Kill Who You Want

Prologue

'The proper definition of a man is an animal that writes letters.'
- Lewis Carroll

~~~~~

The face which appeared suddenly at the driver's window was one Adam Butterfield would later try so hard to recall every detail of. Each contour, blemish, wrinkle. A face which for those few brief seconds he beheld it had seemed the very definition of unremarkable, yet which so soon would come to represent a pure and untrammelled evil.

It was early morning of the second of January, the first working day of the new year. Butterfield was just pulling out from the gravel drive of the neat marital home he and Catherine had bought two autumns previously, his neck twisted passenger side on the lookout for passing vehicles, when he heard the firm rap of a knuckle against the window. The figure was stooped down at eye-level to him - a middle-aged man with a large nose, the hood of his black anorak pulled up over the dome of his head. A gloved hand gestured with the lavender-coloured envelope it clutched. Butterfield had little option but to suffer a blast of frosty air against the side of his face as he rolled the down window half way.

"Postman must've got mixed up," the man explained, handing across the envelope.

It wasn't until the figure had stepped away again, his tall, thin frame disappearing around the corner, that Butterfield realised he'd never seen this particular neighbour before.

Perplexity quickly morphed to apprehension when he saw that the envelope featured no stamp or post office frank, not even an address. Just his name, his full name - Adam Francis Butterfield - each letter flowing artistically into the next with the swirled flourish of a fountain pen.

Unclicking his seat belt for a moment, he swivelled fully around in the driver's seat, checked that Catherine hadn't been observing proceedings from the living room window. Her condition, the last thing he wanted was for her to suffer undue worry.

Assured, he then set about ripping the envelope open - a task hindered slightly by the trembling nature of his hands.

No, it already seemed clear, this was not a simple case of a misdirected letter, more an invitation to some dark and unimaginable realm...

~~~~~

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