Caveat Emptor: Part One

So, before I put forth a bit of this piece, there are some things that need to be said. First of all, this is a novel-length work. Obviously this is not all of it, but by the end it'll be a (hopefully) complete novel. Second, there are no chapters. I stand on the side of Sir Terry Pratchett on this one: Life doesn't flow in chapters, and neither do my stories. The changes in scenes are shown with four hyphens. :3 Other than that, I hope you enjoy and thanks very, very much for reading.

EDIT: And before I forget, the title is a Latin proverb meaning "let the buyer beware." A bit of background on it: It's become something regarding law nowadays, but you'll eventually see the point in my using it. Also, it's technically in the Latin imperative form and should have an exclamation mark following it, but that looked pretty stupid, so I cut it out. xP

If you tell me “it could always be worse,” I will seriously kill you. Do you want to know what’s going to happen because of that box? I’m watching my life fall away because I stuck that big nose of mine where it doesn’t belong, and you’re honestly going to tell me “it could always be worse”?

“Could always be worse” my ass.

I guess there a lot of places where it started, depending on who you talk to, but I remember how this whole thing began for me. It was late one night (that night wasn’t even that long ago, really), and I was still awake. As usual. I’m a night person, I’ll admit. I’m the type who can’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning and usually spends the time before then surfing the Internet or trying out a new magic trick.

Anyway, it was late. I was sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the television and thinking that I should get to bed soon, when there came a knocking, a rapping, at my chamber door. Okay, fine; that’s a bit melodramatic. But it wasn’t normal to have someone ringing me up at two in the morning. So I warily shut off the TV and walked to the door, tying the sash of my robe as I went.

The door opened to show a small woman, coming up to maybe only my shoulder. When she saw me, her eyes seemed to grow greener with forced enthusiasm. That's one thing I remember best about her: The woman's eyes were a bright, unnatural green. The color of emeralds and midsummer grass at the same time, twirling together into something deep and endless that stopped abruptly at her pupil. I couldn't even tell you what color her hair was, or why I remember her eyes so vividly, but I do.

I think she had short brown hair. Or maybe it was blonde.

I definitely remember that I didn't recognize her uniform. Her polo was black with some little weird white insignia embroidered on her chest, her pants khaki. So, not your average Fed-Ex or UPS delivery girl, but she had a package in one hand and a clipboard in the other. I figured it must have been a new postal company or the night uniform or... something... Look, I already mentioned it was late. My brain wasn’t willing to function properly right then.

“Delivery for Mr. Rhodes,” she said, holding out her clipboard. The woman kept a little cardboard box firmly clasped against her side.

“That’d me,” I said, “but I didn’t order anything. D’you know who sent it?” Or who you’re supposed to be?

The woman shrugged, glanced over her shoulder tentatively before looking back at me. “Don’t ask me. I just take ’em to the address on my list. Could you sign here, please?”

I took the clipboard and signed on the line she indicated, looking up every few moments to see her creepy eyes fixed on glancing around the hallway. Sort of like she was looking to see if anyone was going to come. She made me shiver and almost the shove the clipboard back at her, secretly hoping she would leave already.

She handed me the box and, before I could even wish her a good night, she turned and walked away.

“Um. Bye?”

The woman did not respond, did not even look back before the corner swallowed her up and she was gone from my sight.

I shut the door, frowning at the small box. I had barely registered that she had given it to me at the time. It was small, maybe six inches long at most.

Carrying it as if it might spontaneously combust, I made my way back to the living room. I shoved some envelopes and magazines off the coffee table with a crinkle of paper and set down the box. It almost seemed to stare at me until I, flustering, went and hunted down a pair of scissors to open it.

The packaging tape gave easily, and I tugged the flaps apart. I faced a small ocean of packing peanuts, one I reached into carefully to keep any waves from lapping over the edge onto the table. I frowned. Bits of Styrofoam always managed to stick around longer than the contents of the actual package, and that annoyed me. My house was messy enough already; I did not need the postal service to help me make it messier, thanks.

My fingers touched something smooth and cold, almost like a polished stone. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled it out.

I came away with a rectangular box. It was small and dark as pitch, with flecks of iridescence where the light hit it. I couldn't even tell that it was covered with little square tiles until a few fell in under a bit of pressure.

Weird.

What really irritated me was that the box wouldn’t even open. I kept turning it over, glancing on all the sides, trying to find a lid, but in vain. There was no apparent way to get the stupid thing to open up. So with a small frown, I set it gingerly onto the coffee table and dug around inside its original package for something else. Anything else. A note of explanation, a key. Something.

My fingers hit the bottom of the box. I felt around a bit more and found nothing else but packing peanuts.

Weirder.

I looked back at the black box; it almost seemed to glance innocently away. Staring at it in all its locked glory, I felt my curiosity piquing and quickly approaching a level that I was not able to ignore.

I have never been one to ignore a good mystery. I wasn’t about to start now.

----

Before I go any further, I think that a proper instruction is in order. I'm not going to tell you my life story or anything; I think that sharing some of the details would piss my mom off, and bore you. I'll keep it short and sweet.

My name is Torin Rhodes. I spent a majority of my life after and during college living in an apartment in a small town in northern Montana, hopping from temporary job to temporary job, trying to convince myself that I’ll find my career somewhere along the way. And, quite frankly, I was starting to get bored out of my mind with the place.

I remember getting dressed every morning and struggling to get my used ’76 Ford to start (after 200,000 miles, that thing was about ready to go kaput). I usually got to work either a minute or two early, or a minute or two late. More often than not, it was the latter.

My life had fallen into a routine: Live and let live. I didn’t have a care in the world. You could say that I like this new and exciting life.

You could, but it would be a lie.

My Ford’s probably been squished into a little car pancake; who knows what happened to all my things back at my old place. Who knows what happened to that boring, kind-of-late-in-a-way-but-not-really-please-don’t-get-mad-at-me guy I used to be.

I’ve forgotten who that Torin Rhodes is.

I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing or not.