Hello,
Smith.
I
know you probably didn’t want to hear from me again. I don’t blame you. But I’m
getting scared. Things are starting to happen. Something big is coming that the
people in my dreams have been talking about. They want me to do something, but
I don’t know what.Agent Nelson showed up yesterday and asked about everything. He was really curious about my paintings. You were lucky to get out when you did. The agents have been crawling all over the project lately, sticking their noses into everything. It’s maddening the way they look at me as if I’m a specimen in a jar.
Another envelope with a string of numbers came in the mail today. You were always better with those than I was. If you have any spare time and can take a look at them, I’d be grateful.
4762 903 29
6 74
547 1847
Worst
of all, my body is starting to fall apart. It’s bad enough being stuck in this
chair, but my brain keeps thinking I still have legs. I almost tried to stand
up the other day. The doctors think the project's effect on me is getting
worse. My heart is weakening, and it’s pulling the rest of my bodily functions
down with it. My brain will probably be the last thing to go.
Basically,
my luck’s run out. The people in my head are breathing down my neck, and the
government agents are sticking their noses everywhere. I don’t know where else
to turn. I’m sorry about everything. That probably doesn’t help at all.
But I need your help here. I’m afraid.
Please come down to the hotel if you can. Thank you for reading.
-- Thomson
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