Dear Darling

Twenty

Friday, June 17th, 1925.

"Dear Darling,

Yesterday was horrible. The Black Butcher dragged me out of my cell and asked loads of questions on random people, who I assumed where next on his hit list. One was named Sandy Cooper, another named Jack Hobbs. I screamed I didn't know them-and that was true. But when the Black Butcher mentioned Bart Hickory, my stomach dropped. I never knew Bart's last name, but I was sure they were talking about him. I kept my mouth shut no matter how many times he struck me. Sadly this went on for quite a while. Before he threw me back into my holding room, he stared me straight in the eyes and said, "I hope you remember something by tomorrow, or else you'll be pos-i-tive-ly dead." His words frightened me, but no matter what he does to me, I will not answer any questions on my friends.

During my first beating, I asked the Black Butcher if he was Woody Silverman. He snarled and said, "Yes, my name is Woody, but I am no Silverman. I am Sam's, say, adopted brother. My real name is Woody Bartholomew, but since it's such a mouthful, I use Sam's name." Now I know why Sam's files never listed siblings, and what the notebook entry meant. "Why'd you do it?" I asked. "You mean kill those people?" he questioned. "Why, because they hurt my little Sam, and no one's allowed to do that." It sincerely surprised me how serious he was about protecting Sam when he punched him mercilessly just minutes before. "He gave me a home when no one wanted me, and I can never repay him for that. The least I can do is make him happy," He said. I countered, "Do you really think that he's happy unconscious? Didn't you see him ask you to not hurt us? And Viola Franklin? Sam liked her!" Woody just bared his teeth and punched me in the gut. I kept quiet after that. Maybe he was just doing this for his own pleasure.

I know that Bart and the rest of the RPD won't know which house to look for, and I also know Celenea and I aren't going anywhere if we stay quiet. Even if Sam is too frightened to fight for me, I will still fight for Celenea. So, I have composed a plan. Celenea will cry out, "He's dead! You killed him!" and when the fool comes running to take a look at me, I will pop up and steal his gun. If it works, I'll shoot the two of them, in an unfatal way of course, and take Celenea far, far away. The odds are stacked against me, but it's our only hope.

I feel like a fool, Sophie. In my conscience, you are repeatedly yelling, "I told you so! I told you so!" It's insufferable, but I would give anything to hear your voice again. Could Celenea come live with us one this is all over? I have found myself very attached to her, and I feel horrible knowing she has been all alone. It's okay if you object, I'm sure Bart will find a home for her, but it would really make me happy. Never forget that I love you darling, okay?

With love,

Charles."