Old déjà vu pricked the back of my neck as I lifted the hood again.
When I opened the trunk, the same yellow blanket lay there, humming with memory.
I reached for it, my heart thudding, and a faint metallic clink echoed from beneath.
My wrench, heavy with years of work, struck something solid.
Frozen, tears streamed down my face as I realized something large was hidden beneath the blanket, and I couldn’t move.
Sixteenth Birthday Dawn
The alarm buzzed at 4:30 a.m., and my hand slapped it off before the snooze could even register.
Grey light filtered through the kitchen blinds as I shuffled to the pantry, pulling out the last of the flour and a cracked porcelain bowl.
The batter was lumpy, the frosting pink and slightly runny, but I could hear Lori’s sleepy giggle from the bedroom and it felt like a triumph.
"Dad, you’re early!" she whispered, rubbing her eyes.
I slipped a crooked crown onto her head, the plastic clink echoing like a tiny bell.
She hugged me with a strength that surprised me; her arms smelled faintly of cinnamon from the cake.
"Best cake ever, Dad," she said, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, tasting grease and pride.
After the candles were blown, we ate the frosting‑splattered slices on the kitchen floor, her laughter filling the room like music.
She threw a handful of confetti at me, the bits sticking to my tattooed forearms.
When the last crumb was gone, I leaned back, feeling the ache in my knees from the night before.
“Got to go back to the shop,” I told her, slipping on my work boots.
She nodded, a serious little frown forming, as if she sensed something I didn’t.
The sedan sat outside, its silver paint catching the early sun, the same one that had brought her to me sixteen years ago.
I paused at the curb, the memory of that cold trunk flashing through my mind like a cracked mirror.
A shiver ran down my spine, uneasy déjà vu curling around my thoughts.
“Just another job,” I muttered, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Returning to the Trunk
The engine hummed low as I lifted the hood, the familiar scent of oil and metal grounding me.
My hands moved on autopilot, checking bolts and fluid levels, the routine so ingrained it felt like breathing.
Then I remembered the sedan’s trunk, the same one that had hidden a life I’d built.
I turned the key in the lock, the click echoing louder than it should.
When I pulled the trunk open, the yellow blanket lay folded neat, tiny blue birds still stitched into its fabric.
My heart thudded; a note slipped out, the paper crinkling under my fingers.
"You completed your task. Now here's your reward," it read, the ink slightly smeared.
A faint metallic clink reverberated from beneath the blanket, a sound I hadn't heard before.
I hesitated, wrench in hand, then pressed the edge of the blanket down, feeling the cold hard surface underneath.
The wrench struck something solid—a metal box, rusted but unmistakably heavy.
