Brandon's goodbye letter:
October 29, 1986
If you're reading this letter, I'm already gone. I wrote myself a way out of this world. I hope I can come back. But I might not be able to. Maybe give this to my mom and dad?
To whoever finds this, if you're different, if you imagine things that people don't understand, believe things people don't believe, it's okay. It's good. It means you see this place as it should be, not as someone wants you to. If you're reading this it means you've followed my crazy trail all the way to my favorite place in the city.
I spent my last morning here, talking with my favorite librarians, sitting in my favorite chairs. Watching all the people, wondering if some of them can see into the empty spaces. Those spaces aren't empty. They're full of doors. And light. And magic. And now I have proof. How do you think the Crafter puzzle worked? I wrote the riddle, hid the numbers inside, connected unconnected things with ideas and imagination, and then the pay phones started working. Just like I'd designed. Just like magic.
Anyway, I spent the morning here at the library, then I went downtown. And I waited for an impossible train to pick me up.
Whatever happens next... well, we'll see. But don't worry about me. Don't be scared. If I could survive this dark world and bring magic to it, then I think I'll be okay, wherever I find myself.