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“Yeah,” he says with his eyes wide.
“Would you go in there and get me a bag of jerky?” I ask him, digging out five dollars and handing it over.
“You just want me to buy you jerky?” he says, hesitantly staring at the money I’m holding out for him to take.
“It only costs a few bucks, bet it’ll be a bit more than a dollar left over.” His hazel eyes peer up at me and then shine with delight when I add, “And it’s all yours.”
“You got it, mister,” he says, picking up the skateboard at the same time as he snatches the five.
It would be easy to just buy the damn thing myself, but this is how you meet people. It’s how you build trust. And no one suspects kids. They don’t know what’s going on. They don’t talk to people and if they do, they aren’t taken seriously.
Maybe I shouldn’t set myself up here, not when some woman I don’t even know recognizes me.
I’m just … checking in and then I’ll be gone.
Back to the barn where I belong.
Cody
Nine years ago
This town is haunted. Or there’s someone following me. There isn’t any other explanation for it.
At first I thought it was nerves from starting this job. Working murder cases and being called out to dead body after dead body would take a toll mentally on anyone.
But I keep seeing him. I swear I see the same man over and over again.
I swallow thickly, the folded note tucked safely in my hand as I sit at the busy bar. I used to think I saw him back home too. Every so often, a block or two behind me. More than once I’ve chased after a figure that ran when I called out his name.
The grief counselors said it was in my head. But to follow me here?
I’m either haunted by him, or he’s here.
“Another?” the waitress asks and I nod my head, adding a yes, please. The first four beers should be enough. I’m already hearing his voice again and remembering the last time I said goodbye. It wasn’t good enough.
The regret is what I need to let go of. That’s what the therapist said, but if I let go of it, then I let go of him.
I could feel myself on the edge of crying. It wasn’t fair he was going to live with our aunt and I was going to our Uncle Myron’s. The lawyers didn’t want us split up, but the judge said it was for the best. We were to stay with family and that meant we were going separate ways.
So when Christopher hugged me and he started crying like I wanted to, I had to be strong. Dad would have wanted me to. I made it quick and then I ripped him off of me, telling him I’d see him soon and to act right.
I’ve carried that guilt and regret with me for as long as I can remember. As I sit here in the bar, it overwhelms everything and that should be my cue to stop drinking, but the beers come easy and the memories … I don’t want to let go of them.
“A love letter?” the waitress jokes, nodding her head at the note in my hand as the beer hits the bar top. I only huff a laugh and she gets the hint, taking off before I feel obligated to say anything more.
A small boy’s laughter resonates in the back of my mind, complete with a picture of my little brother smiling as he makes fun of me: a love letter.
He wouldn’t be a child any longer, though. And whoever wrote this, isn’t my brother. The second part of that statement is the one I’m hung up on.
I was a little messy with this one but you’ll help me, won’t you?
I’ve done what I can to help you and I know you want to help me too.
Now’s your chance. I’ve been looking forward to this. For so long. I miss you.
He didn’t sign a name. The note is written in blue ink and the handwritten font itself is unique. All the letter As are written two different ways. When I looked it up in the system, searching for a match so I could come up with a suspect list, I was shocked at the number of hits it got.
All over the tristate area and for all sorts of crime. From petty theft five years ago, to money laundering cases that led to murder and a wanted serial killer in this part of Pennsylvania. There was even a hit from an apology note dating back almost a decade ago. A brick was thrown into a small sandwich shop and food stolen. The apology note is what tipped me off. Christopher used to say sorry that way. I know it was wrong and I’ll make it right.
