Yes Master Read online

  Yes, Master

  Book 1

  Simon Archer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  7. Vila

  8. Andi

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  14. Andi

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Author’s Note

  1

  The sound of rubber speeding over asphalt always made me feel free somehow. The streets and sidewalks were unusually calm for the mid-evening hours, making the path a breeze for me to weave my bike skillfully through scattered pedestrians and cars. I flew past a bank sign that showed the time. I was on my last delivery for the day, and if I kept up my pace, I would get home forty-five minutes earlier than usual.

  It wasn’t ten seconds later that I turned the corner and saw flashing lights a block away at the next intersection. A crowd was already gathering to gawk at the accident that had just taken place. I quickly glanced up at the sign that read ‘Stout St.’ and I knew there was only one way to avoid the clusterfuck ahead. Just this side of the growing crowd, there was a narrow alley that was hardly visible from the street. I had used it before on occasion but tended to avoid it because it was riddled with potholes and chunks of asphalt. I was looking forward to getting home early too much to care at that point. I had taken on three extra deliveries over my regular number, and I was ready for my workday to end.

  A short woman in a suit stepped out of the door to the high rise I was riding past and stood directly in my path. She had come out to play looky-loo and had no idea I was barreling straight for her. I jerked my handlebars to the right and yanked up as I hopped my bike off the curb and into the street. The accident ahead turned out to be a small blessing as I would have been heading into oncoming traffic had the road not been blocked off. I sped past the woman and hopped my bike back onto the sidewalk just in time to make a hard left into the nearly invisible alley entryway. Near-misses always made my heart race just a little, but they were exhilarating at the same time.

  I pulled back on my brake lever and slowed myself so that I could navigate around the plethora of potholes in front of me. The alley was dark regardless of the bright sunshine that had been out on the street. The building on my left had beige bricks that had been painted over with the multi-colored handiwork of bored kids with cans of spray paint. To my right was a dark-red brick building with crumbling grout and black streaks from years of water draining incorrectly down the side of the building. The typical alley trash littered the bottom edges of both buildings, but the alley itself was too narrow for dumpsters. It felt like I had entered a dank, hidden, moldy-smelling alternate roadway.

  I looked up to the end of the alley but couldn’t see out because a huge box truck was parked there. The words ‘Thrift ‘n’ Save’ were painted in bright orange on the back, and there was no way I could fit me and my bike on either side to get past it. I zipped around a particularly deep pothole and was about to turn around and take my chances with the crowd on the street when the truck’s brake lights lit up, and I heard the sound of the engine going into gear.

  The truck lurched forward, and with the hope that the truck was exiting the alley, I stayed on my path but slowed down so that I would not have to stop before it pulled out. It started moving forward at turtle speed, and I wondered if the driver understood the difference between the gas pedal and the brake. Then the truck began to turn, and the front end disappeared around the corner of the run-down brick building. I pedaled a little faster as the truck started to gain momentum. I decided to hop the remaining potholes instead of going around them so that I could get around the truck the moment an opening was available.

  I closed in fast and kept my focus on the left corner of the truck. A small sliver of light was starting to show as it continued to turn. I peddled faster and gauged the speed I would need to close the last thirty feet of distance just in time to exit the alley and fly around the left side of the truck. There were only two more potholes in front of me before I could make my exit.

  I jumped the first one and gained a little more speed. Just as I was coming up on the second, the box truck bounced as though it hit a pothole of its own. The sliding door on the back popped up about four feet. I was in the air over the second pothole when a large black garbage bag fell out of the back of the truck and busted open directly in front of me. Its contents spewed out all over the alley as my bike tires touched down.

  I slammed on my brakes and tried to turn my bike sideways to avoid the majority of the mess, but my front tire hit something, and my bike stopped. I did not, however. I flew over my handlebars and did a full front flip in the air before landing on a pile of wrinkled clothing that spilled out of the bag. As I crashed flat on my back, the air blown out of my lungs, I heard my bike crash onto its side.

  It was one of those moments when something unusual happens, and it takes a little while for your thought process to catch up to your current situation. I laid there, listening to the thrift store truck drive away. It wasn’t until the alley was silent again, and I had caught my breath, that I realized I needed to survey the damage. I methodically moved all of my joints and limbs. Nothing was painful, and I quickly deduced that I was not injured. I sat up and threw my arms up in the air.

  “YES!” I shouted to nobody. “A full front flip over my handlebars and zero injuries! This day just keeps getting better!” I figured I should celebrate, especially since I just had two exhilarating near-misses in the last three minutes.

  I unbuckled my helmet strap, laid my helmet on the pavement beside the pile of clothes, and slowly stood up. I was confused about one thing. I had cleared the pothole, so what was it that stopped my bike?

  I walked over to where my bike was lying on the ground, pulled it upright, and flipped the kickstand down. I surveyed the pavement around it and saw nothing but a few pieces of random, used clothing. I started looking further out away from my bike, spinning in a circle, trying to see anything that could have caught my front wheel with such force.

  Just then, a small gust of wind blew through the alley, and I heard a paper ripple behind me. I turned around and saw a notebook, torn and tattered, flapping in the breeze. As the top pages blew back, a small golden light shone out from underneath them. The pages continued to wave back-and-forth, and the light flickered.

  I approached and lifted the notebook and found a small, wooden, picture box sitting underneath it. The glow was coming from underneath the lid which was slightly ajar. I knelt down and slowly opened the box. The glow brightened, and I had to shield my eyes for a couple of seconds until they adjusted. Just as some shapes were becoming visible through the bright light, I heard footsteps behind me. I snapped the box shut and looked down the alley. The footsteps were coming from an increasing number of people passing in the street to see the accident. I had a strange sense of needing to check out the box when I was alone.

  I grabbed the box and walked back over to my bike. I silently thanked the universe that I was on my last delivery because the crate strapped behind my bike seat was empty except for one envelope. I put the picture box in the crate and fastened straps over the top to hold it secure. I took a quick minute to check out my bike thoroughly and make sure it hadn't broken anything in the fall. When I was satisfied that both myself and my bike were in working order, I wasted no time hopping back on to start the short ride to my last delivery. Although the shortcut through the alley didn't end up saving me time, I was no longer concerned about it. Right then, all I could think about was getting home and seeing what was glowing inside that box.

  The path to the restaurant for my last delivery usually took me ten minutes to navigate. I completed it in six minutes flat. I parked my bike out front, reached in my crate to remove the envelope, and started walking into the restaurant. Just before I opened the door, I glanced back at the container. I was a little nervous leaving the box outside for some reason. However, I was more concerned with hurrying up to get home, so I turned and hurried into the restaurant. The cold air from the air conditioner surrounded me, reminding me of how hot it was outside. A middle-aged woman stood behind a hostess podium and smiled when she saw me.

  "Bennett!" she said loudly. She walked out from around the podium and gave me a quick hug. I had been delivering payroll to her restaurant for about a year-and-a-half, and we had gotten to know each other pretty well. "Thank you so much for doing a special delivery for us! I'm surprised to see you here this early!"

  "It's no problem at all, Karen. I was actually going a little faster than normal today, and as you know, you are on my way home." I hugged her back and flashed a smile. I held the envelope out to her, and she grabbed it as she let go of me.

  "Let me make you some dinner as a 'thank you'!" Karen started. "What would you like?"

  "Unfortunately, I don't have time to eat right now. Raincheck?" All I could think about was getting the crate on the back of my bike home.

  "Nonsense!" she said in her don't-argue-with-me voice. "I am making you dinner, and that is final! You had a cheeseburger th
e last time you were here. How about another one of those?"

  I glanced at the door to the restaurant and then back to Karen. I did not want to be rude but realized that there was no way I was getting out of there before she fed me. Then I had an idea.

  "How about this?" I started. "Can I take something to go? I really do have a pressing appointment, but you know I love your food." I may have fibbed about the appointment, but I was definitely telling the truth about her food. It was fantastic. She put her hands on her hips and looked me up and down, considering my suggestion.

  "Alright," she finally said. "Take a seat at the staff table, and I will have it right out for you!" She spun around on her heel and headed hurriedly towards the kitchen.

  I took another look out the front door to check on my bike before I walked the few steps to a small booth reserved for members of the staff. Karen's Diner was not a well-known restaurant in the city, but it was most certainly a diamond in the rough. The tables were old but sturdy, the yellow paint faded but clean, and whoever was working, the service was so amazing that it left a smile on your face. I sat down on the edge of the booth and waited impatiently for my food. Although only seven minutes passed before I saw Karen coming towards me with a to-go box, it felt like an eternity. I hopped up out of the booth as soon as I saw her. She handed me the box and smiled at me. I always felt as though she treated me like I was one of her sons.

  "Here you go," she said with a wink. "I had Bill add a couple of extra pickles for you."

  "I appreciate you, Karen. Thank you." I took the box from her and leaned down to give her another short hug. She walked with me to the front door and reached up to tighten my helmet strap.

  "Be safe out there. See you next week!" Karen called to me as I went out the door.

  I added my food to the crate with the box and got on my bike. I gave her a nod and a half-wave as I started to pedal away. My entire focus had already shifted back to getting home to see what was in the box. My tiny apartment was only fifteen minutes away if I made good time. The streets were more filled with traffic than before, but the sidewalks were clearer. The rubber from my bike tires whirred louder the faster I went. I managed to piss off a couple of motorists by weaving between the road and sidewalk, not because I was putting them in any danger but because they were irritated that they had to pay attention. Whenever they would honk, I would smile and wave back at them, letting them know that they in no way got under my skin.

  Finally, I turned the corner and saw my apartment building. It was squished between a small strip mall and a warehouse. It wasn't much to look at, but there was a small park behind the building that was nice to visit when the weather was good like it was this time of year. I had planned on moving out about a year ago after I'd developed a software program I was certain would get me a promotion. Things had not turned out that way, however, thanks to a snake of a co-worker. I shook my head before I could start to dwell on the situation. I would just have to wait to upgrade, and that was all there was to it.

  The units in my complex all had outdoor entrances. Mine was around the backside of the building. My apartment was on the second of three floors and had concrete slab stairs leading up to it. When I reached the staircase, I hopped off my bike and instinctively picked it up by the crossbar and slung it over my shoulder before starting my ascent. I reached into my pocket as I climbed the stairs and pulled out my keys. The part of town I lived in wasn't considered the safest, and I had installed some extra locks on my door. That made it necessary to carry four keys instead of the typical one.

  When I reached my apartment, I set down my bike and methodically unlocked two deadbolts, a modified slide lock, and the doorknob lock. The door frame was not squared up, so I had to kick the door to dislodge it before it would open. I twisted the handle, kicked the bottom corner as I pushed, and the door finally opened. I walked my bike inside, parked it, and closed and locked the door behind me.

  I wasted no time getting my helmet off and reaching for the picture box to take it out of the crate. As I reached for it, I saw a small sliver of light. I grabbed it and hurried across the matted, faded orange carpeting past the living room to my dining room table. The table and four chairs that matched it were in rough shape when I found them with a 'Free' sign next to the curb in front of the building. I had sanded, stained, and re-polished the set until it looked brand new. They definitely did not match the general run-down nature of my apartment and the rest of the furniture in it.

  As I set the box down on the table, I noted that the box, however, did match.

  The light from a nearby window shone onto the box, which now merely looked like a beat-up, nearly falling apart configuration of splintered wood. It looked as though at one point, it had some sort of lettering on the outside, but it was now so faded there was no way to tell what it had said. Nicks and scratches covered the dirt-caked thing. One of the corners was dented in so far that I was surprised it hadn't split the box wide open.

  I stood there, examining it for a long moment before realizing that I was anxious about opening it up. I reached over and lowered the blinds on the window because I still felt, as I had in the alley, that nobody else should see what I was doing. When I returned to the box, I sat down in front of it on one of my refinished chairs and slowly started to open the lid. As it raised, I held my breath to see the glow that I’d seen emanating from it. It was after I had the lid completely pulled back that I realized there was no glow.

  I tilted my head and stared at the box. I convinced myself I must have done something differently than I had in the alley, so I closed the lid and slowly opened it again. Still no glow. I could’ve sworn it was glowing just a moment ago when I lifted it out of the crate. After repeating the process two more times, I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. I knew what I had seen in the alley. Something inside that box glowed. So, why wasn't it still glowing?

  I scooted forward to the edge of the table and pulled the box towards me. When I peered inside, I paid closer attention to the contents as I removed them. I pulled out several old business cards, a couple of birthday cards, two black and white photos, a fountain pen, a rusted chain bracelet, and an old pocket watch. When the box was empty, I picked it up, turned it over, and shook it to make sure that I had everything out.

  When nothing else came out, I turned it upright and set it back on the table. It appeared now just to be a regular, old, beat-up box. Huh, maybe a light in the alley or from a window nearby made it look like the box was glowing. After all, I had just wrecked my bike and flown into a pile of clothes, and perhaps I wasn't as observant of my surroundings as usual. I took a deep breath and let it out, feeling a decent dose of disappointment.

  I turned my attention to the box's contents scattered on the table. The faded black and white pictures showed a storefront with a chubby man standing outside, pointing to a wooden rocking chair. The other picture had the same man holding a wide "Grand Opening" banner and smiling proudly up at a carved wooden sign that read "Larry's Custom Furniture." I turned the pictures over and was surprised to see that nothing was written on the back.

  My grandmother, who had passed several years ago, used to show me pictures like those, but they usually had the year and the names of the people in the photos written on the backs. With that seeming to be a dead-end, I laid the pictures down and picked up the business cards. The text on some of them was so old and faded that I could not make out what it said. The one that was in the best condition read, "Hill Service - If your car can't make it up, we'll push!" There was a cartoon drawing of two men pushing an old Model-T automobile up a steep, snowy hill.

  "That's interesting," I muttered aloud, shrugging my shoulders.

  I laid the card down and picked up the chain bracelet. The only thing that made it a bracelet was the clasp that allowed it to connect to itself. Otherwise, it was a simple small-link chain. I would have expected something like that to have charms attached, but this one was just plain. I pushed it aside and decided to check out the pen. It looked like one of those pens that people used to have to dip in bottles of ink to write with. I could not find anything that indicated there was ink actually in the pen. I tried to scribble with it on the back of one of the illegible business cards, but nothing happened, so I laid it down next to the chain bracelet.