It’s funny how it catches up to you, isn’t it?
I know that you’re here, reading this.. And you’ve probably just become desensitized to everything on the Internet. Hell, so was I.
I used to be a homicide detective, you know?
About thirty ish years ago, right before my first son was born, I decided I wanted to live a different life. My wife was getting worried about my work, and with her being pregnant. She just wanted to settle down.
So I packed it all up, my life. I said goodbye to the couple relatives I had left, and we moved. I guess I wasnt really a detective anymore. I was a washed up old fart working at a deli in podunk Idaho.
But things don’t just change that easily, do they? I think I missed the thrill of it all. I’m turning 63 this year, I’m getting older, and my kids have all moved out. My memory is getting foggier by the day, and this old detective can’t always remember who’s bed he’s in.
It’s crippling.
The young, adventurous man I used to be is gone to the outside world. I’m still… Him. But I suppose that nobody else sees me that way.
I’m rambling, aren’t I? I apologize.
The past keeps up with you. You can’t really just run away from it. I guess through all of this I just missed the way things used to be. I guess I missed the simpler days. I wanted them back
They started coming to my town too.
The murders.
It started off random, I think. I don’t know the first people who died. Some young girl, I think. I can’t remember.
But then if started to get closer to me. It was like they.. were following me.. how I wish I wasn’t right. It started with people I interacted with. And soon it was even a coworker. I wasn’t close with her exactly, I didn’t know more than her name. But the thought of the murders getting this close frightened me. Apparently she was found in a wedding dress, hung from the rafters at church.
I hope your soul rests well.. Charlotte.
Do you know what it’s like to be watched?
To have every move you make, carefully followed.. traced. Death, after death, like it was taunting me. Did they know who I am? Or.. who I was? I guess… Looking back on it, maybe so.
I wanted to move, to take my family and go. But my beautiful Lorraine disagreed. She loved the town, and lectured me for falling back into my detective habits. It frustrated me. I wished she would listen.. but now.. I wish I had just listened to her. Hugged her more, believed her. I wish the past would go away
She.. she died not long after that.
No… She didn’t die.
She was murdered.
Losing my wife would have been enough to drive any man to insanity. But when I came home to find her body, she was sitting at a table with a cheap chardonnay and a white tablcloth. It was a picturesque scene of our honeymoon. Even the death of my wife mocked me.
The police took me in for questioning. I suspect they had suspicions about me long before this. It was a small town. New people meant change. And the murders followed that change. I don’t think the investigation team took me seriously. They let me go, and I begged them to let me help them with the case. At this point, I didn’t care about the answer. I just wanted revenge.
And I got it.. although I wish I hadn’t.
Sorry, ill stay focused
The police reluctantly agreed to let me help. I was an ex-cop, after all. And significant progress began to turn up. The murders had slowed to a complete crawl. But they seemed to still be focused around me. I decided it would be best to stay in a cell for a period of time, to monitor how the killings changed. And they stopped… For a while. But even without me moving, people I knew were disappearing. I can’t.. exactly remember who.
Do you know what that does to a man? I began to have nightmares. Horrendous, foggy dreams. My memory is getting worse and it was hard to distinguish between what was a dream, and what wasn’t. A constant nagging when I woke up, like I knew something. Like I had something to say. But it just barely escaped.
Like all the other memories were.
Leads began to come in from helpful civilians. We discovered an old red sedan. Similar to one I used to drive, broken down in the middle of the forest. Inside of it were the bodies of 3 young boys. 3 young boys who had gone missed just days before. They looked… Almost relaxed in the back seat. Like three brothers on a roadtrip. I couldn’t stand the sight. If the same happened to my boys.. I’m not sure what I would do
The police received a sort of love letter. Appearing to know more about the cases, and talking about the past. Seductively reminiscent, the writer addressed me. They asked if I remembered Lidia. Or rather.. Bee. A nickname I gave my high school sweetheart.
It wasnt long after that, a teenage girl in a black and yellow prom dress was found dead.
I guess I got frustrated. Angry that she had broken up with me, perhaps? That’s an answer I may never know.
At this point my mind was plagued with constant nightmares. I took pills to help myself sleep. I didn’t feel sane. The pictures in my head taunted me, it was like I knew more information about the killings, but I couldn’t quite place it in the morning. In the back of my mind. The nagging got worse.
The case went cold.
My memory has gotten worse, day by day. But those memories remain clear as day. As my memory for my waking moments began to blur, the nightmares became more clear. Like true memories.
I knew.
I guess I always did.
They no longer hurt. I accepted reality a long time ago. This was never a mystery, or a case to be solved.
This isn’t a cry for help, my dear reader. This is a farewell. A confession. I’m going to die tonight. I’ve already arranged to be buried with my dearest Lorraine.
And to all my victims, May you rest in peace.