The keys are not the right ones

  They showed up much later in the story.  They fit but they don’t turn in the lock, so the box has never been opened while I’ve had it.  I know there is something in it, it’s heavy and when I shake it a little I can feel whatever it is slide back and forth.

 

            The box is actually something that I just sort of picked up and walked away with and to tell the truth, I don’t really know why I did it.  It wasn’t mine; someone had left it behind on a table at a sidewalk café.  I don’t even remember which café but I do remember walking down the street with it - waiting for someone to yell out, but nobody did.

 

            I’d love to know what’s inside but I don’t want to damage or destroy the box just to get it open.  The keys - now that’s the strange part.  They were mailed to me.  The envelope had my name and address on it and the only thing inside were these two keys, so obviously someone saw me take the box and they either knew who I was or they followed me until they discovered where I lived.  But why, so many months later, send me keys that are not the right ones?  Why send them at all except to send the message that they know I took the box.  That almost torments me as much as trying to figure out what’s inside.

 

            If I am nothing but a simple thief then perhaps I’m supposed to be tormented.  But I don’t see myself as a thief.  Ever since I walked away with this box I’ve felt some kind of connection to it or maybe to someone.  I can’t really explain it but there is something to it.  I was supposed to take it.  I was given a note…  I was told to take it, so I did.

 

            If you are reading this… if this is your box or if you are the one who sent the keys, just know that whatever was so important you had to lock it up, well – I’ve not opened it.  Your secrets are still safe.