You find inside the worn brown suitcase a single slip of paper, folded messily. You check the pockets for anything else but find nothing. You are temped to open the paper.

It could be love letter, or a letter from a loved one. Or maybe it’s just blank.

You unfold the tattered parchment to find three words written in sloppy red ink.

He

Is

Dead

You flip the paper over and look for anything else, a...