4338.206 · July 25, 2018 AD
The Manifest Doesn't Lie
Joel arrives at the depot early for once—a small act of penance after yesterday's lateness, yesterday's lies, yesterday's birth certificate. But Garry's car is already there. The truck is already loaded. And the manifest promises a quiet day. Six deliveries. Nothing complicated. So why does Joel's stomach clench when he reads the list? Some routes lead back to places you're not ready to go.
Joel barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Facebook profile—Jamie Greyson standing on a Berriedale deck with two Shih Tzus at his feet. The same face he's glimpsed in car parks and across streets. His father. Not dead. Never dead. Just gone.
So he gets up early. He drives to work before the sun rises, determined to arrive first, to have the route planned, to prove he's taking things seriously. A small victory to offset the chaos in his head.
But Garry beats him to it. The truck is nearly packed. And the manifest—just six deliveries today, the quietest day in weeks—holds a name Joel can't escape: Luke Smith. 2 Wallcrest Road, Berriedale. Three more ten-person tents. Enough canvas and poles to shelter fifty people.
Yesterday he delivered eight boxes to that address and met a man in damp shorts with dogs named Duke and Henri. Today he'll return, carrying questions he can't ask and suspicions he can't shake.
The coincidence is too perfect. The tents are too strange. And Joel is driving straight toward answers he isn't ready for.
