The winner by default, but still a winning story is:

Don McCann

Here is his amazing story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Don, you’ve completely outdone yourself with this one. Let him know what you think!

Scavenger Hunt

by Don R. McCann, Jr

Prompt #2 – You stop at your favorite used bookstore and buy one of their grab bags to help with a fundraiser. When you open it, you find a peculiar hardcover book with a handwritten message inside. That night, you find a note at your door in the same handwriting.

Though it was the same $50, this year’s Charity Grab Bag seemed lighter than last year’s.  Margaret didn’t mind, though.  With her raging allergies, the Paws for the Cause fundraiser was the only way she could really enjoy pets.  And, since it was run by her friend Sally, owner of Second-Look Books, she could also support her unforgiving book addiction.

Home now, rummaging through the bag, she was disappointed to find nothing that caught her eye.  Dreary period pieces, cloying romance, and stultifying non-fiction.  Ick.  She could have just donated the $50 and left this crap at the store.   She gave one more look, just to be sure . . . nothing.

Frowning, she started shoveling the books back into the bag, but stopped when she saw one she’d missed.  Puzzled for a moment, she found it was stuck to another one by a wrinkled price sticker.  Prying them apart, she could tell the smaller one was much older than any of the others and . . . not in English.  She had no idea what language it could be, however.

Paging through it as carefully as she could, Margaret gasped as a page fell to the floor.  She darted to grab it and . . .

A limitless fortune is now within sight

To win, you must battle the forces of night

The time left is short and the clock is now running

You are the first, but another is coming

Opening her eyes, Margaret was shocked to find herself on the living room floor, in complete darkness.  Where was the sun?  And why was she on the floor?  She started to rise and cried out at a sharp jolt in her head.  Squeezing her eyes shut, she sat there, letting the pain fade.  There was a strange buzzing rising from . . . somewhere.  Concentrating, she could almost hear words in it.

. . . limitless fortune . . . battle . . . another is coming . . . .

Why were these words familiar?  The page.  She remembered the page falling out of the book and, when she’d picked it up . . . no.  No, she hadn’t picked it up.  She tried, but . . . she reached for it again—then snatched her hand back with a start, recalling what happened the last time.  How long have I been lying here?  She quickly brushed a finger over the page.  Nothing.  Using two fingers, she held it at arm’s length.  The buzzing remained, but it was almost . . . comforting now.  And, though the writing on the page didn’t change, she could somehow hear a translation in her head. 

Limitless fortune . . .

As the words repeated again, she wondered briefly how she was hearing them and where the voice was coming from.  The door . . . ?

“Hello?” she whispered.  “Is—is anyone there?”

At first, only the buzzing.  Then, “Yessss . . . .”  Margaret opened the door only to find another note . . .

FIVE YEARS LATER

Across the street from Second-Look Books, Evan sipped his third espresso.  It was almost five—closing time.  From his surveillance the past week, he knew she wouldn’t linger past 5:15.  He was about to check his watch again when the sign in the window rotated to closed.  He smiled.  Punctuality made his job so much easier.

He’d traveled the world to get here.  Twice.  The Voice in his head was adamant that this was where he would meet the Second Hunter.  Five years ago, he’d answered an ad seeking his ‘special skills’ and, though he’d passed their evaluations, his employers hadn’t been very specific with their instructions.  Follow The Voice.  He thought they were crazy until they handed him the old scrap of paper and he heard The Voice.  It not only told him what was on the page, but what he needed to do next.  Five years and ten clues later, the last clue had let him here.  The words The Voice chanted into his head were vague . . .

Your journey complete, your quest at an end

The second hunter must become your friend

The prize can be yours, but not yours alone

The final clues will guide you home

. . . but the map they’d provided was not.

Interestingly enough, The Voice chose him.  At first, he thought The Voice had chosen his employers and they’d chosen him.  But, after the last clue, The Voice had revealed their true plans.  After that, he had no choice, really.

Twenty bullet-ridden bodies later, and one more trip to the States, here he was, watching Sally’s svelte form walk the seven blocks to her medium-sized Tudor.  Evan didn’t need to follow her—he had her address—but enjoyed watching her walk.  Of course, he had other plans for her, but that would come later.  For now, he’d just admire the view.

Three hours later, he sat quietly by her bed, sipping chilled cranberry juice, grateful she was such a sound sleeper.  With that, he was able to gag and bind her securely to the bed and make himself a little snack.  Finishing the juice, he set the glass on the nightstand and stood.  Gripping her shoulders, he shook her until she woke.

“Wha . . . ?”

“Sally!”

The shout found its way through her slumber and her eyes opened wide.

“Shhhh . . .” finger raised to his lips.  “I have a gun.”

She gasped and stared, whimpering through the gag.

“Excellent.”  He reached into a pocket, “I’m going to keep this simple.”  He held up the page with the last clue, “This says we’re going to be friends.  Do you recognize this writing?”

She looked carefully, then shook her head.

“You don’t have a note like this?  Something telling you I was coming?”

She shook her head again, becoming frightened, knowing she didn’t have what he wanted.

He began to pace next to the bed, “Sally, we’re supposed to be friends.  We can’t very well be friends if you lie to me . . .” He stopped, staring down at her.  When she didn’t answer, he nodded, “All right . . .” he pulled a butterfly knife from his sleeve.  “We’ll have to do this a different way . . .”

Twenty minutes later, using the pillowcase under her head, he wiped blood and bits of skin off the blade.  “You just lie there and think about what I asked you.  If you don’t give me better answers next time, we’ll have to do things the hard way.”  Tears streaming from bulging eyes, she frantically shook her head, panting and gasping around the gag.  After all that, she still insisted she didn’t know anything about the note.  Either she knew about the fortune, and didn’t want to give it up, or she really didn’t know.  That didn’t make any sense, though.  The last clue led him right to the bookstore.  He decided to look around while giving her a chance to think.

Finding her laptop in the dining room, he logged in—her password was secondlook, how original—and opened her email.  A few text searches later, he found what he was looking for in an older email.  Interesting.

 “. . . and, don’t forget, if you find anything about that crazy writing, let me know . . . .”

Evan shut down the laptop and jogged up the stairs.  He walked over to Sally, sliding the knife from his sleeve.  Trembling, she stared helplessly as the shiny blade flashed and danced in his nimble fingers.

“Who’s Margaret?”

Sally shook her head, sobbing behind the gag.  Suddenly, the blade stopped twirling.  But, it didn’t stop moving.  Behind the gag, she screamed . . . .

Locking the back door behind him, Evan walked through Sally’s back yard and out the back gate.  While he walked, he thought about this Margaret.  From the few facts Sally had graciously provided, he was able to surmise that Margaret must be on a similar path to his (did she have a Voice, too?).  Further, the fact that The Voice had brought him here meant that she was also at just about the same point.  That meant, if she wasn’t looking for him, as he was for her, she would be, at least, waiting for him.  Determining which would be relatively simple.  If she was still in town, she was waiting; if not, she was looking.  Which brought him to his current location: across the street from 2162 Temple Street. 

Margaret’s house.

He was prepared to break in and figure out her movements over the last few years, but that proved to be unnecessary.  As he watched, her car pulled into the driveway, then into the garage.  Well.  That was easy, he thought.  Another thing he’d done on the way was think about how to approach her.  That had been easy, too.  He’d just tell her the truth.  Well, omitting a few details, like killing her friend, Sally, and the fact that he planned to kill her, too.  He even knew how to get her to let him into her house.

Giving her a few minutes to get settled, he walked up to the door and knocked.  Five minutes, no answer.  From a woman, living alone, he didn’t really expect an immediate answer at eleven o’clock at night.  He waited another minute, then knocked again.  Noticing the curtains moving in the window to the right, he took a step back to be seen more clearly.  He didn’t speak, just waited.  After a minute, he knocked again.

Finally, “Who is it?”

“Hello, Margaret.  My apologies, I know it’s late, but it’s rather important I speak with you.”  She didn’t answer, so he continued, “It’s about the ‘. . . limitless fortune that’s now within sight . . .”

She still didn’t answer, but pulled the curtains back fully and peered out at him.  He looked over and smiled, then held up a finger for her to wait.  He slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out his note, the cryptic writing clear for her to see.

Margaret gasped and shut the curtains.  While Evan waited, she dropped onto the couch, trying to breathe.  She’d wanted to go searching for the “. . . second hunter . . .” but The Voice told her to wait and the hunter would come to her.  But that was just yesterday!  He must have a Voice, too, she realized.  Was it the same Voice?

Dropping her head into her hands, she realized any speculation was pointless.  The only way to get any answers was to talk to him and see what he knew.  If he was truly the second hunter, then the “. . . limitless fortune . . .” truly was in sight.  She stood and walked down the front hall.  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Margaret’s head was still spinning.  Evan had come in, showed her the note again, read her note, told her about the other notes, and . . . well, to be honest, she was a little hazy by the time he got to the fifth note.  However, she quickly refocused when he told her about killing his employers.

“The Voice told you to do that?”

“Yes . . . well, not in those exact words.”  He thought about it a moment, “Actually, it said they were planning to get rid of me after I got the fortune and, if they weren’t around, I’d be able to keep the fortune for myself.”  He gave her a level stare, “It’s the same thing.”  The details he’d given her about his previous life as a mercenary didn’t leave much room for argument.

Afterwards, she’d explained the journey she’d been on.  While nowhere near as exciting as his, it had still taken her far outside her comfort zone.  Even so, The Voice had protected and provided for her as she followed the clues.  She suspected he hadn’t provided a complete picture of his adventures, but she didn’t mind.  There were also chapters missing from her tale.  But that didn’t really matter.  What did matter was, they now had the final clue and the fortune was almost theirs.  They’d already agreed to share it, having no other apparent choice.

As the final test, they both asked their Voices if the other was the person they were looking for and both answered yes.  When they asked what to do next, The Voices instructed them to hold both notes together.  They did and thus the final clue was revealed. 

Now together you’ve finished your quest

Through diligent searching, you’ve passed every test

This fortune you’ll share, no need to explain it

It’s waiting in Athens, you just have to claim it.

Much like the other clues, the note itself was elusive but, once they’d read it, The Voices filled in the details.  And that’s how she found herself on a jetliner, bound for Greece, sitting next to an almost complete stranger.  She glanced over at him.  A handsome stranger, she thought.  Margaret closed her eyes, giving herself a mental shake.  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

At the hotel the next day, they went over the cathedral layout and the plan for getting past the guards.  Three hours later, they were standing in the entrance, “Give me the gun.”

“What?”

“Give me the gun,” Margaret repeated.  “You look like somebody who needs to be shot.  I look like a tourist.  They’ll never suspect me.”  She peeked around the corner, “They’ll be distracted for a few seconds and that’s all I’ll need.  I can take them both.”

Evan laughed, “You?  That’s not what we agreed on.”  He held up the pistol, “Besides, do you even know which end the bullets come out of?”

“You don’t know everything about me, all right?  I had a life before this little scavenger hunt,” she answered evenly.

“Hmph.” It was definitely not what they’d agreed on.  He gave her a hard look.  She did have a point, though.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she held out her hand.

Scowling, he hesitated, then handed her the pistol.

She looked down at the Beretta for a moment, turning it over in her hands.  Holding it down and away from her, she pulled the slide, confirming a round was chambered.  She ejected the magazine—full.  The safety was already off, so she slapped the magazine back in and slid the pistol into her purse.

“All right.”  She stepped forward.

“Hey,” he pointed.  “Safety.”

“What . . .” Alarmed, she snatched the gun out, “I already—” She glared, “Funny.”  Without another word, she stepped around the corner.  Getting closer, she pulled a large map from her purse and walked through the doorway.  Face buried in the map, she spoke in a horrible American accent, “E questo el centro . . . tur . . . tur . . . turistico?”  Is this the tourist center?

“Fermati la!!” the first man shouted.  Stop right there!

 Margaret screamed, pulling the map to her like a shield.  “Please don’t shoot me!  I’m American—American!  I’m trying to find the tourist center!  I just—“

“Stop!”  The other man ordered in English, but lowered his machine gun and his partner followed suit.  “No tourist center.  Get out.”

“Ohhh, I’m . . . I’m so sorry!”  She walked forward, the map shaking now.  “I was just looking for the—”

“No tourist center!” the first man shouted.  They both stepped around the desk, guns still lowered.

“Ok!  Ok!  I’ll just—”

boom-boom – boom-boom

Two shots each, before the map even hit the floor.  The men carried their shocked expressions into eternity.  Gun still ready, she checked the bodies.  Dead.

Recognizing the sound of his pistol, Evan ran in, but stopped, seeing Margaret looking down at the guards.  Noting the neat, center-mass holes, he nodded, “Nice.”

She just stared.

“First time?”

She didn’t look up, “No.”

“Yeah . . .” Looking at her carefully, “Umm, can I have my gun back?”  No answer.  “Margaret . . . ?”

“What?”  She looked up, “Oh.”  She turned slightly and, lifting her arm, shot him in the head.

“Now what?” she asked.

The Voice answered in her head, “Check the first corner.”

She turned, searching the room, “There.” She walked to the northern corner of the room and knelt to pull out one of the bottom bricks.  Reaching inside, she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.  Opening it, she saw, in clear English:

Banco Fermi

2127 Willow

Bern, Switzerland

Box 1096, PW: Bon Chance

ID: 899 583 035 437

And, taped to the bottom of the page, a key.

“Is this the fortune?”

“Yes.  That box contains five million dollars in bearer bonds.  Simply open an account in your name and the fortune is yours.”

Taking a last look at the paper, she refolded it and slid it into her pocket.  Several years ago, she wondered exactly what The Voice was and why it was doing this.  But, by that time, she had already killed three people and realized the time for questions had long passed.  She was already committed and had no choice but to see it through.  For the first time since finding the first clue in that Grab Bag, she felt a small sense of relief.  She might actually make it out of this with the fortune.  Margaret walked out of the cathedral, chaos behind her, and the future in front of her.

“. . . and the fortune is yours.”  Through the 32” monitor, The Voice watched Margaret walk out of the cathedral.

“Mikey!  Dinner!”

“Oh, crap!” Mikey fumbled to turn off the mic.  “Uh . . . coming, Ma!”  He slapped at the power button, but missed, so the image remained onscreen a few seconds before the screensaver kicked in:

Banco Fermi

2127 Willow

Bern, Switzer—