How Did They Find Us?

Christopher’s heart began to race.

Why is this package addressed to me?

He sat there at his front door, unmoving. Sweat collected in beads on his forehead, but his blood ran icey in his veins.

What does this mean? He asked himself. He was afraid of the answer.

After some deliberation, whether it was for seconds or minutes or even hours that he had sat there he couldn’t have known, Christopher reached forward and ever so gently lifted the box. It was exceedingly light. By its weight it had to be cardboard. Is it empty? He gave the box a slight shake and heard the gentlest ruffling inside. Hm. Why would such a big box be sent with something so little? It was wrapped in brown paper. His name and address were typed on a small white sticker, which was placed squarely in the middle.

How peculiar.

Christopher stood, took the key from his pocket, and opened the door slowly. His wife’s voice was loud inside. She sounded irritated. He picked the box up and stepped into the hallway, then closed and locked the door quickly behind him.

“I don’t care what Mike was doing! You are your own person, Jake. You decide what you do, and so you are responsible. And you, Taylor! Couldn’t you have tried to stop your brother instead of encouraging this kind of behavior?”

“I wasn’t encouraging it, Mom,” he heard his daughter reply in what his wife liked to call her “sassy tone”. “But what exactly was I supposed to do?”

“Anything, Taylor. Really, you- oh, Christopher,” his wife stopped mid-sentence when he stepped around the corner and into the kitchen. She looked relieved to see him. “You’re here. Can you talk to the kids, please? They... ” Her eyes drifted over him. She noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead, his disheveled hair, twisted face, and large, anxious eyes. Finally her gaze rested on the box under his arm. “What happened?”

Christopher took a deep breath but said nothing. He walked slowly, deliberately, to the kitchen table and placed the box on it. His son and daughter sat up in their chairs and his wife came up behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

“What is it?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you order something?”

“No.”

“Kids?”

“No,” they replied.

“Why didn’t you open it?”

“Because… I don’t know what it is. And there’s no return address.”

“Isn’t that the point of opening the box?” his daughter asked.

His wife looked up. She had zero tolerance for sarcasm. “Hey. Attitude.”

Taylor rolled her eyes.

“But really, Chris, why didn’t you open it?”

“Look, Clara. Look at the address.”

Clara and the kids leaned over the table, looking closely at the little sticker he had pointed out.

“Christopher Davis. 562 Oaks-” his wife stopped. “Oh.” She looked up, her eyes full of terror.

“I don’t get it, guys,” Jacob said. “Dad’s name is Christopher. What’s the problem if-” he stopped short. “Oh.”

“There it is, Jake. Always the slow one,” Taylor replied.

“You know, if we all die tomorrow then you’re going to feel bad for always being so mean to me.”

“We’re not going to die,” Clara said. “I promise, everything will be just fine.” In fact, she could not promise that at all, but if she couldn’t convince herself it was ok, maybe she could convince her kids. “That’s why we agreed to be in the Witness Protection Program, right? They’re going to protect us.”

“Your mother is right, kids. There’s no need to panic. Let’s all be rational here. First things first. Did anyone tell anyone else- and I mean anyone- about where we were moving to?” Everyone shook their heads. “Taylor what about-”

“No one, dad! I swear. I didn’t even tell Luke we were leaving, and we’ve been dating for five months. He probably thinks I died.”

Christopher crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he stared at the box. “Did anyone accidentally use our old names in public?”

Again, everyone shook their heads.

“Hon’, you know we made a rule ever since we went into the program. No names in public- just in case.”

Chris rubbed his face, his mind running. “Did anyone accidentally mention home? Or has anyone logged into their old social media accounts? Facebook, Instagram. Pinterest. Whatever.”

More vigorous head shakes.

Jake cleared his throat. “What do you think it is?”

“Is it heavy?” Taylor asked.

He shook his head. “It’s really light. It feels empty, almost.”

“At least it’s not a bomb,” Jake replied.

“How do you know?”

“Because, Taylor, they don’t make bombs that light.”

Clara sighed. “Kids, really now.”

All were silent.

“Chris,” his wife said after what felt like ages.

“Yes?”

“I think we need to open it.”

Christopher nodded. “You’re right. It’s the only way to figure out what it is and where it came from.”

Everyone watched as he ripped off the brown wrapping paper. He checked the inside of the wrapping for writing. Nothing. Christopher ripped off the tape and opened the box. Everyone clamored, their questions too loud and fast to be distinguishable.

“Quiet!” They fell silent but drew closer.

Chris looked inside and his heart began to race, thumping hard and fast within his chest. There in the box was a picture- a family picture from the summer before. There was a small red “x” drawn on each forehead. He reached in and picked it up so that everyone could see.

Taylor started to cry silently. Jake, on the other hand, began shouting.

“We’re gonna’ die! We’re gonna’ die!”

“No, Jacob, we’re not going to die,” Christopher said. Even to himself he didn’t sound convincing. He flipped the picture over. There on the back was a single word scrawled in messy, hurried letters.

“Run.”