Nothing.
There was no note anywhere in the box.
I grabbed my jacket and car keys.
The address led to the edge of town, beyond warehouses and an abandoned gas station.
Despite living here all my life, I couldn’t recall visiting this area.
I checked the tag again. The address matched.
“What were you doing out here, Dad?” I whispered.
I circled the building, looking for clues. There was no sign, no parked vehicles, and nothing visible through the windows.
It seemed abandoned except for a clean welcome mat near the entrance.
I inserted the key. It turned easily.
I hesitated, afraid I
might uncover something about Dad I’d rather never know.
Then I opened the door, switched on the lights, and stepped inside.
I froze, struggling to understand what stood before me.
Dark acoustic panels lined the walls. A large mixing desk occupied one corner, surrounded by speakers and computer monitors. Microphones stood near guitar amplifiers, while a drum kit sat behind a glass partition.
