He hadn’t heard anything but someone had slipped the paper into the crack of the door. There was no letter box. He had no letters. No address. He didn’t exist. He hadn’t existed for nearly two years.
Thin cheap brown envelope. Nothing written on the outside. He looked at it, picked it up and turned it over.
He left it and went to make tea. When he came back and before he could think about it and start asking himself questions he couldn’t answer, he slit it open and took out the sheet of paper. There were four lines, typed.
No signature.
He had two reactions, one following quickly after the other. A spurt of excitement. Then fear.
The excitement was real and as strong as he had ever felt but the fear as strong, too. He didn’t need to go through the possible dangers, the possible consequences if things went wrong, they leapt out at him, almost smacked him in the face. But so did the excitement. The anticipation. The overwhelming sense that this might be the best, what he had always been leading up to, planning for without knowing it.
The last line was. Will be in contact. Till then stay out of the way.