Relaspe

Preface

To John Pickett,

You don't know me but I know that you're a local mall officer and we really need you...

So... to save a lot of hassling details and confusion, I'll tell you only what I think you need to know.

My name is Lillian Samantha Foster and I'd like to report a murder. I'd love to tell you that my best friend, Milly, was kidnapped from her house and taken into the woods; shot 5 times then buried under an old oak tree by the Parson's summer villa. I'd love to tell you that the murderers were her father's friend, a plumber named Patrick Holly, and his wife, Helen and that they live on 3862 Ellington Street- 6 blocks away from Milly's house. I'd love to tell you what car they were driving, the license plates number and where they are right now.

But I can't...

Because it hasn't happened. At least, not yet.

You might be asking yourself, "What was the point in telling me all of this? I'm only a mall officer. This should be handled by real police." Then you'll think about ripping this note in a few pieces, throw it over your shoulder and continue walking like you haven't just seen future evidence to solve this murder case. At lucky for me, as soon as you've thrown the note, a nearby police officer, a real police officer, walking on the sidewalk will arrest you for littering and other violations I'd rather not get into right now. So, unless you want to be slammed onto the concrete in front of your future fiancé, the entire reason why you went over to the trash can- to conceal your engagement ring before she could catch onto the many hints you've been giving her, please focus on the words I say as of right now.

I don't have a lot of time to explain what's going on because I wasted most of it blowing your mind with my .. um.. let's just describe it as an intuition for now.

As I mentioned before, my name is Lillian. You don't know me but, believe me, I know a lot about you, John. 19 year old high school drop out- yet you successfully moved out your parents attic when you were 17 and bought your our apartment on McKinely street. Yes, John, I know a lot about you.

And that's why I really need your help.

As I mentioned before, my friend, Milly, is gonna be murdered pretty soon. But that's not the reason I chose to contact you throw this note. No. Milly's death is only gonna be the beginning.

You aren't the chosen one, if you put this note down someone else will find it and maybe do a better job than what you're gonna do. But, honestly, I would prefer you help me.

After all, you are the future protagonist in this. Yes, John, I also know all about your nerdy anime fantasy where you get to be the protagonist and save some princess from a villain. Cliche. Simple. Vague.

Welcome to my "game", John.

As of now, you're my player one. Now, quickly stuff this note in your right pants pocket- make sure it's not the left where you're engagement ring is. Your fiancé is heading over to you now about to ask what you're doing near this trashcan for so long- tell her you got some gum stuck under your shoe. After you propose, head home. I'll be waiting a few blocks down. Be ready for your next set of instructions- keep this conversation a secret.

And, once again, welcome to the "game".