Collaboration 1, part 5

[BL]
“What the hell?” she muttered as she pulled harder on the handle without success. 

Vega pressed her ear against the door, but the sound of music – both Reggaeton and blues - had faded altogether, leaving her with nothing more than the thumping of her own nervous heartbeat. She pounded on the door in frustration and called to her grandfather again. As expected, there was no response. 

What is he up to? She kept trying to tell herself that he was a smart and capable man and wouldn’t needlessly get himself into trouble. And, if he was next door, hopefully the neighbors would prove to be more bluster than action. Until she knew for certain, though, she wouldn’t be able to relax. 

Vega trotted downstairs and let herself out the front door, trying to figure out what she would say to the neighbors when they answered. At least it was sunny outside as the sun vaporized the last of the late morning clouds. Approaching the neighbors felt inherently safer in the light of day. 

She climbed the steps and heard the doorbell ring in response to her touch. The house was eerily silent – no music, no laughing or yelling or Jerry Springer turned up too loudly. After thirty seconds of no answer, she rang again and pounded on the maligned storm door. Still nothing.
Her mind went through a dozen possible scenarios, none of them good. Could she really call the police? That could get ugly if Gramps was breaking and entering. It seemed far more likely that the neighbors were the interlopers, but she suspected that was more a matter of her personal biases and fears playing tricks on her. 

A memory came to her unbidden - the words Grandma had shared from beyond the grave in a letter willed to Vega. It had been a peculiar thing at the time, a simple note asking the then twenty-three year old woman to watch out over Gramps because he had some secrets and might one day need help. Impossible as it seemed, the note now seemed to have a prescient feel under the current circumstances. What secrets and what kind of help? 

Vega had stashed the note inside the cover sleeve of her well-worn copy of Huck Finn and she found herself jogging back to her second floor room to retrieve it. She plucked the book from the shelf and extracted the nondescript mailing envelope on which her name was written in Grandma’s elegant hand. Fingers trembling, she withdrew the note and reread the last line: “If ever you think your grandfather might be in over his head, and only then, go to the First Bank of Baltimore on 2^nd and Washington, deposit box 198.” Affixed to the paper with Scotch tape just below “Love, Grandma” was a small metal key. 

Vega refolded the note and tucked it in her sweatshirt pocket. Had her grandmother somehow anticipated this circumstance? Before this moment, and aside from Gramps’ secretive attic room, there had never seemed to be anything unusual or exciting about her grandparents before. Just what hadn’t she been told? 

She stepped into the hall outside her room and called out again, but only silence responded. She then ran back up to the attic to try the door one last time. Nothing. No sound, no phantom smells. 

Vega touched the envelope through her sweatshirt. That bank was only two blocks away and it wasn’t even Sunday.