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She told herself it was just a mistake. She hadn't seen the parchment downstairs because of the light--that didn't mean it wasn't there. The attic light was brighter, clearer, and fuller, albeit somehow more unsettling. The shards of glass lay on the floor, the only mess in the strange silent echo of an attic.
And then, with a sound like the distant cracking of a whip, the glittering green fragments of the broken bottle disappeared.
But no--that wasn't possible--it had been empty, she was certain of it! All the bottles had! She took a closer look, lifting the green glass up against the light of the window. Sure enough, folded neatly inside the bottle was a yellowing piece of parchment paper.
The top was too narrow to reach through. She'd have to break the bottle. She ran down the narrow stairs and into the room again, looking for anything she could use to smash it. "You're back!" the man cried. He was staring through the window as though he'd never left it. "Are you alright?!"
Ava found a wrought-iron paperweight on the aging desk, twisted in the shape of an open-winged songbird, and wiped the dust off of it. "I'm not the one who left!" she hollered back. She set the bottle on its side and raised the paperweight above it, holding her body back to avoid the splintering glass. Just as she was about to strike, she froze.
The bottle was empty. She held it up into the light again, while the ever-confused man looked on. She shook the bottle and looked through the opening, but it was no good. There was now nothing inside the emerald glass. "This can't be right," she muttered to herself, and made for the stairs to see if it had slipped out on the way.
The attic was surprisingly clean--white and finished without a trace of dust. Without a trace of anything, really, save a cement-framed window looking out on the grey morning. There were barely even marks or scratches on the slanted walls.
Still, something felt different here. Ava glanced into the corners. The air had the feeling of a mirage, like it was on the verge of that particular shimmer caused by heat and distance. The silence was ironclad, and yet you got the impression that someone might cry out at any moment--who, Ava couldn't say, and she shook her head at her own nervousness.
She turned to go back down the stairs--whoever had called was obviously in on some joke. But as she turned, the bottle in her hand caught her eye.
There was a note inside it.
"What did he say?" the man yelled through the glass.
Her hand was still on the reciever after she'd hung up. It seemed to vibrate with the conversation it had just administered. "It wasn't a he," she yelled back. The woman's voice still echoed in Ava's ear with very specific directions.
She turned and glanced at the bottles lined up on the windowsill, gleaming below the confused face of the man. They were, oddly, the only things in the room clear of dust. "She?" he yelled back. "How could it be a she? My father said--" But he stopped short when he saw she was staring at the bottles.
Maybe they were a special type of glass? Dust repellant or something? The woman on the phone had known Ava was here, known she was searching for something, so maybe she knew what she was talking about -- although it seemed a strange request. What use could an empty bottle be in finding a watch?
Nevertheless, she grabbed the nearest bottle and turned towards the back corner of the room, where she saw--as the woman had described--an attic door on the ceiling. "What are you doing?" the man yelled as she climbed onto a chair. She reached for the handle and pulled down the narrow set of stairs before she turned back to explain--but by then the man was suddenly gone.
Fine by her. She didn't want to deal with yet another stranger; she wanted to find her grandfather's watch. And supposedly it was up in what was sure to be a very tiny attic.
The man seemed nearly as startled as she was, and fell backwards across the empty flower beds in his alarm at being caught. Ava stepped back from the window. Had he been following her? Was he after--no, she reminded herself. Why would anyone else care about a stupid old watch?
She peered back out the window. The man hadn't even gotten up yet--he just sat on the dead earth, legs splayed, brow furrowed. She saw him mouth the words even as she herself spoke them out loud, raising her voice to be heard through the milky glass: "Who are you?" .
RIIIIING.
The man jumped up at the sound. Ava whipped around and scanned the room for the source. An old rotary phone, dirty turquoise in color, rang from corner.
No light switches, but a working telephone? .
RIIIIING.
The man jumped up. "Answer it!" he cried eagerly. He pressed his face again against the glass to get a better look. "He told me to make sure you answer it!"