As Gregory threw his socks and clothes into a bag, as the while muttering ‘Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh’, he momentarily questioned his sanity. After a moment, he decided he probably was insane and continued packing. This was quite all right, because everyone knows insane people are the most fun to read about.
Pulling the backpack on, Gregory glanced the letter and then obediently directed himself to his library. Those who sent him the letter was right - he did know the book that they spoke of. This was because he had only one.
His library consisted of tall sprawling bookcases and the thick smell of well loved pages. At one point, Gregory had shelves full of glorious books on all subjects. They were like friends of his, and he would spend days amongst them, feeding on their words like bee’s on nectar. Until, that is, he began to notice them disappearing. One by one his books were being stolen away from him. No matter how many security measures he took, the thief’s were always one step ahead. Soon, the book he held in his hands was the only one left.
Plainly bound in a dull roan, golden letter read the title in Latin. It was a thick book, and one of the few that Gregory had never read. He looked at it now, flipping through the pages and looking for something ominous. Nothing could be found, however, so he placed it deep in his bag and turned for the door.
“Goodbye Hal,” Gregory said wistfully, “I doubt that I will see you again, my dear over stuffed friend.” He gave his chair a faithful pat. Then brave Gregory passed over the threshold over his house (exiting out of the mauve door of course) for the final time.
Following the letter’s instructions, Gregory walked to the bank. It was a long walk, and he arrived rather winded. Attempting to catch his breath, he adjusted his clothes, attempting to smooth his shirt and straighten his tweed jacket. Running a hand through his thinning hair, he entered.
The bank was one of the most esteemed in the city, with tall marble pillars and glistening floors. The bank smelled like money, and all around men in suits stood with official looking mustaches and briefcases. Self-consciously, Gregory made his way to a teller. He leaned forward, a bit nervous.
“Ah, vault erm…328,” he said with a quick glance at the letter. The teller rose an eyebrow, disbelief on her face.
“Uh-huh…” she said in a patronizing tone, “And do you know the password?” Gregory hesitated, but then nodded. He was beginning to sweat profusely and greatly wished to get out of the bank as soon as possible.
“Avocado,” Gregory said, feeling rather foolish. But the reaction was immediately apparent. The teller’s eyes grew wide and she sat straighter, seeming to get a little flustered.
“Oh! Uh…right…here is the key. Floor nineteen, door 689,” she said as she handed him a small key with a plastic square dangling from the end. Gregory nodded thankfully and turned, glancing around for the elevators. At last he located them, jogging to catch the doors before they closed.
The elevator was a roomy one, with short carpet in that odd squiggly pattern that looks like it was designed by two year olds. The scent was heavy with perfume, some sort of imported vanilla concoction, and simple music played from a box shaped speaker in the corner. I describe this elevator so extensively, only because it will be rather important later on. I would advise that you remember it as best as you can.
Gregory, unfortunately, does not have a narrator whispering in his ear, so he did not know how important this elevator would be. As he pressed the button that read ‘19’, Gregory’s mind was on more pressing matters, such as exactly what was going to be in this elusive box. As his stomach dipped in response to the rise of said elevator, he began to sweat yet again.
“Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh…” he muttered, pulling out a handkerchief to mop his forehead.
“Something wrong?” came a voice. Gregory jumped a mile, turning with a whirl. There, perched in the far corner of the elevator, was a petite woman. She looked only about 20, perhaps older. Gregory couldn’t imagine how he missed her, for she was very noticeable now that he looked. Donning a short pixie cut, the women had pure white hair, and was dressed in many various mismatched articles of clothing. She wore a long graphic tee that read ‘Currently Migrating: Do Not Disturb’ and a bright blue trench coat that swung below her knees. On her legs she wore black leggings and orange leg warmers, which looked as though creatures were devouring her legs. A jean skirt came to the middle of her thighs and three scarves, all of varying colors. Gregory stared slightly, blinking a remembering his manners.
“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said, apologetically. The girl grinned widely.
“Oh that’s quite all right,” she spouted forgivingly, “You see, I am a ninja. You would not see me unless I wanted you to.” Gregory chuckled, until he realized the girl was serious. He then questioned her sanity.
“My names Violet Piccolo Finn,” Violet said with a smile, holding out a pale hand for a shake. Gregory took it precariously, and gave it a polite shake.
“Gregory Smit,” he said. Violet’s eyes lit up and she opened her mouth to say something, but it was then that the elevator doors dinged.
“Good day to you, ma’am,” Gregory said, with a polite nod. He then rushed out of the elevator, relieved to escape from the seemingly mad woman. The hallway he entered was furnished much like the elevator, with the same sprawling carpet and several large fernlike plants at five door intervolves. Gregory tensely walked down the empty hall, glancing at the numbers on the doors that lined both sides. 673, 674, 675, 676...Gregory continued down the hall until he reached his goal - 689.
The room behind the door had two stalls with red curtains in front of them. One of the stalls had the golden numbers ‘328’. Gregory entered, and pulled the curtain closed behind him. The stall was roomy, and had a trash and small table. On top of the table, a metal box sat, closed shut with a built in lock. Pulling the key from his pocket, Gregory gave a nervous look around and stuck it into the lock. A click resounded in the room, seeming to echo through the room, and Gregory paused, questioning his actions. Did he really want to know what was inside this box?
But then the face of the nameless deceased mailman filled his memory (who, in actuality, was that nameless), and he pressed onward, deciding at the very least he owed it to him. With a deep breath, Gregory took shaking hands and opened the box.
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh!”
Inside the box lay a treasure of sorts. Bundles of money from all different countries, a passport that held Gregory’s face, but not his true name. Shuddering fingers flipped through the money, assuring it was real. A small blue handbook and a small cell phone also sat in the box. But what got Gregory stuttering was the large gun that lay underneath both the money and the book.
“Wow! That’s a big gun!”
Gregory gave a yell, fumbling and dropping what money he held. He turned to see Violet standing there smiling up at him.
“How did you-”
“Ninja,” Violet reminded, pointing a finger at herself. Gregory stared at her, but Violet was unphased.
“Ooh, look at all that money!” she smiled stepping forward to peek into the box.
“H-hey! Get out of there!” Gregory sputtered, though he did nothing to stop her. Violet continued to sift through the box, as Gregory helplessly watched. At last he seemed to gather his wits, unzipping his duffle bag and snatching money from her hands.
“N-now see here!” he said, attempting to sound stern, “Th-this is a top secret….thing. I must ask you to leave!” Violet paused and gazed up at him, slightly amused.
“Mr. Smit,” she began, stepping back from the box and motioning for Gregory to empty the contents, “You interest me a great deal. As a ninja, it is my duty to explore things that are suspicious or seem to attract…shall we say, unusual attention? I plan on following you wherever you intend to go - and you cannot stop me. If you wish, you can file a restraining order on me, but that would involve a lot of court time, and let’s be honest - do you really have time to waste?”
Gregory was at a loss of words. Finally, his shoulder’s slumped in defeat.
“Fine….fine…” he muttered, more to himself then to Violet. He emptied the box, leaving the gun. The truth was, having a companion along for the read did soothe a little of Gregory’s apprehensions. Violet also reminded him of his daughter, who had moved away years ago.
Violet clapped happily, and grinned. Gregory gave her a look that plainly said ‘you’re insane’ and left the stall. Violet went to follow him, but turned and grabbed the gun that had been left abandoned. She slipped it under her jacket and then followed Gregory, as innocent as a hamster with a chainsaw.
