The Letter

 

The envelope was wedged in with many others.  Nothing about it stood out.  It was just another correspondence laying quietly in someone’s In-Box.  Because it was a holiday weekend, nothing had been touched in several days.  I’m sure that if anyone had known what was in the letter it would have been hand-carried to Clara Norris immediately, and the whole ugly mess might have been avoided. 

But it wasn’t and now three people were dead, and one lone woman stood at the entrance preventing anyone from leaving.  She held no weapon, but with one hand on the doorframe, she had a look on her face that no one dared to challenge.  Was she keeping them safe inside or preventing what might happen if they went out?  Even Joseph, the custodian who has known her forever, wasn’t able to read her face.  He kept his distance across the lobby, mop in hand, just watching.

Finally, building up his courage, he rested his mop handle against the column and simply ignoring all warning signs, walked up to the woman blocking the entrance and in a calm, rational voice said,  "Please, just answer me this.  What is it this writer thinks he's doing by starting all these stories and then just leaving us hanging?  I personally don't like it.  Is he ever going to go back and finish anything?  I'm not sure what we're supposed to think." 

The woman looked Joseph in the eye and said,  "Well, have you seen what's in the letter?"

"Joseph took a step back, looking a little puzzled.  "No, according to the beginning of this story, it hasn't ever been opened.  Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Look, I can't do it all.  I'm here in the story with all of you, I can't be just someone out there reading it.  I have stuff to do.  I'm guarding this door and so far I don't even know why."

"Should we look ahead and see what happens?"

"We can't.  He's still writing it."

"OK then, I'm going back to my mop.  Good luck."

"Yes, you as well."

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