Taken aback, she stared at the letter in her hand. You just never got mail these days any more. “Snail Mail,” isn’t that what they called it? Email and texting had taken over all other forms of communication. But here she stood, holding the envelope with the foreign address, staring back at her, daring her to open it. It pushed and prodded at the dark and forgotten spaces of her memory, repeating endlessly:

Lucas W. Finch

4287 Winston Street

Chicago, IL 60612

Never in her LIFE had she known a Lucas Finch. The name had a ring to it that she was almost positive she could never shake even if she had known it at some point in her life. At first she thought it must have been a wrong address...but then why was it addressed to her?

She kept on replaying that Dateline episode in her head. The one that spoke of an odd white powder that was mailed to people, causing them to get sick when they opened the package or even of the package itself exploding. Superstitious...paranoid...whatever! It was what kept her from ripping that unforgivably unknown envelope to find out the content within.

She stood in her spotlessly blinding-white entryway and contemplated what to do with this mysterious letter.