Run

Chapter Eight: The Key, My New Journal, and Song Titles.

Throughout the letter I had to pause and shush Tim.

Not paying attention, I began to mumble my thoughts aloud, "Geez, how do they know so much about us? Wait, no. All the info they've stated they could of figured out from stalking and shit. And why Habit? I mean it's a pretty sweet name to go by, but it sounds like Rabbit," I look up at Tim who is looking at me in disbelief, "What?"

"How are you... How are you not freaked out by this?!?" He asks, making large arm gestures as he does. I just shrug my shoulders and hold the letter out for him to read over for himself. He quickly snatches the letter out of my hand and began to read it over.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... It says that you've seen "The Operator" on multiple occasions over the past year, and you've never told me of this! Why?"

I shrug again and answer, "I never thought anything of them. They've been following me for quite a while but they never showed any sort of violence. I freaked out the other day when I saw him because there was that other dude and could have killed me."

"What is wrong with you? Haven't you gotten paranoid or worried at all? And why haven't you told me yet?" His voice started as mad then slowly turned to worried as he spoke and when he finished he looked at me with a very worried expression.

I sigh and sit down on the edge of my bed, moving the journal so I don't sit on it, and explain, "Everything is wrong with me. I'm always paranoid, I'm always scared of the wrong things, I know things I probably shouldn't, and I've done things that are absolutely stupid. I haven't told you about the sightings because the first time I did you got so paranoid and started ignoring me and after a couple days you acted like nothing ever happened. So I never brought it up again, fearing it would set you off and you would ignore me again." He looked surprised and unsure of what to do, so I continued, " But for right now, I don't think we should worry about me. We should be worrying about what to do now and what's in this book and that you need sleep."

"Yeah... Yeah, you're right. We should be dealing with the present, not the past. The journal looks like it needs some sort of key to get it open, unless you want to cut it."

Picking up the journal and examining the book and it's lock, I replying sarcastically, "Yeah. Rather not destroy the thing that could have some very important data in it. Also, what's the name of the park we lived by?"

He walked over and sat across from me on his bed and answered, "Rosswood."

"Rosswood? Weird," I mumble. Tim looks at me confused, and I explain, "There was this song that I loved.... Well, I still like the song but for some reason I always wanted to call it 'Rosswood' instead of it's actual name."

I flip the book around in my hand while Tim goes over the letter a few more times. I feel like I'm forgetting something. Like something sorta important, but I can't think of what it was. Hmmmm.... Hey, where's my key? I shot up off the bed at that one thought. Tim just about screamed at my sudden movement and was looking at me like I was insane.

"I remembered something really really important!!!" I yell, throwing the book back onto the bed.

I rush over to the pile of clothes in front of my bed and began to sort through it. I pull up my grayish-green military coat from the bottom of the pile and begin digging through its pockets.

I hear Tim behind me ask, "What did you remember?"

I feel the key in the left pocket, pull it out, and hold it out, saying excitedly, "THIS!!"

"A key? When did you get that?"
Standing up quickly and rushing past him and back to the book, while explaining, "I found this on the first night when I found that letter. I threw it in my coats pocket and forgot about it until now. I think it goes to the book!"

I hear him sigh and say, "Journal."
"What?" I ask, stopping in front of my bed.

"It's not a book it's a journal. You keep calling it a book."

"Well can't it be both?" I ask, picking up the book.

He sighs again and explains, "I'm pretty sure that that does not fit the definition of a book."

"Well. The definition of a book is a bound set of blank sheets for writing or keeping records in, while the definition of a journal is a daily record of news and events of a personal nature like a diary. So, it is both," I point out.

"How do you know that off the top of your head?"

"I don't know," I say, also confused by my own knowledge. I put the key into the lock. It fits perfectly! I turn it and the strap holding the book closed pops open. "YES!" I shout, holding the now open book above me.

"Nice guess, but could you not be so loud? I don't want to wake up any neighbors that we might or might not have," He asked while rubbing his eyes.

Talking a lot quieter, I answer, "Okay. Maybe we should wait until the morning to read this? It's currently 8:32 and we could probably use some sleep." As I say this I flip the strap back up and re-lock the book. Tim just nods in agreement and we both get ready for bed. I take an old hairband and tie it to the key, then put that around my ankle for safe keeping. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day.