Dear Mark,
I've never noticed how cool guns are before, in more ways than one. Like the coolness of the metal as it rests in your hand, and the way that in any situation, if you pull out a gun, you are instantly in control of the people around you. Don't you just love the way their smile can be replaced by the wide mouthed gape of fear? It was a gun that killed your wife wasn't it? I'm not too sure how you killed Glen though. The report didn't state any murder weapon. Maybe you did it with your bare hands. Maybe you made his death more personal, so he could see the anger in your eyes. I guess I'm in that sort of mood today. Billy's at school again, so I thought I'd write the next chapter of my story.
We started to spend more time as a family, the three of us going on trips out together, and Jack was somehow gaining back some of the trust and love he'd lost when he left me alone with a baby all that time ago. But what he didn't know was that there was another man in the picture now, a man I'd met the same day I'd met Jack. Dylan, his name was. Just Dylan. Maybe you know him. He's in the same prison as you now. They blamed him for Jack's death, said they'd had an argument, and both brothers had gotten mad until bang. Jack was dead.
I know it was mean, falling for both brothers, but maybe the man in the cell opposite you is Dylan, and if it is, tell him I say sorry, and that I didn't mean to kill his brother. He's the only one that knows other than me and you. He didn't try to tell the police officers, he let them think it was him. He was always kind like that. But I was going to kill him aswell you know. Don't tell him that, but I was. He saw Jack die, so I suppose I thought I'd dispose of the witness. But I didn't obviously. I guess he was the brother I loved more. Maybe if I'd admitted that at the beginning I wouldn't be in this mess, and I wouldn't be writing these letters to you.
I'd go to see Dylan every night, after Billy had fallen asleep. I didn't need to worry about Jack finding out. He was working in a pub most nights, getting enough money to help me pay the rent, I had a few money problems. Mostly caused by Jack, but at least he was helping sort them out. Me and Dylan, we'd go out for a drive, watching the stars flicker in the sky. We'd imagine the clouds as blankets, keeping every human being warm and alive. I'd tell him which type of owl had just flown over us just by the call it made. It was magical Mark, they were the nights that made my life worth living, gave me back a slither of happiness I'd lost during my childhood. I still like going out during the night, looking up at the moon and remembering the words Dylan said to me the last time we spoke. Maybe I should turn myself in, get Dylan out of this mess. But then I couldn't tell you this story. And I need to tell you Mark. I need to.
Maybe if you are opposite Dylan, you can see his blonde hair. I always loved how soft it was. But maybe they've shaved it off by now. I hope they haven't. That'd be a shame. Or maybe you can just see his green eyes, twinkling in whatever light source you have there. You can probably still see the love held in them. He told me no matter what I did or said, he'd always love me. Tell him I still love him. Please Mark. I bet that's what Danny said as you approached him with that knife. Please Mark. That'd be something he'd say. You probably thought he was begging you to kill him, but I don't think he was. Do they still haunt you? Do you still see there eyes glazed over, the shock clear on their faces? Maybe you just see red rivers flowing over your hands. Or maybe you see nothing. Maybe that's how they haunt you. Just the darkness they saw as the life left them.
Anyway, Jack didn't know about me and Dylan. But I didn't see why I had to tell him. We weren't in a relationship as far as I was concerned, he was just helping look after his son. Then one night, Dylan drove us to our usual clifftop, but I could tell something was wrong. I'll set this out like a proper conversation Mark, it's important you know what was said.
"You know Anna, I've been thinking." Dylan had said, except he said my real name, not Anna, "Maybe you should come and stay with me. Get away from Jack and these money troubles."
I'd sat and thought for a while after this.
"What about Billy?" I'd eventually asked. I knew Dylan wasn't too keen on kids, said they were a pain in the...you know.
"I only have enough room for one more person." Dylan told me, smiling like he was trying to persuade me, "You'll have to leave him with Jack."
It's fair to say I got a bit mad Mark. Started calling him every name under the sun, screaming at him until my throat was raw. All of it something along the lines of
"Who do you think you are? Telling me I'll have to leave my son on his own. I've brought him up in my own for three years, what has your good for nothing brother done? Exactly what he is, nothing."
I filtered that a bit. Made it safe for any young eyes that might take this out of a letter box and read it.
I suppose it wasn't just angry words swapped that night, we both went home battered and bruised, me more shaken than him. He had almost pushed me off the cliff after all. You probably think I'm crazy, laughing at the fact I could have died. Truth is it was fun. One of the most effective stress reliefs there is, having a fight on top of a cliff. We were only mad for a few days, but then Dylan said he was sorry, told me he was missing our nights out together, and so was I. We had a chat one night. A very deep chat. All about what we wanted to do with our lives. That's when I told him I wanted to write books. I told him I'd already written one for Billy, but no one else could ever read it. He'd laughed at that. Said what was the point in writing if nobody else could read it. He wanted to be a musician. I asked him if he'd ever heard of your band, he told me Glen had been his idol. So actually, it might be best if you don't talk to Dylan, Mark. He hates your guts. If he saw you, he would be in prison for a reason. He really would have murdered someone. Those nights, I could feel the block of ice I had for a heart slowly start to thaw, beating again for a few beautiful seconds. Those were the nights I lived for Mark. But it all came tumbling down.
It's almost time for me to pick Billy up from school. You know, he's being bullied Mark. But he tells them he'll tell his uncle and he'll come beat them up. If only they knew the truth, they wouldn't be beaten up, they'd be dead. I hope you don't mind being his uncle. He's happy thinking he has someone other than a mum. I better go now anyway. I have the dog to walk aswell. He's called Mark actually. I named him after you. So yes, have a nice day. I'll write soon.
From
Anna
