Ransom Note

            Thomas was shuffling downstairs, blinking sleep from his eyes, when he saw it. It was an innocent enough piece of paper, white against the mahogany wood of the old windowsill. It was sitting in the sun, shining slightly.

            Frowning, and stifling a yawn as best he could in the baggy arm of his sleep shirt, Thomas picked it up, squinting. The sun’s light seemed to have been absorbed into the paper and for a moment it still seemed to glow, burning at his eyes. Maybe that was just because he’d stayed up late the night before.

            Slowly, the words swam into focus, little black ants on a blinding desert. They were not carrying good news. Thomas glanced back at the windowsill before turning on his heel, seething with anger, and stalking back the way he’d come.

            Once in his room, still dark because he had yet to open the antique shutters that dominated every window on the second floor, he began to pull clothes on. Jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers seemed sensible, but he grabbed a hoodie despite the warm weather outside. It made him feel covert.

            Carefully, he slipped back into the hall and moved down two doors until he was standing outside of Sophia’s room. He kept his footsteps light, almost silent, and was careful not to stand directly in front of the door so his feet wouldn’t show at the bottom. Then, just as carefully, he pressed his ear to the cool wood.

            At first he just heard silence, but then there was a stifled giggle and a low buzz of conversation. Standing as though frozen, he closed his eyes and focused all of his attention to the information his ears were picking up.

            He jumped when he heard someone stand and move closer to the door, but he remained in place. Their voice, though muffled, was still clear enough to understand most of what their owner was saying. It was Sophie.

            “How long do you reckon it’ll be before he finds it?” she asked whoever was in the room with her. There was a mumble and she chuckled in response, before answering. “Both, I guess. I mean, he’ll obviously find the note first.” There was another muffled sentence, then, “No, I don’t think he’ll mind. It does him good to get out of his comfort zone. Besides, it’s been ages since anyone has gone through the entire house.”

            That was enough to tell Thomas what he needed to know. Just as quietly as he’d approached, he slipped away. What he’d heard had been useless in giving him hints as to where he’d find what he was looking for, but he now knew that the object of the game was to get him to search the entire house. He wanted to only look in one place. He was hungry and could not, in good conscience, get breakfast without finishing his quest.

            Thinking hard, he returned to his lair, ridding himself of hoodie and sneakers. They would be unnecessary indoors. Then he sat down, scanning the house mentally.

            If they wanted him to look everywhere, then his search would probably end in the place he least expected it. They would assume he would check the places he knew best first. Or maybe, if he’d knocked on the door, they would have given him hints. That idea taunted him for a moment, until he decided that hints could be misleading.

            The first place he tried, remaining stealthy, was his parents’ room. It was large and open, not cluttered like everyone else’s. It also had an attached bathroom with an ornate skylight that opened, which was just the coolest thing. But that was not what Thomas was looking for. A quick scan told him that he would have to try somewhere else.

            Next was the basement. He hated it down there, in the dark. Mostly he didn’t like the fact that the lights only illuminated so much, and then the room stretched on in shadows. Mat’s friend, Jean, was convinced that there were secret tunnels down there, but even he wasn’t brave enough to check.

            Now, alone and trying not to be discovered, it was even more frightening. There was a lone desk, sitting to one side of the circle of illumination. Made of metal, the drawers screeched something awful when they were pulled open. Not that what Thomas was looking for could fit in one of the drawers, but it was worth a try.

            When that revealed nothing he felt around in the shadows, as far as he dared, running his hands over the rough floor lightly. A couple of times the soft pads of his fingers got caught on splinters, and once his hand came away with a thin sliver of glass sticking out of his pointer finger, but other than that, he came up with nothing.

            Those had been the only two hiding places he’d thought of, so he tromped up the stairs, a slight feeling of despair tugging at the soles of his feet. He tried to shake it off. The last thing he needed was for this day to start off horribly. He was already pushing it with staying up late, and the added stress of not eating…

            In the hallway he bumped into Ethan, who took one look at him and tilted his head to one side in curiosity.

            “What’s up, Tom?” he asked softly, reaching out to ruffle his younger brother’s hair.

            “I’m looking for something,” was the short response. Then, to further prove the point of his foul mood, “And I don’t want any help.”

            “Huh. Okay,” Ethan shrugged. He was beginning to walk away, when he stopped. “Oh, and Mom’s in the back yard doing some gardening.”

            He was gone before Thomas could fully understand what he had just said. Then a smile broke over his face and he made a run for the glass doors leading onto the back patio. He had to stop, skidding to safety behind a monstrous urn before he reached his destination, though. He tried not to think on the strangeness of having museum-like décor in one’s own home, and concentrated on not snickering as Sophie and Elliot walked past.

            “Are you sure he’s still sleeping?” Elliot was asking, looking slightly worried. “I mean, I’d hate for something bad to happen to him while we’re just eating breakfast.”

            “He’s fine,” Sophie said reassuringly. “He definitely would have come bursting into my room, demanding an explanation if he saw the note.”

            “Was the note still there?”

            “Of course it was. Tom doesn’t sneak around, okay? He’s more of the confrontational type.”

            When they were gone, Thomas gave in to a small fit of giggling hilarity. Unless Sophie was lying to make Elliot feel better, her assumption that he didn’t sneak must be because she’d never noticed him doing it. This made him feel a lot better, and he quickly slipped outside, trotting up to his mother with a smile.

            “Good morning, there, Thomas,” Eleanor said, smiling. Her youngest son looked pale, with barely noticeable bags under his eyes. The midmorning sunlight made his skin seem even lighter than it was, and his hair darker.

            “Morning Mom,” he returned, grinning. “I was just wondering if, um, my plant was done.”

            “Done?” she frowned.

            “Yeah. Sophie said something about you repotting it or something.”

            “Oh, no. I was just trimming off some of the dead leaves,” she said, relieved. “It’s over there in the shade if you want to take it back inside.”

            Triumphant, Thomas snatched up his plant, and scuttled inside. He had just finished settling it perfectly on the windowsill so that no one would be able to tell that it had been moved at all when his sister’s laughter gave him an idea. He was standing in front of his brother’s door, taking a deep breath, before he could think better of it.

            The shutters were closed when he stepped in, keeping the room in a semidarkness similar to that of his own room. It looked like Mat had stayed up late as well, although he had the excuse of a sleep over. There was a tangle of blankets and pillows on the floor, right next to the bed. Luckily, their occupant, his brother Mat, was sprawled with one hand reaching towards his desk and in the other clutching his phone as though it was the most important thing in the world to him, leaving enough room for Thomas to step over him and reach the person he actually wanted to talk to.

            “Jean,” Thomas hissed, ignoring the temptation to do something nasty to his older sibling. It was the younger one he wanted revenge on. “Jean, wake up.”

            After a few shakes, the older teen sat up, shaking off sleep, and squinted around before focusing on Thomas. His hair was standing up in disarray and the sheets tangled around his waist hid whether he was actually wearing anything or not.

            “What is it?” Jean mumbled when he finally managed to recognize who was standing expectantly before him. He scrubbed at his face to no avail, and was finally reconciled to his fate of consciousness.

            “Can you make this into a flower?” Thomas asked in a whisper, holding out the note found earlier.

            “What?” was the confused response.

            “Can you make this into a flower? Y’know, with origami. I saw you do it once when you were bored and I was just wondering… it’s for a good cause.”

            Suddenly unsure if he was awake or not, Jean obligingly took the paper, and began folding it. His movements were far from precise, but in the end it did resemble a white tulip bud. As Thomas scuttled from the room, Jean fell back, trying to decide what had just happened.

            Thomas, on the other hand, was elated. He carefully placed the flower in the midst of the still slightly yellow leaves of his plant, and stood back to admire his handy work. He wondered if anyone would think to ask why his plant was growing ransom note flowers.