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The next thing I read is that my parents are dead.
Getting this news, so immediately after the elation of discovering a connection with them, is like having my face slapped so hard I end up in the reverse direction. But if they're dead, how did they get me this message? Is it trustworthy?
The letter says that if I'm in a hospital, my parents' killer will "come for me." So an assassin is after me now? Great.
...this letter will answer your questions. Read it quickly.
Remain on guard. The recruiter will approach you under a false identity. As our son, we assume that, like us, you will have grown up to be a highly skeptical person.
If they're my parents, why aren't they familiar with my personality?
Indeed, these peopleare extremely dangerous. The only way to ensure your safety is to refuse to depart the secure confines of your hospital room.
Yet for our family's sacred honor, you must nonetheless risk all by journeying across an ocean.
Once you do, your survival will depend on maintaining the guise of an ordinary adolescent. Concoct a story to explain your memory loss. If asked why your hair is white, claim to have dyed it.
I recall the image on the nurse's phone of my face and my apparently life-threatening hair color.
You will be tested alongside other initiates who, unlike you, remain ignorant. Some initiates, however, may be adversaries operating undercover to gain your trust and uncover your true identity. Trust no one. Be not distracted.
I cling to the hope your father and I will be able to watch our son grow into a strong, courageous young man. If you are in possession of this letter, however, my hopes were not realized. You are reading these words the day after your seventeenth birthday, and we did not live to celebrate your induction.
Yesterday was my birthday? Some celebration I had. Waking up alone in the hospital with missing memories, not to mention a missing leg. Also, no cake.
By the time you finish this letter, all your questions will be answered. More will be revealed during the sacred minute each day.
Love, Your mother and father
There's a P.S., too, which finally reveals my name, but it's actually that word in the closing salutation, love, that I linger on. It envelops me like a warm, heavy blanket. At 12:01, the ink disappears like a snuffed birthday candle, leaving me staring at a blank sheet of weathered parchment.
