•Word Count: 1,315
Shooting out of the bed, blanket haphazardly tossed to the side and sleep long forgotten, I immediately head for my study, an imaginary force pulling me.
I retrieve a pencil and a blank paper to begin the task of decoding, starting off by looking at the four boxes bearing the chemical compounds.
For the first time, I look intently at each box:
Box 1:
-Al2O3
-Cr2O3
Box 2:
-Li3N
Box 3:
-Ag2SO3
-NaCl
-Fe2O3
Box 4:
-BaO
It seems the riddle came in with an additional benefit, allowing me to look beyond the meaningless scribbles, thinking it might hold a meaning -a message perhaps.
My heart beats vigorously at the mere thought that my father might be sending me a message.
I can feel my shirt sticking to the entirety of my torso, the fabric already dampening.
Driven by the anticipation, my hands work on their own account, already drafting some answers.
What I figure at first, is that there's no particular relationship between the compounds in the same box, so each must be calculated individually.
I grab my chemistry textbook, where the periodic table is printed on the hardcover at the end of it.
I already know the compounds are balanced, so I try the first, obvious solution -the compounds' atomic number. It holds little relevance to chemistry compared to the compounds' atomic mass.
My father made sure I learned it, as he used it to create all abstruse puzzles meant to feed my intellect.
With the help of the periodic table, I gather the atomic numbers for the elements in the first compound and add them up, multiplying them according to their repetition.
I continue on, doing the same for each box, slightly discouraged at the impending road block.
1. Al2O3 = 50 • Cr2O3 = 72
2. Li3N = 16
3. Ag2SO3 = 134 • NaCl = 28 • Fe2O3 = 76
4. BaO = 64
My mind suddenly goes blank, save the horde of question marks, at the ambiguous array of numbers.
Assembling them together, I have to ponder if it's a phone number ?
507216134287664
That's too lengthy a phone number; maybe they're two phone numbers ?
Yeah! That has to be it. When split up, the numbers defy the typical format.
They don't make two separate 10 digit numbers, which invalidates the whole possibility of a phone number for a solution.
Dates ? I go for the next option, already breaching my mind searching for events of any sort of importance.
5-07 • 21-6 • 13-4 • 28-7 • 6-6 ?
There's an extra 4.
5th of July, 21st of June, 13th of April, 28th of July, 6th of June ?
I rake my brain for something -anything- only to come up short, knowing well that none of these dates hold any significance. Not to me at least.
Realisation that it's not a date that my father is sending me, discourages me once again, and I'm slumped into a disappointed slouch on the chair.
If my father were to send a message like that he wouldn't have made it this complex.
I try my luck for the last time, knowing one more shot won't hurt.
Tapping down the numbers on a calculator, thinking how digital numbers sometimes resemble letters, in hopes of finding a worded message.
Again, nothing worth consideration.
Frustration must've summoned the headache back, because there's a stubborn pounding at my right temple now.
I abandon the whole project and check my clock, running my hands down my face.
It's already late. Tomorrow's my last day at the café, might as well make the best of it.
Giving my desk, which is weighed down by the numerous papers, the chemistry textbook, and a few pencils, a final glance as though something might spark some sort of a clue, I stand up and walk to my bed, dumping myself on it.
My mind, ridden with soreness, harasses me with the swirling numbers and chemical compounds, as I attempt to sink deeper into the restless sleep I've always been entitled since the night of the inferno.
An equal blend of both, disappointment at my inability to decode the message and grief over my father's absence, lulled me into an REM sleep.
I know that because the next day I wake up with a heavy feeling and an exaggerated level of disorientation.
•••
It's a Saturday morning, meaning I don't have school, which is the only reason I came to the café pretty early, arriving before anyone. I can tell because I unlocked the door myself, being first employee to arrive.
I could use the free time and the noiselessness -along with a nice cup of coffee- to my advantage, deciding to give my father's draft another shot.
A clear mind might be the answer to everything after all, I think as I peer over to where Élise is dozing peacefully in her bassinet, placed on a seat around the nearest table.
Clara went out early in the morning, telling me she has somewhere to go, all in a hurry, so I had no choice but to bring Élise with me.
It's not like my boss would dismiss me if I did.
I make my way to the kitchen to grab the percolator and a bag of freshly ground coffee beans from one of the cabinets, carrying both back to the main site.
My eyes almost roll into my head at the whiff of the aromatic stuff.
I unpack my necessities and disperse them over the table, well aware of the percolator brewing my drink on the counter.
Going back to the staff room, I reach into the pocket of my entitled seat, where I stowed a paper wrapped, cream cheese filled croissant yesterday, noticing the addition of an envelope.
Fishing both out and carrying them with me to the main site, I stand by the counter the percolator sits on.
I eagerly open the envelope, extracting the letter.
I must admit, your refusal to dine with me was quite the disappointment.
I anticipated the time with you over a meal, begging for the acquaintance.
Although, the nature of my fondness for your company is not only the fascination with your elegance but also the inquisitiveness fostered by your ability to handle yourself so expertly with grown men, who happen to stand at twice your size, from the other day.
Need I mention the crystal ornament you rescued the first day we met whilst everyone else was still processing the situation ?
In short, my eagerness to sit with you for a meal comes from my wish to know you better. In addition, I watched your eyes in each of our previous encounters, and sensed your need to ask questions.
Why not make our next encounter a means to seal the deal ?
Best regards,
Elias.
I begin to immediately regret turning him down for dinner. It was my chance to ask him and I pushed it away like the sack of ungratefulness that I am.
I want -no, need- to know whether he's related to the BND or not, but I just had to go ahead and blow my chance away.
What slightly bothers me though, is the fact that he's the one pacing everything.
He reaches out for me whenever he deems necessary, appears whenever he considers suitable, and sits at the wheel of everything.
He knows where I work, where I live, he even now knows the park I take Élise to, when I don't even know his full name.
Folding the letter back up, I hope we run into each other soon; after all, it's my last day here.
As I take my first bite of the luscious croissant, I can hear the wind chimes rattling, an indication that there's a customer.
I fight the urge to sigh at the change in plans.
When I turn to tend to the customer, my mouth pauses mid-chew.
Because it's not a customer, but in fact Élias, who has a phone pressed to his ear and a look of pure preoccupation on his face.
My heart does a few leaps of joy, figuring it's the time for me to finally get some answers.
••••
I'm a whole day behind schedule.
To make it up, I'm doing two updates in two consecutive days (=
It's not a double update but a single chapter split into two.
Next chapter will be up tomorrow ♥️
-Asia