Washington DC (Bill)

[Borderline]

THUD THUD THUD

[Mephistophilis]

'Who's out there in this weather?'

Closing the fridge, Bill leaves the kitchen and slowly walks down the hall to the door. He glances into the living room on the way, at the pistol lying on the table, but shakes his head.

He unbolts the door and unlatches it, slowly opening it to shield himself as best he can against the driving rain outside.

[Borderline]

No one is visible in the driving rain but a single small envelope lies tilted against the door frame just out of the rain.

[Mephistophilis]

Looking up and down the street, shielding his eyes from the driving rain, Bill tries to see who could have left the envelope. Driven back by the rain he turns his attention to the letter. He picks it up and takes it inside, a last look out into the gloom before shutting and bolting the door. He slowly makes his way over to the couch and sits back down. Turning the envelope over in his hands, he sniffs it, and gives it a shake. Pulling out his pocket knife he starts to slide the blade under the seal then...

'Oh shit!'

He leaps put of the chair with an unexpected agility and rushes into the kitchen. Pulling the calendar off the wall his finger traces the days until the one circled in red, 'Amanda's b-day. Don't forget!'

'Not again, she's going to kill me.' He's forgotten to send her something again. Maybe I can get something tomorrow he thinks.

Bill returns to the couch, cursing himself under his breath. He picks the envelope up again and slits it open.

[Borderline]

The familiar red wax seal with a wasp in a crosshair logo is no doubt enough to peak Bill's sense of urgency. He knows that the arrival of this letter means he is expected to make haste for a secret mission. The unearthly green tinted paper contains only a single phrase: Boston central train station. Don't forget.

[Mephistophilis]

Bill takes out his lighter and sets the green paper on fire. He holds it for too long, watching the wax melt and drip before tossing it into the fireplace. He sighs and picks the pistol up from the table, stripping it and cleaning it absent mindedly. Time to go to work.

[Borderline]

The paper hisses and moans a lonely and ungodly sound leaving no ash or evidence that it ever existed aside from a single wisp of lingering smoke.