Love 'n' Kisses - For the BFF prompt

Kelly walked through the door, chucked her keys at the hall table, and dragged her way to the lounge.

“Dinner'll be half hour, love.”

Mum's head popped through the serving hatch, a dab of flour on her cheek, hair in rollers. Bingo night. Kelly nodded, lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes. One more day at work. One more day until two blissful weeks of solitude in the wilds of Somerset. She managed a grin. The village was hardly wild, but the surrounding hills and woods were wild enough for a city girl.

Mum reappeared bearing an all too familiar expression and a small purple envelope. She proffered it, hesitant but staunchly determined to do the deed.

“Sorry, Kel. Found it on the mat when I got in. Nearly threw it out, but it's mail, been through the post and stuff. Pretty sure it's illegal to destroy someone's mail. Don't want to cause any ...”

“It's ok, Mum. Give it here.”

The envelope was handed over, Kelly trying to ignore the surreptitious hand wipe Mum made against her apron. There was no doubt, something in the irregular arrival of the purple envelopes felt...grubby. Kelly always experienced an almost OCD need to wash her hands for a day after the arrival of what she termed in her head 'The Purple Pest'. Not that there was ever anything nasty in the envelopes. It was just a lingering discomfort in the back of her mind which itched for several days after a delivery.

She ripped open the sturdy envelope, trying not to wonder if the sender had licked the flap into place, and extracted the single sheet of neatly typed paper within.

'Dearest Kelly-Anne'

That always struck her, made her pause and consider. No-one ever called her by her full name. Not even Mum when using the 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' tack. But Purple Pest always used her full name. She knew it was useless to wonder why, but couldn't help doing so. Maybe Pest was just a formal kinda guy. For guy he was. Of that she was certain. Not that she had any evidence. The letters just felt... male. She read on.

'I hope you have a wonderful time in Overton. It is such a pretty village. The sort you see on chocolate boxes and jigsaws, no?'

That brought her up short again. There was never any clue to the person behind the letters, not in 15 years, but had he made a tiny slip? That 'no' at the end of the sentence. Did it indicate he was not a native? She had a few French and Spanish friends and they made a habit of ending sentences with that questioning 'no' which she always wanted to substitute with a 'yes'. Was her Pest foreign? Her treacherous mind cast up images of exotic, dashing princes from far distant lands and she jumped all over the thoughts before reading on. She couldn't afford to romanticise the Pest. Fair enough, he hadn't made any attempt at physical contact in 15 years, but who knew what his intentions were. Being on her guard had become a way of life for Kelly, and she wasn't about to change that now.

'I do not wish to keep you, I know you are tired after work, but please indulge me a moment more. Upon arrival in Overton, please ask the concierge at your rooming-house for the key I have left for you. It is in a familiar envelope...

Love 'n' kisses

And that was it. No explanations, no more information. The pattern was familiar, but something felt odd this time. The language was as formal, slightly 'off', as it ever was. Nothing had overtly changed, and yet something felt wrong. Deep in thought, Kelly startled a little when Mum shifted beside her.

“Well?”

“Nothing, Mum. Just wishing me a happy vacation and letting me know there will be a key waiting for me at the hotel”

'Rooming-house' He'd used that term and it jangled against her mind. Who used such a word? Didn't everyone say hotel or B&B? It simply didn't fit with the pattern she'd come to know.

“More keys? What now?”

“I'll know when I get there, Mum. No point in worrying. Anyway, he's done nothing in all this time, Why change now?”

She soothed her Mum, chatted idly for a while, but when she clambered under her duvet, tried to sleep, her mind replayed the letter. Something was up with Pest and that made her nervous.

She spent the following day rereading the message between work commitments. The fact that she couldn't push it from her mind bothered her more than anything else. The first Purple Pest envelope had arrived when she was 15. It had contained a birthday card and a key. Amongst her gifts had been a locket which nobody seemed to have sent. The key in the envelope fitted the locket. Inside had been a tiny pressed flower, a barely opened poppy, her favourite. From that day forward envelopes had arrived. There was no schedule, although her birthday was never missed, but they always contained a key. Within the space of the following week, Kelly would find the lock for the key and some delicate token would be hiding within. There had been music boxes, jewellery cases, ornaments, even a miniature grandfather clock on one memorable occasion, but every one had a lock and key.

The only other constant was the sign-off. From the beginning it had been 'Love 'n' kisses'. It felt so intimate, but playful. It also fitted with Pest's formality. The neatly stroked apostrophe before and after the N were deeply correct. She'd built a mental picture of Pest. Not what he looked like. That hadn't seemed wise somehow. If she set a picture in her head, expected a blond and he turned out to be dark, she was setting herself up for a fall. Expect anything. She did have an image of his personality though. Straight-laced, a good, honest citizen, probably with a tendency to efficiency and a need for order and few deviations from schedule. He probably still used a typewriter because the world of computers and the internet seemed beyond his ability to control and were to be avoided.

She remembered her one and only conversation with the police about Pest. A couple of years previously, Mum had persuaded her to take the envelopes to the local cops, at least get their opinion. She'd been shunted around a bit and then plopped in front of a clearly inexperienced female officer who was out of her depth. Kelly had assumed the guys felt she'd do better with a woman. Kelly had made her position abundantly clear and finally got bumped up to a plain clothes guy who listened, read and then shrugged.

“Nothing we can do, Miss.”

“Your kidding? With all this evidence?”

He'd laid a hand on the pile of letters, ran the other through the pile of keys with a discordant jangle, and sighed.

“You know, I'm not being awkward here. I would love to help you. I've seen too many of these go wrong, but the law says we can't do anything until and unless he does something to you.”

Kelly had been shocked, but the man had a point.

“All you have are letters from an unknown admirer who sends you cute little gifts. He never makes actual contact. You don't even know it's a he. There's nothing here that will stand up in a court. All I can do is give you some advice. Expect anything. Don't think you know him. Watch out for anything odd. If something changes, no matter how small, it's probably an indication that he's moving to a new level. Be on your guard, always.”

He'd wished her luck and she'd left, but she'd taken his words to heart and they returned now, ringing through her head when she got home, finished her packing.

“Be on your guard.” she murmured.

The first days in Overton were beautiful. Serene blue skies and fragrant, balmy breezes accompanied her on her walks. As did the key. It had been waiting as Pest had promised, secure in its little purple envelope. As yet she hadn't found the lock, but that didn't worry her. What did was the purple. The colour of the envelope had changed. Probably, if she hadn't seen so many, kept them all, she wouldn't have noticed, but it was paler. Maybe Pest had run out of his usual style. Maybe the factory had stopped producing them, but the cop's words came back. 'If something changes, no matter how small...'

On her first weekend she decided to borrow a tent and camp out overnight in the woods, There was a pretty glade, complete with tinkling stream and close to a badger sett, which she'd come across whilst wandering, and it felt like the perfect spot. Always on her guard, she carefully explained where it was to the hotel manager and asked that someone check in on her if she didn't return the following evening. The guy gave her a 'Bless the tourist' look, joked about watching out for bear and wolf (oh my), and promised to do as she asked. Having done all she could, Kelly set off.

The hike was long, but not difficult. Butterflies clouded everywhere she looked, although far too many of them had a purple hue. She arrived at the glade as evening approached and was somewhat daunted by the profusion of flowers which had blossomed since her last visit. The fact that they were all the same shade as the latest Pest envelope did not aid matters. She came close to turning around, but her father had been a stubborn old goat, according to Mum anyway, and she had that streak a mile wide. She spent the next hour wrestling with the unfamiliar camping equipment, resorted to digging out the mini stove from her pack when the firewood she'd gathered failed to light and finally settled at the flap of her tent as the sun disappeared and the stars took their place.

For a long time all was silence. Kelly drifted in and out of a light doze, content to let her mind wander where it would until she was ready for deeper sleep. She came sharply alert at a heavy thud and some furtive rustling to her left. Fighting her way out of the sleeping bag, trying to be quiet and making a hash of it, she eventually stuck her head around the corner of the tent. A black and white muzzle stared back at her, wearing an expression she would have sworn was annoyance. The badger surveyed her for a full thirty seconds, snorted derisively and trundled off to nose around the base of the large oak on the opposite side of the glade. Having decided Kelly was of no interest it simply ignored her.

Kelly sat, entranced. The creature behaved as if she wasn't there, rootling around, sniffing and grunting, eating something she was pretty glad she couldn't see, and generally being perfect. She moved very slowly, twisting slightly, reaching around for her camera, hoping against hope she could get a shot without the flash scaring it away. She needn't have worried. Her scream did the trick.

She shot backwards on her bum, scrabbling feet sending up flurries of moss and leaves, her mouth issuing noises her brain had nothing to do with, It was too busy screaming 'Purple Pest!' The actuality of being face-to-face with the Pest and the stupidity of the name forced her head into a corner from which it had to escape. That required calm and sense asserted itself. Pest couldn't actually chase her. She clamped her mouth shut, clambered to her feet and stared at the man in the wheelchair.

“How the hell did you get up here?”

Not perhaps the most obvious question but her brain was running to catch up with her eyes and not doing a great job of it.

“I had help. They're beautiful aren't they? I knew you'd find them, find this place, eventually.”
“The lock is here?”

“It is.”

Kelly flinched when the man lifted his hand slightly from the arm of the chair, but relaxed instantly. His wrist was handcuffed to the chair.

“My key fits them?”

“Yes. You can choose to let me out when you wish. If you wish.”

“Why would I do that? You could be faking all this.”

“I could, but I'm not. However, I am aware I could shoot you from the chair, so I cuffed my hands. I am no danger to you, Kelly-Anne.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Because it is the name I gave you. It reminds me of your mother.”

“What?”

At a complete loss, Kelly didn't think, didn't hesitate when the man held up a purple folder. She took it, flipped it open, began reading before he had spoken, barely hearing his words.

“Read it. It explains everything. I have proved that I can wait.”

He sat back and did just that as Kelly devoured the few thin sheets within. Three in all. The first was a birth announcement from a local paper. To Michael and Anne DeSoto, a daughter. The child shared Kelly's birthday. The accompanying picture showed Pest... No, not Pest but Michael. Also a delicate baby girl flounced in layers of pink froth, and a woman who could have been Kelly's twin. The second clipping was from the same paper, but six months later. The headline blared 'Local couple feared dead!' The report stated that a car had been found on the edge of town, badly burnt. It was traced to Michael and Anne DeSoto. Anne's body had been recovered from the car, but the whereabouts of Michael were a mystery. No explanation was given for the state of the car.

Kelly flicked her eyes over the last piece, a maudlin thing about lovely local couple who adopted the sad little orphan left behind after the tragic car accident, then looked to the wheelchair.

“Why didn't you keep me?”

“Many reasons, but mostly this.” He indicated the chair, “I couldn't look after you. Couldn't be the father I wanted for you. I was torn apart by the loss of Anne, your mother. I couldn't keep you. It was the final straw, I think. Giving you away forced me to leave. I didn't want anyone to know, see what had happened to me. Better they think I died, or even ran away. I couldn't stay, watch you grow, knowing you would never know I was your father.”

“Why weren't you in the car? You don't look burned.”

“I was. We hit a deer, a big one. Anne swerved, we rolled and ended up off the road. I was thrown half out the car when the door opened. We were both unconscious for a while. The car was on fire when I came to, my lower half on fire. I dragged myself out, managed to roll in the dirt, put out the flames, but I couldn't save Anne. I was too weak, too badly burned. I'll never forget her screams. I...”

Maybe, somewhere deep inside, there is a part of us all which is programmed to forgive those of our blood, to reach out to them when they are in crisis. Kelly found herself moving, without thought. She sank beside the wheelchair, fingers fumbling with the locks on the cuffs. When Michael's hands were freed she snaked her arms about him, cradled his head against her shoulder.

“It's ok, Dad, it's ok.”

Maybe it would be, or perhaps she would never be able to forgive her father for shutting her off, but she had one more question before that future could begin.

“Why purple?”

“Because it was your mother's favourite colour, and the colour of the blanket I wrapped you in when I gave you to the nun from the orphange.”