RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM
D r. Tom Truckle stared at the envelope for a while.
An invitation from the Queen of England.
Really?
He pulled out the card from the gold-tinted envelope and read with intent. The Queen was inviting him to what she called the Event.
That’s creative, he thought.
The message was brief, demanding a formal tuxedo dress, arrival on time, and the utmost secrecy.
Tom Truckle smiled broadly. The most important event he had ever been invited to was his divorce—even his daughter never invited him to her birthday.
But why him? What did the Queen of England want with him? Did she know who he really was?
Of course not , his mind shushed him.
Then why invite a mere director of an asylum?
He stared at the invitation again, wondering if he should really attend the Event. He scrolled down for his name on the invitation, only to be shocked it wasn’t for him.
The doctor gritted his teeth in anger, wondering what this event could be about. The name at the bottom of the invitation provoked him like nothing else. He wondered why the Queen would invite that person and how they even knew each other.
Something was wrong here. Very wrong.