He had a 1940’s face. It reminded me of photographs I had seen about World War II, he had those hollowed out cheeks and feverish eyes that can only come from seeing death first hand. It was the face of the man who either shot someone or was about to be shot.
My visitor was wearing a purple suit, a white shirt and a pearl-gray tie. His hair was unnaturally black, combed back from the temples in two bands. He handed me an envelope sealed with wax and left. I opened it and it said:
The Final Word
V jnf n Sybjre bs gur zbhagnva lrf jura V chg gur ebfr va zl unve yvxr gur Naqnyhfvna tveyf hfrq be funyy V jrne n erq lrf naq ubj ur xvffrq zr haqre gur Zbbevfu jnyy naq V gubhtug jryy nf jryy uvz nf nabgure naq gura V nfxrq uvz jvgu zl rlrf gb nfx ntnva lrf naq gura ur nfxrq zr jbhyq V lrf gb fnl lrf zl zbhagnva sybjre naq svefg V chg zl nezf nebhaq uvz lrf naq qerj uvz qbja gb zr fb ur pbhyq srry zl oernfgf nyy creshzr lrf naq uvf urneg jnf tbvat yvxr znq naq lrf V fnvq lrf V jvyy
And so it began…..