As I went to the mailbox, I anticipated the usual advertisements and and bills that seem to always find their way into my life. Today, however, was different. As I walked from the box thumbing through the daily paper carnage I was excited by the sight of a hand written letter. As time has passed the hand written letter has become somewhat of a novelty, shared mainly by the elderly, the imprisoned, and those serving in the armed forces. Yet here, I was holding one such letter in my very hand. There was no return address, so I quickly opened the letter hoping to find some unforeseen fortune or perhaps the scribbling of a long lost friend. Instead, I was confronted by these words, "We have your son. If you ever want to see him alive again do not call the police. We will contact you with further instructions."
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