My dearest Emily,
Dicky is lying. He's been lying to you ever since he got back from Ireland - maybe longer. He's working with the Nightmare People. He didn't go to Indonesia, he tricked Mark into going to South Carolina with him so that he could hand him over to Atherton. There's no talisman, there's no ritual to magically take away the creature growing inside of you.
Listen, I know my being alive must come as some shock to you and I realise you must be suspicious of this very message, but you must leave Mexico tonight - fly to Paris and meet me at the Hotel Antin Saint Georges on Rue Notre-Dame de Lorette.
Do you remember what we said on your 17th birthday, when we were waiting outside that horrible fish and chip shop for your Mother to pick you up and take you to your guitar lesson? We said we'd get married in some hotel in Paris, in the winter, and then travel across Europe on a tandem bicycle.
Now, I'm not saying we should get married - and I think that as I'm, for lack of a better term, a vampire and you're, well, a werewolf, the bicycle trip might be out of the question, but at least we can be together - if only for a little while.
Anyway, even if you decide not to meet me, at least get out of Mexico. Dicky won't be able to follow you - it was me that got him on the no-fly list.
Forever yours,
Harrison
No comments:
Post a Comment