A sealed envelope slips in silence beneath the door and comes to rest sideways on the interior floor mat. It’s dotted in blood – definitely Richards – and is addressed Mr. DingleWaddles. It’s 8 pm. They don’t deliver post on Sundays. Mr. DingleWaddles retrieves the letter and pulls a fine white paper from the yellow and red sleeve. It reads:
Members of the inner circle,
By now you all know I have left to pursue the Issacary. I’m grateful, no- I am entirely indebted and undeserving of the incredible support you give to me. Without you, I would not have found the resolve to go out and pursue the Issacary. Your support radiates more intensely than the heat from our sun and instills within me a courage to do the impossible.
The Issacary Echelon, the vile and murderous lot, should cower. They should cower because they do not have, and will never have, such an incredible group of followers such as yourselves. It is your strength, your determination, in which I find my own. For you, and for the gazebo, for Mr. DingleWaddles, and for the fellowship and blood friendship of our circle I will not let you down.
I will sing your praises as high as the Ascension Homily will permit it to reach. I’d like to thank and welcome the newest members of the circle:
To all of you: thanks.
From the front lines (which really doesn’t look like a line – I mean, nothing like a line),