The Farewell Emails
He sat at the desk in his room, waiting for his dad. The lamp on the desk provided the only light, failing miserably to push back the gloom. They'd planned all weekend to meet at eight o'clock Sunday evening to discuss the big day, and to run through the clues one final time. Though they didn't really know what they were planning, it seemed they'd have only one shot at this. Or rather, Tom would have only one shot. The clues had been very clear—he must go alone, unless his dad wanted to drop dead of a heart attack right before the special time.
Tom had just pulled out the diary of mysterious clues when he heard a soft knock at the door. "Come in," he called out.
His dad opened the door and shut it behind him. "Twenty-five hours to go, kiddo."
Tom groaned. "I know. I've been dying for this day to come, and now that it's here, I wish we had a week or two more. I'm scared to death."