The Night Visitor

Starsky has a mysterious package appear on his kitchen table.

A door opened and a lone figure walked in. With quick familiarity it made its way to the kitchen and placed a gaily-wrapped box on the table, then just as quickly left softly closing the door.

If the occupant asleep in the bedroom heard anything he gave no sign and slept on until the suns too-bright rays coordinated with his alarm clock and forced him to greet a new day.

He took another ten minutes to awaken at his own pace then adjourned to the bathroom for a quick shower-shave-toothbrush routine, which was as automatic as breathing.

Still on automatic he made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee and scan the frig for any leftovers for breakfast. Finding nothing, he moved back to the coffee pot and stood in vacant silence while the coffee perked its way to drinkable.

A long drink of morning elixir brought about the completion of the wake-up process and, turning, he leaned against the counter and brought the coffee cup once again to his lips. Then froze as his eyes lit on the brightly wrapped box sitting on his kitchen table.

His thought processes kicked in a moment later and he alertly scanned the apartment for intruders. Keeping his distance from the box, he moved through the apartment in an aggressive, ready-for-anything posture, picking up his gun on the way.

The door was locked with no signs of forced entry, likewise the windows. Every nook and cranny was visited and found innocent of any other mysterious objects or villains.

Returning to the kitchen, he slowly approached the table with its gaily-festooned visitor. It was a small box, maybe four-by-six and about three inches tall with a white bow holding down a gift card on the candy-apple red paper. He poked at it with his finger to test its weight – very light with no strange rattles or whistles. An examination of the plain white card revealed his full name in calligraphy-style printing.

He pulled a chair out and carefully sat himself down to think this through. Only someone with a key could enter his apartment in such a manner to leave him a gift. It wasn’t any kind of national holiday, not his birthday, which he often thought should rate at least a mention on the world stage. He had no personal accomplishments to celebrate; no awards, diplomas or lottery wins.

It was Friday, and he thought that might warrant a celebration, if he could count on not having to work the weekend. Neither his mother nor his brother was in town to pull any surprises on him, so that left just one person, his partner.

But this wasn’t his style, or maybe it was. He had been acting out of character lately, probably because he was in love. That always did strange things to him.

With some trepidation he picked up the box, and, for him, slowly and methodically began to unwrap it, checking carefully as he removed the bow, card and paper.

Concealed beneath was a silver cardboard box with a flip-up lid. He carefully raised the lid to reveal a key nesting in red satin, a key from one of the posh hotels in San Francisco. Peaking out from under the red satin he could see an envelope. Inside was an airline ticket for a flight today at 11:00 a.m. and a note, again carefully printed:

Happy Anniversary Love —- We have a three-day weekend

Come join me to celebrate

Emotion coursed through him so strong that he was powerless to move, or think or comprehend the tears that came unbidden.

“Ah Hutch.”