Fionna knocked on the door, waiting patiently for Marshall Lee to open it. When he didn't, she jiggled the handle. The door came instantly open with a click. She raised an eyebrow. His door wasn't usually unlocked.
She gently pushed open the door slightly, peering inside the dark house. The lights were all off. She couldn't hear anything coming from within the household, not even the slight hum of Marshall amplifier. And that was the thing that got her. He always had it turned on, always had his bass plugged in, just in case she came over for a jam session.
She let the door swing all the way open, and racing inside she whipped her head back and forth. "Marshall?" she yelled slightly panicked.
No answer.
She ran to his ladder that led up to his lair, pulling herself up as fast as she could. When she reached the top, she threw open his small trap door, pulling herself into the dark room. "Marshall!"
No sign of him. There was no returning, "Fionna," only a heavy weighted silence. Fionna looked round the room. Everything was in its place, the ordered chaos of the room not disturbed. Maybe he was captured by someone, she thought frantically, fearing the worst.
"Marshall! Where are you?" She ended up shouting. She turned and jumped down the ladder, like she had done a thousand different times. She ran into the kitchen, turning on the first light she had while there.
There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of anything except a bowl of rotting strawberries and apples. Marshall would have thrown those out by now, Fionna thought, looking around the kitchen. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst right out of her chest.
Then she noticed it. The small white piece of paper was magnetized to the fridge just a few feet away. Fionna starred at it from afar. What would it read she thought to herself. Would it be a ransom note, asking for something in return for Marshall's well-being? Was it an old grocery list? Or was it just a note saying he had gone out for a while?
Fionna hoped she was just over reacting about this.
She walked over and pulled the paper from the fridge. Her hands were shaking slightly, her nerves getting the best of her. She let out a breath, realizing that the writing was his. But her hand didn't stop shaking, because she had just read the first sentence: I'm not coming back.
To be continued...