Care Package: The Key To Your Heart
When Thomas woke up in the late afternoon, it wasn’t to the sun in his face but to the warm scent of food, of spice and freshly cooked meat and vegetables. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked around to find two things on the floor next to his bed: one was a cardboard box, neatly covered in brown paper with his name and address in brisk, efficient letters, the other was a plastic bag holding a collection of Chinese takeout containers, with a note on top.
“Dear Mr. Raith,
Since the Producers have decided to ignore our request to return food service to the house, the crew have decided to take up a collection for food. Takeout will be brought in for you every other day, and the hidden cameras in your room will be disabled from 4-6 PM on those days.
If you require further solid sustenance, a key to the attic has been included. It will allow you to get past the wards and into the kitchen (and only the kitchen). Please do NOT let it be known that you have access to the attic kitchen. The attic kitchen is restocked regularly.
We ask for your discretion in this matter.
Thank you,
The Real World Bites crew”
Once he’d finished the note, Thomas examined the little brass key taped to it. He really was going to have to get the crew something nice or buy them a couple of rounds at a nice bar, at least. Taking a seat on the floor, Thomas opened the takeout boxes, and the aroma of fried rice, garlicky shrimp and vegetables, and deep fried cream cheese wontons hit him.
He spent a few minutes devouring the food, but once the edge had been taken off his appetite, he slowed and began examining the large heavier box that had come. Chewing on a mouthful of rice and shrimp, Thomas ripped off the paper and packing tape to find a very large, heavy duty, plastic toolbox, padlocked shut, and he grinned, shaking the envelope that came with the box until another key fell out. Inside the toolbox was a very large pistol, its silver surface gleaming even though the grip attested to frequent use, as well as a less-than-legal double-barrelled shotgun, the barrel sawed off short. Thomas rifled through the rest of the box, grateful the cameras were off in the room, and found a couple more clips for the pistol, and ammunition for both weapons.
Thomas rocked back on his heels and stared at the package contemplatively as he chewed on a fried wonton. The Desert Eagle and the shotgun were not staying locked up, but they would have to be hidden. Most of the ammunition could stay in the box. A thought occurred to him and Thomas dove for his bed, rifling through the mess underneath until he found a thick, leatherbound, blood-splattered journal. He threw that into the toolbox, burying it beneath all the ammunition, and padlocked the thing, shoving the box under his bed again. He made a mental note to smuggle the shotgun out to ‘his’ car out in the woods and shoved the pistol half under the mound of clothes on top of his dresser.
Irrationally, Thomas relaxed, feeling safer now that his cache of weapons in the house comprised of the kukri, his cavalry saber, a long dagger, Dru’s knife, the cheap pistol he’d taken off a dead man, the shotgun, and the Desert Eagle. It might have been overkill, but Harry’s paranoia was catching.
Only after he’d hidden the toolbox did Thomas notice the package it had come in wasn’t empty. There was a folded note and a gun-cleaning kit. He grinned at the latter and tossed it onto his bed while reading the former.
“Thomas -
Do not make me regret sending these to you.
Take care,
Karrin”
He grinned again and bounced the two keys in his hand. He’d have to find a way to keep them on him, but he was feeling better already.
“Dear Mr. Raith,
Since the Producers have decided to ignore our request to return food service to the house, the crew have decided to take up a collection for food. Takeout will be brought in for you every other day, and the hidden cameras in your room will be disabled from 4-6 PM on those days.
If you require further solid sustenance, a key to the attic has been included. It will allow you to get past the wards and into the kitchen (and only the kitchen). Please do NOT let it be known that you have access to the attic kitchen. The attic kitchen is restocked regularly.
We ask for your discretion in this matter.
Thank you,
The Real World Bites crew”
Once he’d finished the note, Thomas examined the little brass key taped to it. He really was going to have to get the crew something nice or buy them a couple of rounds at a nice bar, at least. Taking a seat on the floor, Thomas opened the takeout boxes, and the aroma of fried rice, garlicky shrimp and vegetables, and deep fried cream cheese wontons hit him.
He spent a few minutes devouring the food, but once the edge had been taken off his appetite, he slowed and began examining the large heavier box that had come. Chewing on a mouthful of rice and shrimp, Thomas ripped off the paper and packing tape to find a very large, heavy duty, plastic toolbox, padlocked shut, and he grinned, shaking the envelope that came with the box until another key fell out. Inside the toolbox was a very large pistol, its silver surface gleaming even though the grip attested to frequent use, as well as a less-than-legal double-barrelled shotgun, the barrel sawed off short. Thomas rifled through the rest of the box, grateful the cameras were off in the room, and found a couple more clips for the pistol, and ammunition for both weapons.
Thomas rocked back on his heels and stared at the package contemplatively as he chewed on a fried wonton. The Desert Eagle and the shotgun were not staying locked up, but they would have to be hidden. Most of the ammunition could stay in the box. A thought occurred to him and Thomas dove for his bed, rifling through the mess underneath until he found a thick, leatherbound, blood-splattered journal. He threw that into the toolbox, burying it beneath all the ammunition, and padlocked the thing, shoving the box under his bed again. He made a mental note to smuggle the shotgun out to ‘his’ car out in the woods and shoved the pistol half under the mound of clothes on top of his dresser.
Irrationally, Thomas relaxed, feeling safer now that his cache of weapons in the house comprised of the kukri, his cavalry saber, a long dagger, Dru’s knife, the cheap pistol he’d taken off a dead man, the shotgun, and the Desert Eagle. It might have been overkill, but Harry’s paranoia was catching.
Only after he’d hidden the toolbox did Thomas notice the package it had come in wasn’t empty. There was a folded note and a gun-cleaning kit. He grinned at the latter and tossed it onto his bed while reading the former.
“Thomas -
Do not make me regret sending these to you.
Take care,
Karrin”
He grinned again and bounced the two keys in his hand. He’d have to find a way to keep them on him, but he was feeling better already.