This story has been buzzing around inside my head for some time now and I've finally taken the initiative to get out of the dark, airy space in my cranium and onto the screen. Take a gander. Hope you like it.

Curious?

Human curiosity. The natural inquisitiveness of Homo sapiens. Or is that Homo sapien sapien? The undeniable urge to investigate, explore, ask questions. That's the only thing that kept me from ripping open the box that currently sat on my coffee table. Sounds wrong, I know. Logic would have it that human curiosity would be the reason for opening the box on first sight. This is the case with most people. It's the reason that if you have something you want to hide, the last place to put it is in a box with a lid, an envelope, under something, behind something, etc. Trying to conceal something just increases the chance of the person you're keeping it from finding it. The laws of curiosity dictate quite clearly that boxes must be opened. I, however, was trying to prove a point.

Last Friday night my boyfriend and I got into an argument. That's not breaking news, as I'm sure you're well aware. Arguments between me and the man I'm ninety-eight per cent sure I love are common place. They happen almost as often as I wash my hair. Maybe there's a connection there. Maybe I should try not washing my hair. Either way, the result is that I have absolutely no clue as to where the miscommunication started, my job probably, but ended with a very loud exclamation that I was too curious for my own good. This was quickly followed by him telling me that curiosity ruled my life and was going to kill me one day. Now if that comment had come from his grandmother I might have taken it seriously and gone and filled out a job application at the button factory right then and there, but it hadn't. No, the comment had come from Joe's mouth. The very same mouth that had been telling me I was a screw up at my job ever since I started. So I was mostly inclined to let it slide, like water of a ducks back. Mostly.

The next morning, I was eating my Frosted Flakes, when there was a knock at the door of my apartment. When I opened it, slightly disgruntled at the interruption of my favourite pass time, I was met with nothing. Nothing but thin air and the faint aroma of old people. The old people smell didn't bother me anymore, it was just one of the many hazards of living in low rent accommodation. Old people populated every other apartment in the building. My problem now, was with the lack of life in the hall. Maybe I was imagining things.

I went back to my cereal, but had barely swallowed my first bite when there was another knock at the door. Second verse same as the first, I thought when I stuck my head out into the still empty hall. Probably, I was losing my mind. It had been a long time coming, after all. The truly horrific part of that concept, however, was not that my mind was slowly fizzling into mush, but that I couldn't remember where I put the card for the psychologist my sister suggested when I turned twenty-one.

"This isn't funny," I told the old person smell. "Either stick around and show yourself or lay off." I waited a moment but no one faded out of the woodwork... I mean... cement block, so I once again returned to my breakfast.

The spoon hadn't even reached my mouth this time before the knock came. With scream of frustration, I stomped back to the damned door. Boxes and envelopes are not the only things that inspire generous amounts of curiosity, mystery knockers are a big supplier also. You probably worked that out already, though.

When I wrenched open the door this time I noticed a scrawled message on the wall across the hall. It was written in what appears to be black permanent marker.

"Humans are the top of the food chain
They feel superior to all others
And rarely look below their noses!"

I read it thrice and still didn't understand it. I looked below my nose all the time. How else was I going to check that no snot had leaked out? Because believe me, with the amount of times I get zapped in a day, it's a constant possibility, and it terrified me. Shrugging my shoulders, I went back inside for a third time to my soggy food. Having learned my lesson, I didn't even bother to sit down, but simply picked up the bowl and began shovelling in the sodden, sugary goodness. By the time I had finished slurping up the milk dregs I had all but forgotten my mystery knocker as I mentally planned out my day.

The bowl was rinsed and on the sink side drying and I was on my way to get dressed when the knock came one last time. I thrust the door open, looking left and right in a final ditch attempt to find my annoyer, and noted the addition to the text on the wall:

"We never look above head height either,
But that's beside the point.
LOOK DOWN!"

I obeyed the graffiti and glanced down at the utilitarian grey carpet, only it wasn't the carpet that I was looking at, it was a mirror, about a foot square sitting in the middle of the floor. It was angled toward me slightly and I noticed an object in its reflection. I immediately jerked my head back to locate it. The hot pink box swung gently from side to side on a string attached to the roof. Ducking quickly inside to grab a chair and a pair of scissors, I climbed up and retrieved the package. I waited until I was safely back on solid floor before ripping off the card and reading it. I trust my balance to a certain degree, but staying upright on an old hand-me-down chair with legs that were all different lengths was pushing it a bit far. The handwriting was identical to that on the wall and spelled out five simple words:

"Not until I say 'When'"

That's all it said. No signature, no nothing. The mystery doubled, as did the apprehension. This could be a prank, or it could be a stalker. With that frightening thought in mind I scrambled into the relative safety of my home, locked, dead bolted and chained the door, and jammed the chair up under the handle. At least no any danger had a few obstacles to get past before reaching me. That was a plus. Right?

With a quick glance down at my brightly coloured box and its inviting lime green bow, I suddenly realised that there was a rathe high chance that it could contain a bomb. I raised it to my ear and listened intently for a moment, but couldn't hear anything but the buzzing in my head and the whirring of the refrigerator, working away to keep it's insides cool despite the fact that it only held three cans of beer a couple of batteries and a roll of cookie dough. I really shouldn't have allowed the thought of a bomb to cross my mind, it only fed my curiosity and kick started my paranoia, and of course, my good friend fear.

Cautiously, yet as fast as I could manage, I padded into the bathroom and set the could-be-bomb on the vanity. At least if it blew up in here I would definitely get a bathroom redecoration. The vomit colours were starting to get to me.

After quickly getting dressed and throwing my unruly curls into a misshaped pony tail, I returned to the bathroom and stared at the box between sporadic bursts of makeup application. I was itching to know what was inside. Physically itching. Stopping the persistent scratching of my forearms, I glanced down and noticed I had a rash. So maybe some my curiosity was actually physical itching. I'll never know, though, because at that moment the phone rang and Lula was telling me to get my 'skinny white ass' down to the parking lot so we could get the day over with.

Sunday morning I walked into the bathroom for a shower and noticed another card attached to the box. This freaked me out just, oh, I don't know, a lot. It hadn't been there late last night when I'd come home. I know because I checked on it to make sure it had really happened. That meant that someone had to have come in while I was sleeping. I shuddered at the thought and ripped off the card.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

Was that a threat? I'm not sure. All I knew was that if I hadn't been scared before, I was definitely scared now. Seriously pissing-my-pants terrified. If I was interpreting the message correctly, it meant that if I opened the box I would be dead. Sure, it was a good way to deter a regular person, I'm not sure my curiosity gland understood the message. I still really wanted to know what was hidden within the pretty pink cardboard walls of the box. The result had me sitting on the edge of the bathtub for several hours more, only ceasing my obsession briefly when the phone rang.

"Yeah? I said by way of greeting. My eyes were still glancing toward the box every five seconds despite my effort to concentrate solely on the voice at the other end of the line.

"What are you doing, Babe?" Amusement was clear in his voice, but I dug deeper into his tone and came up with a glimmer of concern.

"Staring at my mystery box," I promptly replied. Surely he could see that. He had cameras all over my apartment.

"I can see that," he confirmed, "but why?"

Personally, I thought the answer was obvious, but he'd asked, so I felt obliged to reply, or suffer the consequences, whatever they may be. "Because I really want to know what's inside," I told him, almost stopping myself from adding, "Duh." I couldn't help it.

"So why don't you?" he asked, ever the logical man.

I sighed. This is the part where I dive into an explanation of Friday's argument and he makes sounds that make me think I didn't need to repeat the whole thing because he'd heard every word during the actual argument. Knowing my luck, he had. "... and then this morning it had another not that read 'Curiosity killed the cat,' but I still really want to open it, so I've been staring at it hoping it will open by sheer force of will," I finished lamely.

There was a short silence on the other end of the phone and I suspected her was trying to control the urge to laugh at me. Finally, he returned to himself and said, "Hold in there, Babe." Then he was gone and I was left feeling slightly stupid holding a reversing truck up to my ear.

Before I even had a chance to put the phone down it was ringing again. The unfortunate thing was that I had returned my attention to the pink mystery in my bathroom and nearly fallen over with shock when I saw yet another card attached to the damned thing. At first I thought I was seeing things, but I moved back towards it, ringing phone clutched firmly in my left hand, and picked up the folded card stock. I realised that my eyes were not deceiving me after all. The card was real. With trembling fingers I opened it, sill wondering how it could have gotten there. I'd only taken my eyes off the box for a moment or two at the most.

"Curious?"

I felt like writing a note in reply and sticking it to the box myself. It would have said, "Of course I'm bloody well curious you dick wad! Curious is my natural state! It's my middle name! If I weren't curious I'd be dead! And apparently my curiosity is going to kill me anyway. There's no winning!" But I refrained. Something told me that if I left that note that box would be taken away and I would never know what's inside. As stupid as it sounded, that thought scared me more that the threat of death ever had. I needed to know what the devil was hidden beneath that lid.

The phone had stopped ringing, I noted absently, and for a moment I felt guilty for not answering it, but then I figured that if it was important they'd find a way to read me eventually. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than my cell phone began to chirrup from the dining room table where I had dumped it upon my return home the night before. I checked the caller ID read out. Morelli.

"Mmm?" I mmm-ed.

"I have the night," he informed me. "Where are you?"

"My place," I said, diligently not staring at the box to see if I'd discover another note when I looked back.

"I just called your place. You didn't pick up."

"I was distracted and didn't make it in time." I took a chance and poked my head into the bathroom, gasping involuntarily when I saw the fresh note. I just couldn't see how it was possible that the note had gotten there with my noticing it. Quickly snatching it up, as if it would disappear if I didn't, IU ran my eyes over the picture of a grandfather clock on the front, None of the others had pictures that I'd noticed. I pulled them all out of the draw where I'd stashed them just to make sure, but I was right, not a picture to be seen. Opening the card, I realised that Joe was still on the phone.

"Steph? He was saying. "Are you still there? I heard you gasp, is everything alright?"

"Hold on a second," I told him, and hurriedly read my new message.

"Tick tock tick tock.
Time is passing.
But is your curiosity going with it?"

I gave a growl of frustration and picked up the phone again. "What was that?" came Joe's worried voice before I had a chance to speak. "Is everything okay? What's going on?"

"Everything's fine," I replied stiffly. "So you have the night off What did you have in mind?"

There was a pause before his answer. "I'll be over soon and then we'll see what we can some up with," he suggested. "I'll see you in ten."

I also said goodbye, but found that I did so to dead air. What was it with the men in my life and not waiting for me to speak? Glancing down at myself I remembered that I had not yet taken the shower I had originally gone in there for all those hours ago. And so, ten minutes later I was covered in soap suds, standing under the spray of water with the curtain drawn back so I could keep an eye on the box. That's when Morelli decided to break into my apartment. Either he sniffed me out, or heard the shower running, but he found me in the situation I just described. Needless to say a huge grin spread across his face as his face as his eyes roved over every inch of my body hungrily.

"I see you started without me," he murmured, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head. As he reached for his belt I turned off the water, wrapped myself in a plush purple towel I had swiped from my mother's hall closet. The smile faded from existence and a confused frown took it's place. "What are you doing? Why are you covering up your deliciously soft, silky smooth skin" He followed me, utterly perplexed, to the bedroom where I threw on a generic little black dress and four inch black pumps. As I fixed my hair into a semi-respectable arrangement of natural curls with minimal frizz he exclaimed, "I get it! We're gonna play."

"No," I told him, "You're taking me to dinner." I swiped on some mascara. "It's going to be your way of apologising for the other night."

"I don't get it," he deadpanned. "Am I supposed to get overwhelmed and strip you before we make it to the door?"

I stopped what I was doing and glared at him for a moment. A quick glance down at the lipsticks in my hand was enough to make my decision. I coloured my lips a pale pink, dropped the stick in my handbag, grabbed Joe's wrist and dragged him back to the bathroom. He made excited sounds the entire way. Time to squash his hopes and dreams. I pointed to the box, which thankfully had not spontaneously grown another tag in the tie it had taken me to get dressed. Minutes passed as he continually glanced from me to the box and back again, a confused look on his face. "Did you do this?" I asked just as he opened his mouth to say something.

Like a fish out of water, his jaw flapped around uselessly for a moment. "I've never seen that before in my life," he said when he finally regained control. "Why?"

Rather than explain the whole situation straight away, I directed his attention to the four notes, still spread out on the counter and waited patiently to read each one. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. I couldn't believe it. He found this amusing! There was a possible threat on my head – yet again – and he was fighting the urge to laugh at me.

"What?" I demanded, regaining his attention. "What's tickling your funny bone?"

He coughed, probably to cover up his chuckle, and shook his head. When he raised his eyes to meet mine again he was suddenly completely sober. "Dinner," he said. "My treat. Where ever you want, no matter the price."

I had to admit, I was completely thrown by such a massive turn about, but the idea of having a nice meal with Joe was too tempting for words. It had been months since we has spent any special time together that didn't involve a bed or a couch... or that one time in the SUV. My mind was made up instantly, of course. Where does any girl want to go with their partner when he's the one paying? Rossini's of course. Number one restaurant in the world... or at least in that suburb. I grabbed my purse from the kitchen bench and was about to leave when I remembered the box. Quickly, and with great care not to let Joe see, I hit speed dial one. I couldn't let Morelli know that he was number two on the speed dial below Rangeman, it was just too big an argument starter, especially now when we were on our way to dinner.

"You're live on air," came Bobby's voice. "What's the drama you wanna share?"

"Rangeman has full surveillance of my apartment, right?" I asked, cutting right to the thick of it.

"Yes indeedy," he replied. His statement was quickly followed by an ooph. "I mean, affirmative."

"Including the bathroom?" I tried to say it as quietly as possible so that Joe couldn't hear but Bobby could; but it was impossible. The man in front of me glared and clenched his fists at his side. Bobby was silent on the other end, obviously uncomfortable with having to answer the question. "You're not going to get in trouble," I told him. "I just need to know."

"Yes ma'am," he gritted out reluctantly. "That is an affirmative."

"Is that monitored all the time?"

Another silence and this time I felt slightly uncomfortable as well. "Negative," he finally croaked. "The cameras are recording 24/7 but are only monitored if there is a threat on your head. Only the boss and Tank have the access code."

"I need someone to monitor the bathroom footage while I'm out," I informed him. "Specifically, the box on the counter."

"I'm not authorized to pass that request," he said, and I noted his voice was back to normal.

"Well patch me through to Ranger then," I suggested.

"He's out on a consult at the moment, ma'am."

I sighed. This ma'am crap was really eating away at me. Ma'ams are old people. I'm not old. "Cut the ma'am crap and put Tank on."

"Tank has retired for the evening." I made a menacing growl sound in the back of my throat and he quickly added, "But I can get in contact with him if you like."

"Please," I agreed, and promptly hung up before he could.

The only option I had was to watch the box until I gained confirmation that someone else was. It was the only way to find out who was getting the new tags in place without me noticing. My logical side told me that it was impossible. I'd only ever glanced away momentarily, but the rest of me was screaming that something big was coming.

My cell rang again. Tank.

"Just checking the story Bobby fed me," he greeted. "You want someone to watch the box on your bathroom counter while you're out?"

"Indeed."

"May I ask why?" So I told him the story, making sure not to leave a single detail out. When I was done he was silent for so long that I thought I'd lost him, but then he spoke up. "I'll come over and monitor the box in person."

Still to come on "Curious?": Will Tank really watch the box in person? Will Steph manage to leave the box behind and focus on a nice evening out with her man? Who's behind the box fiasco anyway? What's in it? How do the notes get to the box without a noticeable body to put them there?

Review if you want to find out. And remember: It's all fun and games until somebody starts to get serious.