There was a cellphone on the doorstep to my motel room this morning. I've been staring at it all day.
I'm in a city called Greensboro right now. The weather has started to improve. I can start driving again.
I waited for the call. I checked - there were no numbers programmed into the phone. It's a burner (as I've learned from watching many cop shows) and therefore untraceable. So I waited.
Ten minutes ago, it rang. Appropriately enough, the ringtone was "Funeral March of a Marionette."
I let it ring twice before I answered.
I spoke to him. We talked. The connection wasn't good - I had trouble understanding half the words he said - but it was still good talking to him.
And then the phone died. The Jester had carefully drained the batteries enough so that the call lasted around four minutes and then stopped.
I pulled the battery out of the phone and a slip of paper fell out. On it was written: o monogenes.
I put the battery back in the phone, stuffed it in my bag, and left.