My Life with Death

Hoover's University of Science and History, Las Vegas, Nevada, December 17, 2018

7:49 a.m.

We lay in a fragile embrace against the concrete wall, and our down jackets buttoned up to our chins. It wasn't that cold, but there was a cold wind, and it even rained briefly.

We were awake long enough to open our hearts to each other and confess our troubles.

A man's voice woke me up in the morning. It didn't belong to anyone I knew. I had no idea who he was.

I slowly opened my eyes. The sharp morning rays made it impossible for me to get a good look at the man. I jerked Christine to wake up. A male figure held out his hand. I grabbed her and slowly stood up. I saw the man's face for the first time. He was older but looked very elegant. His gray hair was fading day by day. He wore a federal officer's suit with a badge in his left hand and a Glock 22 at his waist.

"Interesting place to sleep," he commented sarcastically. "Alexis Stepman?" he asked seriously.

He didn't even bother to say his name. He looked at me condescendingly and said, "You were a distinguished scientist, an FBI agent," and cleared his throat. "Now you are nothing. What do you want to prove?'

He didn't let me say a word. I just stared at him in amazement. So does Christine. In addition, I sensed an unwarranted dislike of the person, especially from the sarcastic tone of his voice when referring to me as an FBI agent. This fact bothered him greatly, if not even disgusted and offended him.

"What did you have to do to make you a federal?"

What he was implying bothered me. It offended me, but he didn't find it the least bit offensive and kept talking.

"You must have been very desperate, or was he? You got involved with your background in a case that, luckily, you were able to solve," he examined me from head to toe, especially my feminine qualities. "Are you proud of yourself? Or do you feel guilty about your dead friends?" he kept digging.

"Who the hell are you?" I shouted in shock.

He cleared his throat. "Special Agent John Edgar Hoover," haughtily.

"John Edgar Hoover?" I asked sarcastically, thinking he was joking.

"Yes, I'm named after my grandfather, without which you wouldn't have a place to work," he said. "You'll think there's something humorous about it," he added thoughtfully.

I said to myself, wow. But I didn't know what else to say. His audacity and boldness took my breath away. I was most interested in why he came to us and if he knew anything about my case. He could have come to find out what I knew, or someone from management thought I needed to be watched.

"Did Agent Kent send you to me?" I asked him.

"If you mean your husband, yes," he replied.

"How did you find me here?" curiously.

"If you have a phone, it's easy to find you. He was looking for you. He wants to know where you are.'

"Do you have a problem with me?" I asked angrily.

"You're playing the protector of justice. You try to fight crime and brutal killers, but you are like a magnet for psychopaths. Everywhere you go, someone dies. Always someone else. Never you. You solved your mother's death with the help of an outsider, and you think you are all-powerful when the metal is attached to you. You are nothing more than an angel of death," he continued. "mere dumb luck has brought you within the walls, where in the name of God the law is honored, and justice is negotiated..." he added.

It turned me off. "And what about you? You're playing the bad cop just because of who your grandfather was. You're not the king of the FBI, and I'd like some decency. You're talking to a colleague, not some criminal," I said, "and so on. Stop the insults. I want to help people who can no longer help themselves," I defended.

"Well, you have a heart of gold," he barked at me. "and by the way. You are no longer an FBI agent. They suspended you."

My cup of patience overflowed. "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?" I shouted. He didn't say anything. He was just silent. And he smiled condescendingly. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he placed on the ledge next to me. Then he just turned and walked away. Not even for a moment did he drop his mask of an elegant, tough guy.

I looked at Christine, who had a wide-eyed expression.

"What the hell was that?" she screamed.

I reached for the envelope.

"I don't know, but I don't need coffee today," I retorted.

"What is this?" she asked, looking at the envelope in my hand.

"Some letter," I scanned it. My written initials were on the front of the envelope: A. E. S. "for me," shocked. I opened it and took out a folded sheet of paper. The letter read:

"My beloved daughter,

I've always said that justice is my life's most important thing, the most critical priority. I gave her so much value in my life that I neglected my closest ones. I spent far more time on the job—the fight for justice—than you and Zooey. I'm sorry. I might still be with you if I wasn't obsessed with work. Don't let particular things in your life. Devote yourself to your family. Give her all your time and all your energy. Please don't make the same mistake as me. Don't let your children grow up without parents. I have always preferred reason over love and care. I know you admire me, but don't act the same. Think more with your heart than your mind. Don't forget!"

Your mother, Barbara Jane Stepman

With tears streaming down my face, I said, "This is a letter from my mother," I turned the envelope and looked at the stamp and the information written on it. "She wrote it the day she died."

I started to think. Dozens of questions swarmed in my head like: How did a letter written twenty years ago by my dead mother appear in the hands of a stranger? And why did he come to me now? These were questions to which I did not know the answers, but I wanted to find them. They were probably the most important answers of my life.

I suddenly felt the same as when I was lying here years ago with a bullet deep in my chest. I closed myself off.

Without any warning, I collapsed to the ground, hitting my head. The cold was breaking my bones and draining me of my strength, just like fire was burning my skin. I smelled blood. It ran down my lips and chin. My nose was bleeding. I didn't understand why, but I feared the worst. I wiped her off. It was only a few drops. But it seemed to me that he was everywhere. But after a few moments, I started bleeding again. And this time, a lot more. I wiped it off with my fingers and the back of my hand. I also wiped it with my sleeve, but I lacked strength. I passed out from exhaustion.