This letter is to inform you that, for the time being, you are dead. If you do not clear the Saxon situation up within the week we assure you this is a state of existence that the Pentrillion will ensure comes to pass. We shouldn’t have to say this, but given recent events, we will spell it out. To the outside world you are dead. Your car will be involved in a fiery accident this morning on the way to work. We will delay the results of the dental records until next week. If this is in anyway unclear go through the usual channels for clarification.
Shocked I dropped the letter and envelope that had been hidden in my newspaper. After a few minutes of staring blankly at nothing in particular I looked down. Inside the envelope was a hastily scrawled note. Carefully I opened the envelope to ensure I didn’t destroy the message.
There is $10,000 in your fifth drop point twice removed to cover expenses. Think of it as a last gift from me. Although I do not believe you assassinated Saxon, we need to know who did. If you can’t produce them I fear you will become the sacrificial goat. Godspeed – Hank
Hank. If he’s the one leaving the message then I am truly pickled. A week to figure out who Saxon is and solve his murder? Wouldn’t be a problem save for the fact that I’m now ‘dead’. My accounts will be frozen. How can I produce the killer if…. My blood ran cold. The Pentrillion doesn’t care who hangs for this. They as good as signed my death certificate. I suppose I should be happy I made it to the good part of their ledger. They at least want to give my family closure. Even if that does mean apparent death by inferno. Many agents are just disappeared and their families left to stew. That’s something. I wonder what my real death will entail, if I can’t solve this.
Glancing at the kitchen table I realized I lost my appetite. Not even the ‘news’ in the paper seamed appealing. Flippantly I thought it was good that Mr. Woleski hadn’t snagged my paper this morning, cheap old man. He would have wondered about why my car was in a crash. My car – they were going to take that too! Running to the bedroom window I frantically searched. Scratch that, they had already boosted it. Great.
Okay. First things first. Keep up pretenses. On the off chance I don’t survive the week I need this feeble story of the car accident to hold for the sake of my parents. Best to be caught on the security camera at a reasonable time. Checking my watch I realized I would need to be gone within thirty minutes. Time to focus.
Shoving away from the sill I started tearing through my apartment. It was odd. I was given the unique gift to be able to destroy anything I didn’t want my family to find. The only thing I could think of were my journals. All, save for my current one, were in a safety deposit box under an alias. Hank would see to them. In time. I would be taking the other with me anyway, I would need it.
Wrenching up the first floor board I grabbed my bug out bag. Heading to my bedroom I ripped up the second. Laying on my stomach I reached deep into the space. Passing the bundles of aliases, they’d be too risky to use for this, I fumbled to reach the farthest recesses. Just when I couldn’t stretch any more my fingertips brushed velvet. Snagging the box I buried it in my bag. Replacing the board I took stock of the closet. Grabbing my standard gear I added lots of layers. Who knew where I’d end up this week.
With that in mind I went to the living room to get all my tools. Since I didn’t have room for everything I focused on the basics and hoped I’d be able to make do. After retrieving every non-sentimental valuable my family wouldn’t look for, as well as all of my cash, I was set. I climbed down the fire escape and hid my bag behind the dumpster. Scaling the ladder quickly I made my way back into my apartment. Crossing to the fish bowl I was a little sad. They might not survive our separation. Who was I kidding? It was SOP to catalog deceased agents places before their kin were allowed in. The fish would be fine.
Thinking of SOP I doubled back to grab a couple aliases. It might be beneficial for me to have them wasting their resources monitoring them. If someone on the inside was setting me up, I needed all the help I could get. Placing them in the bottom of my satchel, along with the letter, I put on my sunglasses and strolled out. Just another day. My neighbors will comment, when asked, that I looked good. I had a smile on my face and didn’t have a care in the world. How wrong they would have it.
Leaving the building I walked to where my car had been parked to keep up the charade. Once their I acted as if I had forgotten something in the building. Doubling back I took the long way around to enter the alleyway. Hopefully if anyone had seen me in either place they would buy the narrative I had in mind. People usually did. It also helped that no one paid that close attention here. That’s why it was the best place to live. Sighing I grabbed my pack. Time to get to work.
You must write every single day of your life... 