuffed the key into the old man’s hand, and walked away.
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