Butterfly's Year

31. An imperfect crime

I stood dumbfounded by the kitchen island amidst the shattered glass, and I had no idea how long it lasted. Victor was probably enjoying the hot stream of water in the shower, while my mind was racing with one thought after another.

How many blond men with curly hair could be stalking us? Is it possible that the first one didn't die and it's actually the same person? What did he want from my sister? And why did poor Alexander die? Why couldn't something nice happen to us for a change? Some kind of friendly smile from fate. Anything.

The sound of my phone ringing pulled me out of my racing thoughts.

– Good evening, Sebastian Rosenberger here – I heard a polite male voice on the phone. – The one from your father's funeral. Your boyfriend gave me this number to contact you.

I smiled inwardly and rolled my eyes ostentatiously. Of course he gave him my number. Why did it still surprise me that Victor had to influence the reality surrounding me?

– Good evening – I greeted him in a dispassionate tone, trying to somehow redirect my thoughts to this unwanted inheritance from my late father, but the news Victor brought seemed to take up all the space in my brain. – Can we talk tomorrow? Today I'm a bit... distracted. It's already late and...

– Of course – he replied patiently, not even waiting for some fictional explanation from me. – Just please make a decision soon. Money doesn't cry for food, but the firm could use the care of a legal owner.

– Sure – I mumbled carelessly into the phone, meanwhile collapsing back onto the couch. – I'll call tomorrow and we'll set up a meeting.

I waited until Sebastian Rosenberger hung up, then reached for the unfinished "Harry Potter".

– Who called? – I heard Victor's voice behind me, apparently finished with his shower.

I turned toward my love, who was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.

– That lawyer from the funeral – I replied, putting the book aside.

I walked towards him lazily and grabbed the fluffy towel.

– Oh, right – he muttered as I fiddled with the towel to let it drop to the floor. – So much has been happening lately that I forgot about that funeral. Did you arrange a meeting with him?

– Not yet – I said, kneeling on the floor.

I leaned in to take his manhood into my mouth, but he placed his hand on my hair, slowly slid it down my cheek to my chin, and lifted it so I would look him in the eyes.

– I know, the money can be used for good causes – I responded to his unspoken call to action, which I had been reluctant to undertake for as long as possible. – But so much has been happening lately that I haven't had time to think about it. I need time to get used to the idea.

– Start getting used to it with small steps – he suggested in a gentle tone, no longer showing any trace of the earlier irritation that accompanied him right after coming home.

– How? – I asked for peace of mind.

– Read this letter. What do you have to lose?

He left me kneeling on the floor, walked over to the nearby console, and took out a scorched envelope I had tried to destroy yesterday. He carefully held it up in front of my eyes and waited.

The little creature inside me huffed angrily, and I looked at him skeptically.

– Seriously, you'd rather I read this than give you a blow job? – I asked, looking at him meaningfully.

– I never thought I'd say this... – he replied, smiling to himself. – And I'll regret it if I find out there's nothing important in that letter, but yes. I'd rather you read it.

I huffed as irritated as my inner creature, but I got up from my knees.

– Oh, give it to me – I snarled irritably, snatching the envelope from his hand.

With nervous movements, I extracted the letter from inside and ostentatiously unfolded it.

The first thing that caught my eye was that the handwriting of the letter's content differed from that on the envelope. Several times I compared a single sentence to the longer text and had no doubt. The author of the letter's content was not my father.

It was futile to look for similarities between the two diametrically different handwritings. The one on the envelope was more angular and slightly crooked, as if the hand writing it was in a hurry and trembling slightly. The letter's handwriting, on the other hand, was sweeping, confident, and flawless.

I frowned and read the contents of the envelope. The letter's style was also strange. The sentences weren't written continuously. Each one started on a new line, and the capital letter at the beginning of each was noticeably larger than the rest. It looked more like an elaborate free verse poem than letter prose.

I'm sorry I didn't ensure there was more joy and peace in your life.

But from now on, things will be different. 

For the rest of your life, a guardian angel will watch over you.

So that no one can hurt you again. 

Whoever causes you pain will face a deserved punishment. 

And may the necklace compensate you, at least in part, for what you had to sacrifice to survive.

I read that peculiar text several times, and with each subsequent reading, I understood it less and less. It wasn't my father's style at all. The handwriting wasn't his, but even if he had dictated it to someone after some miraculous change of heart, he wouldn't have sounded like that. And he certainly wouldn't have signed it. It made no sense... Unless...

Oh my God!

I read the capital letters at the beginning of each line from top to bottom.

Spanish "for you". The mention of the necklace, whose existence Joachim Temper had no right to know about unless he had thoroughly searched my room, made sense.

– What's going on? – Victor's voice brought me back to reality. – Paulina?

I focused my distracted gaze on my love, but I didn't say anything because my thoughts were racing, connecting the threads into a terrifying whole. If what I was thinking was true, then... My God...

I dashed to the closet, where I had a box with the necklace from Manuel hidden in the depths. I had taken it from my family home the day I found my father hanging in the living room under the chandelier. I placed my father's letter and the short note that came with the necklace next to each other, and it took my breath away. Manuel's handwriting hadn't changed much in those five years. Both texts were written by the same hand. This definitely couldn't be a coincidence.

I looked up in terror at Victor, who had just run in behind me, still naked, into the closet.

Manuel, what have you done?