The Letter

April

April discovered the letter by chance. She was walking past her family's mailbox and glanced in. There sat an envelope with only one word on it: "John." No address. No stamp. Nothing. Because it appeared smudged with chocolate, she figured one of her brother's stupid buddies had shoved it in there.

It wouldn't hurt to take a peek. But was it chocolate? She held it to her nose and sniffed. Then tossed it back in the box. It was blood. Was it for her brother? Or maybe her dad, John Sr.? She quickly scanned around her, and no one was in sight. Once again, she pulled the envelope out, removed and unfolded the enclosed letter. 

It said merely, “You or him?" Once again, she put the letter back, and scurried in to wash for dinner.

Grace

"It's ready!" Grace watched as her kids came to the table. April, John Jr., and Samantha wiggled into their seats. John Sr. entered the dining room and took his place. They extended their arms and held hands. 

She listened to John's prayer, "Lord, thank you for this food. Bless those going without. Amen."

As the family dug in, Grace checked her apron pocket. The letter was still there. April had told her what happened at the mailbox, and she had immediately retrieved the letter for her husband. But, she would wait until they were finished with dinner to show it to him. She had noticed him talking quietly on the phone in recent days, but never pried. It was his business. But, their daughter finding a bloody letter was a problem. Her main concern was her family, and nothing, or nobody, better interfere.

The kids helped clear the table, and then she chased them off to the game room. John, like usual, was still planted at the table with his newspaper. She sat in the chair next to him and handed him the letter.

As he looked at it, she saw the color run from his face. She at once knew that this was serious.

"Where'd you get this?"

"April found it in the mailbox just before dinner."

"Uhm, this is a problem."

"So it is yours! I thought it might be a joke for Junior." She got up to get a cup of coffee. "What's going on?"

John bowed his face in his hands. "I've gotten myself involved with a bunch of guys called the ZFG. But I can handle it. Let me get it straightened out."

"The ZFG? What's that? Can I do something to help?"

"No. It's something I have to do. Don't worry, you and the kids are in absolutely no danger. Discussion over."

She knew exactly what "discussion over" meant. Leave it alone. So she clammed up as he headed to his man cave. He left the newspaper behind on the table. Something he never did. She could hear him whispering on the phone again.

John

John tightly gripped the wheel as he thought about the letter. He crept along in the expressway's slow lane on his way to work. Half ruminating and half praying, he wished he'd never met those guys. They had given him the insurmountable task of being perfect! That meant being gentle and kind in all situations. 

Before he joined the ZFG, he had already made great progress. He quit smoking and drinking. And he went to church every week with Grace and the kids. And here he was, not going even one mile-an-hour over the speed limit. He was being as well-behaved as possible. But John wanted to go the extra mile. So he joined the ZFG.

Out of nowhere, “Hey, you assho......," he caught himself. He had to hit the brakes and swerve. The guy just missed his car. The jerk cut in front of him to get to the exit. And stuff like that was exactly the problem. John was constantly challenged by his reactions to everyday events. The ZFG told him that being angry at someone was equivalent to killing them. Yes, according to them, he had just murdered that stupid driver. Thankfully, the rest of his morning commute was uneventful. 

He fired up his office computer and headed to the break room for a cup of coffee. 

"Hey, John. How's your morning been so far?"

"Well, I had a little scare when some guy cut me off at exit 29. I think he was rushing to the hospital, or something."

"Right. You know exactly what he was doing. He thought he was the most important guy on the road. And you didn't matter."

"Well, you're probably right, but I'm trying to work with positive thoughts."

"I don't know, John. Maybe you're getting a little too much church." John forced a smile. 

He had barely settled into his chair when his phone rang.

"Did you get the letter?"

A rush of adrenaline flowed through him. Slam the receiver? Threaten the caller? Keep calm?

"Yes. But my daughter found it. It scared her and my wife to death. Don't do that again! I'm begging you."

"We'll do what's necessary. You're just not getting it done, and you're going to have to make up your mind. You or him?"

"Can't you give me more time? I'm making progress."

"No. You're hopeless. Just like everyone else. You're just not getting there."

The line went dead. John wanted to meet their demands, but he knew he couldn't get the job done. He'd been trying for some time. And, admittedly, his progress was slow, or at times, backwards. The ZFG had been patient, but the stakes were so high. A life was on the line.

As John pulled in his driveway, he saw two police officers on the porch talking with Grace. He closed his eyes and shook his head. This wasn't good. He didn't need the cops involved. He noticed one of the officers rest his hand on his gun as he approached.

"I'm not armed," said John. "Is there something I can do to help here?"

"I'm Officer Good. And this is Officer Right. We're here to respond to your wife's call about a threat to you and your family. Do you know anything about this letter? According to your wife, this is the second one."

"John, I was scared, and I didn't want anyone getting hurt," said Grace.

John looked at the officer. "It's a letter from some friends. They're just messing around with me. Nobody has to worry about it. And certainly, it's not a police matter."

After further discussion, the officers left. They had another call to respond to.

Grace

After the police pulled away, Grace barked, "What was that all about? This is the second blood-smeared letter!" 

She saw John shuffling his feet around. She had seen it before, and guessed he did the same thing when he was an eight-year-old in trouble. 

"What does this one say?" John asked.

"The same as the first, 'you or him?'"

"This has really gotten out of hand," said John.

"Tell me what's going on. This is too much for me to handle."

"Sit down, and I'll tell you the whole story."

Grace sat next to John on the porch swing. His eyes stared into the distance as he explained the letters.

"You know I made a major change in my life three and a half years ago. You know I decided to become a Christian and make my life better."

"Of course, but what's that have to do with all of this?"

"About a two months ago, I joined an organization called Zealous for Good (ZFG). It's for those who want to take their lives to a new level. I didn't mention ZFG because secrecy is part of their policy."

"But, if it's something so good, why keep it a secret?"

"I'm not sure it is so good, that's the problem. I can see now that they're all crazy."

John was wringing his hands as he spoke. 

"At first, the focus was to further clean up my life. We're not talking about smoking or drinking; I had already given those things up. But, getting more involved with family and church."

"Oh, so that's why you volunteered to help mow the church lawn.”

"Exactly. And our trip to see your mother, a family event."

"Those are great things, John."

"Yes, but then they made more demands."

"Like what?"

"They said I needed to think and do things like Jesus."

"What's that mean?"

"For example, if I looked at another woman, that would be lust. Or, if I got upset with someone, that's the equivalent of murder."

"So, you looked at another woman?"

"No. The first time one of their spies put in a report on me, they said that I passed a guy in a wheelchair on the street. And I did nothing. I was supposed to help him. In the second report, they said I cussed at Bob Barnes at work. I can't even remember that. Those are just the first two reports. It turns out that they have two or three reports for me every day for since I started."

"But those are little things," said Grace. "Why do they worry about stuff like that?"

"That's the point of the ZFG. They want to point out that it's your most basic thinking that comes into play. I didn't know that was their goal when I joined. I thought it was a club to help me be a better person. That's it!"

"So what's all that have to do with these letters?"

"I'm condemned to die for those transgressions."

"What? You have to be kidding! For that little stuff? You're a good man. Better than ninety-nine percent of the rest. I can't believe it. They are threatening you because of a stranger in a wheelchair? What do they want, perfection?"

"Yes, that's the point. I didn't know the expectations were going to be so high."

"Just quit!" said Grace.

"Once you join, you can't quit. You're expected to keep trying. But the harder you try, the more you learn that you can never get there. Apparently, following ZFG isn't just about becoming a better person, it's about seeing you're fundamentally flawed."

"So why the letters?"

"Someone has to pay for the damage. Even my littlest failures caused shrapnel to fly in all directions. We just don't know the hurt we cause by not being nice."

"That might be true, John! But why didn't you tell the police about it?"

"I found out the other day that once you're condemned, nothing can save you. Not the police, the FBI, or even the Marines. Apparently, others have tried to get help to no avail."

"We have to tell the kids."

Tears ran down Grace's face. She and John walked into the house to tell the children they were about to be fatherless.

April

April and her siblings listened to their parents explain the situation. Her dad was in trouble, and he was going to die.

Her dad made it clear. "Don't worry, you kids and your mom are totally safe. It only affects me." 

"But, why do they want to kill you?" Junior asked.

"Somebody has to pay for the damage I've done."

"Your father is a good man, but he's not perfect," Grace inserted.

"What did you do?" Junior asked.

"It's a lot of little stuff that offends and hurts others. For example, I forgot to help some guy in a wheelchair."

"That's nothing," said Junior.

"I could have been kind. And I wasn't."

April sat in disbelief. The conversation was like a swirl in her head. She couldn't fathom her father being held responsible for such a little thing. She wanted to save her dad from all of this.

"What about the letter," April asked. "It said 'you or him.' What does that mean?"

"Well, they're holding some homeless guy hostage. If I don't surrender myself, he will pay the price."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know him. Just some guy that's been traveling around with a bunch of friends, helping other homeless and poor people."

"It's a no-brainer," blurted April. "Let them kill him."

"But that guy hasn't done anything wrong," said John. "He's totally innocent. I'm the one that did the wrong."

April understood what her father said. But she wanted to save her dad. She picked one of the letters off the coffee table.

"I'm going to put this back where I found it. But I'm going to save you, Dad."

She took a marker and where it said, "you or him," she circled "him."

When she glanced at her sister, she was shaking her head yes.

"I agree," said Junior.

"Me too," said Grace.

"You're going to condemn an innocent man to death," claimed John.

April folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. It felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds as she carried it out to the mailbox. As she put it in, she thanked the homeless man for saving her father.