The note was addressed to me in the most unambiguous way. Full first name, which no one save my grandmother used. My full middle name, which no one but my mother used, and then only when pissed off. It had the proper ZIP+4 code to ensure the letter reached its intended destination; honestly, who uses those unless they want to be sure that their letter gets exactly where they want it to go as fast as humanly possible?

In other words, there was no question that the letter was meant for me, expressly. Which made the contents of the letter all the more puzzling:

We have Alia Mayflower, and will kill her if you do not contact us. Meet us on the corner of Fifth and Main by ten o’clock tomorrow wearing a red shirt as a sign of your acceptance.

I didn’t know any Alia Mayflower. I’d never seen that name before in my life.