The Laws of Water

2. Great-Great Granny Beverley

Commissioner Yohan Beverley came from a long line of law enforcing officers. Some had a moustache, some had a limp but they all had one thing in common: they only used letter openers made out of glass.

Yohan's father and his father's father and Mr. Beverley's great grandfather all refused to open a letter with anything else. If the glass rod broke mid opening an envelope, that letter was said to have been bad luck and the men of the Beverley household would burn it after reading and never reply.

It all started when great-great grandpappy Beverly got a letter that his daughter, Alma Flowers Beverly, was accepted into Harvard School of Law. The glass broke just as he rammed it into the corner of the thick envelope. Great-great grandma Mathilda Beverley insisted it is bad luck but everyone mocked her, including great-great grandpappy Beverley.

"You crazy old lady," he laughed "little Alma will be just dandy in Harvard, you don't miss an opportunity like this over silly superstitions."

She pointed a long red fingernail at his mahogany desk and tapped her claw against it repeatedly as she insisted "I forbid you to tell her about this letter Fred! I forbid it!!"

Her voice echoed through the study room, but great-great grandpappy Beverly was not moved.

He gave Alma the letter and smiled to his wife as their daughter hugged him in excitement and ran to her room to pack a suitcase.

Great-great granny Beverley begged her daughter not to leave, but the old fortune teller was outnumbered by the audience of Alma's going away party, who all thought the letter opening omen was nothing more than the wear-and-tear of some petty stationery.

On the way to Harvard, Alma's car flipped over. She passed away before the medics arrived at the scene.

Mind you, Alma was drunk. She was also a horrible driver. She also had her cat, Mr. Pythagoras, on the loose in the car.

But ask any Beverley what happened that day and they'll tell you in unison, without a shred of doubt or a hint of reservation: it was the letter opener.
No one ever argued with great-great granny Beverley again.

In August of 2027 Yohan Bevely received a letter to his home, hand routed by a messenger. It was sealed with green wax and smelled a bit like peanuts.

Odd thing he thought to himself.

Trouble was, great grandpappy Beverley had a nice fireplace in his house and a little drawer in his mahogany desk just for extra glass letter openers; commissioner Yohan lived in a studio apartment in Washington where his toaster would set off the fire alarm for the whole building. His desk was one of those fancy minimalistic designs made of glass and a few metal rods. Needless to say, there was no extra storage space.

A hint of guilt crept into his fingers as Yohan peeled off the seal with his fingernails and tore the envelope by hand.

If great-great granny Beverley would see me now... just imagine her disappointment.

The thought only managed to trouble him for a split second before the paper he pulled out of the envelope sliced his finger and bright red blood came gushing out.

Perhaps this is my punishment for not using that stupid letter opener. Or maybe... maybe this, itself, is a bad omen! Now I'll can never know which is which...

He smiled at the foolish thought and shrugged it off.

"Exsanguination" is severe blood loss to a degree sufficient to cause death. It is also what appears to happen when you get a paper cut. The steady stream of red ran down his hand and all the way to his elbow.

Working in the police force for so many years, Yohan got familiar with every possible way one could die. As young officers, his partner and him once made a list of the best natural ways to kick the bucket by order or horrible-ness:

1. Being skinned alive
2. Being burned alive
3. Being buried alive
4. Drowning (also, alive)

I'll spare you the rest, but "exsanguination" is at about 67 on the list. Yohan considered it was one of the best ways to go. Little by little your organs shut down and you lose consciousness, nothing gruesome about it. Unless, of course, you were suffering severe blood loss due to being skinned alive...

Anyways, back to our story.

Yohan took the letter and read it with one hand while letting cold water run down the leak his finger was sporting on the other hand.

"Dear Commissioner Beverley,

"You are hereby invited to a closed-door briefing, I am not at liberty to expand upon the nature of this gathering but it is a life or death matter. I assure you I would not waste your time for anything less.

"The meeting will take place at Envy Cafe at 3:28 AM. I had no time to find the address, so please google it.

"It is essential that your clothing is of a dark, earthy color-scheme.

"Come alone, tell no one.

"And please do not be late.

"I do not mean to sound like a cheap kidnapper Mr. Beverley, but please, no funny stuff.

"Sincerely, Francis Eckwell Fitz"

Attached to the letter with a paperclip was a small passport sized photo of Francis wearing a black shirt, a dark orange bowtie and holding a slice of bacon in his open palm.

This has got to be a joke, Yohan thought to himself.

He glimpsed at the letter once more and noticed a small line at the end of the page:

"P.S. - This is NOT a joke."