The Truth Buried Deep Inside My Father’s Empty New Jersey Coffin
I inserted the key into the lock and turned it.
The lock turned with a heavy, metallic clank.
I grabbed the wheel and spun it counter-clockwise.
The steel door hissed as the vacuum seal broke.
I pushed the door open.
The darkness inside was absolute.
I stepped into the room and shone my flashlight around.
It was a laboratory.
Rows of metal tables, rusted monitors, and glass beakers covered the space.
In the center of the room sat a massive steel computer console, surrounded by filing cabinets.
And then, a soft hum began to fill the room.
The overhead lights didn’t turn on, but a single blue light began to pulse on the main console.
The terminal screen flickered to life, casting a cold, blue glow across the dust-covered floor.
A cursor blinked on the screen.
Beside the monitor, a small metal drawer slid open with a soft click.
Inside the drawer was a single black drive.
And next to it lay a thick, leather-bound binder with my name written across the front in my father’s precise handwriting.
My hand shook as I reached for it.