SMR 5

(c'td from the last 'diary entry')

One, two, three... I wasn't sure whether I was counting the no. of drawers caught in that brief glimpse or just counting in order to calm my boiling excitement. On reaching 10, I made up the biggest decision in my life.


Back in the mansion, Raymond King untied the knot to the bundle of mail but was suddenly reminded of the opened telegram. Not for the first time, but certainly one of those rarest moments, Mr. King found himself in a rather amusing gesture - his body bending over the oak table, hands still holding on to the ends of the untied thread and his eyes dead fixed on the red telegram lying cosily beside his sleeve - his whole body was locked in time and space as a pearl of throughts streamed through his busy mind. If I put the telegram back and return the envelop, will Mr. no 6 suspect that I've opened it without his consent? I could well explain the little accident to him in person to clear up any misunderstandings but how do I explain the initial curiosity that prompted me to take his mail in the first place? On top of that, no. 6 hasn't been here for almost a month. If he doesn't check in next week, I'm entitled to dispose all his mails as rightfully stated on the agreement. The logical conclusion could well end the mental struggle, until the printings on the telegram inadvertantly caught him. The letters were fading from the dampness but the word 'cypress' held his gaze in a vise. It was the maiden name of this ancient mansion but was no longer in use ever since he became heir. The current addressees, of course, only knew this place as '1 Moonriver Lane', and never Cypress! God forbids! Sensing an ominous sign coming, Mr. King snatched up the little piece of paper and squinted his eyes, which were now glimming with anxiety. "get out cypress on recieving next mail M. coming, Jade.' Raymond King dropped back in his vine chair, deep in thoughts. He dissembled the short message and chewed them over: 1. Jade, the sender, is relaying an important if not life-and-death signal to no.6 and the source of threat is the mysterious M. 2. There's a new mail coming in and upon recieving it, no. 6 is supposed to 'get out of cypress' as told. The biggest cipher,however, was 'get out cypress'. If 'cypress' was indeed referring to this mansion, could 'get out' literally mean to escape this place and move elsewhere? It wasn't uncommon for strangers to knock on his door and inquire about Miss and Mr. so and so although Mr. King emphasised to his customers that '1 moonriver lane' should be a mailing address and never be mistaken as their actual residence. Suppose Jade the sender, by mistake, assumed Cypress was where no.6 lived, the message would then suggest 'get out of your house.' If not, it could imply 'terminate your deal with the master of cypress.' And who is M? The urgent undertone seemed to tag M with a dangerous nature, a nameless face with a deadly pursuit. In all circumstances, no.6 was an alarming case. If only 'cypress' was a harmless coincidence! If not... Mr. King frowned and his heart tightend. Suddenly he remembered 'the next mail' and sprang from the chair. The newly arrived bundle was soon a mess as he frantically sieved through the letters looking for the small number tag. Six, six, six... to his great disappointment, there was none. As if to distract himself from a million palpitating possibilities that flooded in and broke the dam to his serene life, Mr. King closed his eyes and dived deep in a sea of fading memories. He thought of Catherine, in an extravagantly framed portrait, looking golden and regal. She kissed the child gently in her arm, whispered a lullaby and too quickly disappeared without a trace, leaving the baby alone. The Cypress. Raymond King snapped back to reality, frowned bitterly and knocked his knuckles against the table. He MUST get the next mail.



Chapter 4 No. 6
'There ye go, boy!' my old man tossed me a heavy package of letters. It hit me on the shoulders and I winced. 'Wassup with ye? Ye alrite? Kinda stupid and slow today huh?' he smiled a fatherly smile and gave a bearly pat on the same shoulder which was hit less than five seconds ago. I secretly grimaced but said nothing, in fear he would mock me further on my words which strangely, all sounded like laughing stock to him. If only I could be in a perpetual jolly mood like my old man! In fact, I had been a nervous wreck ever since I made my first move. I dare not tell it to anybody, certainly not THIS man smiling across at me. I'd lose my job instantly for sure.

Yesterday I got my usual share of letters. Instead of dutifully setting out on my bike and delivering them to the right household, I picked out those addressed to Raymond King and carefully examined them. Dear readers, if you still remember that stroke of moment where I made up a very important decision, and here it is! The curtains have just unfolded. I'm like a prankish boy throwing pebbles into an once tranquil pond. I watched the ripples spread far into a mass of dead foliage, disturbed them until now there was a small clearing. What was I looking for? I had no idea, but I was sure there WAS something, in the same way I always knew hamsters hid their nuts in secret alcoves nobody else knew of except me. There I held the letters up to eye level and shuffled them back to back. The numbers were there as expected, 25, 6 and 31. If this was what they would call a turn of fate, I did it with a single stroke. I took out a black ink pen, and with my clammy hands, etched a vertical line beside 6. What a difference would 10 make? If only I knew then!