The Last Wish

1. The Invitation

The invitation came a day later than planned, stuffed in Jamie's letterbox, a dark green and silver splinter drawing the attention of the passing residents. Nobody touched it. Nobody thought to, not because they thought there was no value in it - the intricate 'P' insignia stamped into the wax seal told them all they needed to know, the Palistone family's immense wealth no secret, even in this nondescript walk-up in Lower Manhattan.

There was another reason that none of the neighbours could put their finger on. Some ill feeling radiated from the invitation, sinking into the gut of anybody curious enough to lean in and inspect the unusual envelope. Most neighbours passed it by with only a cursory glance, their instincts overriding any unwise curiosity. They would rather not incur the wrath of the Palistones nor the friendly young man who lived on the third floor. More than that, they wanted no part in whatever strange events might follow should they pry where they were not welcome. Instead, they passed the mailboxes without incident, returned to their apartments or went out to work, and tried to keep thoughts of the invitation to themselves, stirring them only when they were waiting for the water to boil or the photocopier to finish.

The lateness of the letter was unfortunate - Jamie had already left for a week-long trip to consult on the sustainability issues around big pharma production. He returned exhausted and pallid in the dead of night, marching past the invitation without noting its presence. Or if he did indeed spot the envelope in his father's favourite colour scheme, he chose to ignore it for when he was rested and prepared to heed his family's call.

When he finally emerged from his apartment to unburden the overstuffed mailbox, it was almost noon, and the tiredness hung over him, seeped into his bones. It had been a long week. So long, in fact, that Jamie could only summon the energy to throw on a robe over his boxer shorts, shoving his feet lazily into slippers to venture downstairs in. The robe hung open, rippling against his skin as he wound himself down the stairs to the apartment block's cramped lobby. A nurse for Sanjay on the fourth floor squeezed past him with a blushing smile. He smiled back, oblivious to the nurse's eyes wandering across the range of his toned abdominals. As she vanished slowly up the stairs behind him - stopping to steal another glance while the bachelor fiddled with his keys, Jamie caught sight of the envelope. A kindly neighbour - or perhaps a neighbour tired of lying awake fighting the temptation to investigate - had tucked the invitation further in, so that only one dark green corner was visible. It was enough to know who it was from. The silver gilding curled in the corner as he knew it would do in all the corners. The 'P' insignia - written in cursive and contained within an ornate box - was out of sight, but he knew it would be there waiting for him, stamped into hot silver wax, dried to seal the invitation shut.

The fumbling became hesitant and hurried all at once. His fingers awkwardly rattled the key into the lock, and the mailbox swung open, a stream of letters and flyers and coupons cascading out as it did. The only item of note was the invitation, stuck in the door of the mailbox.

Delicately, as if dislodging shrapnel from a wounded animal, Jamie pulled the invitation free, the mailbox flap slapping shut behind it. He turned it over in his hands, drinking in the detail to better brace himself for its contents - and its context. When he saw the date stamped over the image of a commemorative Benjamin Franklin, Jamie counted the days backwards in his head. It had arrived just as he had left. With a jolt of urgency, Jamie's hesitancy crumbled, and he tore the envelope open, cracking the wax seal carelessly in the process. The paper inside was his father's best, but it wasn't his handwriting scrawled on the page. The words had been printed in antique font, dark black and foreboding. Jamie read it over and over, searching for more substance on both the front and the back. There was nothing more on either side, only tomorrow's date and two words: come home.