An Invitation of Sorts

Posted by R. Montclair

The lab smells of ozone and old coffee this morning, which means PCubed has been "retired" twice since breakfast and the machines are behaving themselves. Suspiciously well, in fact. I do not trust well-behaved machines before noon.

You are wondering why I am writing to you. So is Detective Lisa Hartman. She is standing in my doorway with her arms crossed, which is her way of asking a question she has already decided the answer to.

"You are infuriating," she says.

"And yet," I tell her, "here you are."

Hunter is grinning. Hunter is always grinning, right up until the moment he is not, which is generally the moment the rest of us should start paying attention. He has already opened a notebook. He labels everything. It is devotion disguised as disobedience, and I allow it because someone in this room must keep records and it will not be me.

Professor Lavern leans against the wall. "Children," he says, "what are we breaking today?"

"Nothing," I say. "Today, we are building."

Here is what I am building. Somewhere in this world — and I will not tell you where, because telling you would ruin both of us — I have hidden something. It is one of a kind. There is not another like it anywhere, and there will never be.

Each week, I will write to you. And each time, I will hide something inside the writing — a clue, a thread, a small unmarked door. Collect them. Follow them. The observant will be rewarded. The careless will be… well. Careless.

PCubed mutters something about liability. Rose adjusts her glasses and says, very quietly, "The statistical probability of success is not zero." From Rose, this is practically a marching band.

Lynne looks up from her notes. "Twenty-two forty-six," she says.

I do not know what that means yet. With Lynne, I rarely do until it matters.

Three rules, and I do not bend on rules I have written myself — which tells you how rarely I write them.

First: observe everything. Light behaves like pigment; it changes under attention. What you notice is never the whole of what is there.

Second: what is buried is not always lost. Some things are planted.

Third: go where the water meets stone, and bring patience. The best discoveries are never in a hurry.

Lisa says this is the worst idea I have ever had. She has said this about several of my ideas, and several of them are now departmental policy.

The game begins now. I do not hide things, you see.

I relocate their certainty.

— R.M.

Observation acknowledged.

Fine print: Search responsibly — respect private property, parks, and protected land. A one-of-a-kind prize awaits the one who follows the thread to its end. To claim: email press@kimberliemassnick.com with a photo of your find.