Ian isn't looking for trouble, so when he wakes up in a hospital unaware of what has happened to him, he refuses to find out the truth. Why would he want to remember something that might be too much to handle? The past is the past, isn't it?
But the...
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July 15, 11:45 AM
I opened the envelope carefully so that I wouldn't accidentally tear the letter inside. It was written on sheets of paper from the journal I gave him at the hospital. Does that mean he knows it was from me? I didn't know if I was more anxious or excited, and I wasn't entirely sure if that was a good moment to read it. I have to go to the police, the letter can wait, it could be a distraction. But Bobbie, who didn't want me to go to the police in the first place, convinced me to do it. That was his way of trying to change my mind. Besides I knew I wouldn't be able to focus on anything but that letter until I knew what it said. So I pulled the letter out and started reading.
"Dear Ian,
I hope you don't mind me sending this letter. Finding you online wasn't an easy task since I had very limited time using the hospital's computer, and I won't be back home until Wednesday morning. You're not a very social-media person, are you? I really would have sent an e-mail, if I could find one.
Thank you for the journal, I really like it. The nurses told me a little about you. A little more than they should have, probably. I want you to know, that it's not easy for me to talk about and that I'm very sorry for everything that had happened to you. I was told you didn't remember, and for a long time, I couldn't decide what to do. But I have a story to tell, Ian, that I think you might want to know.
You see, I don't know my parents well. They moved out to Canada when I was just a kid. My grandparents were the ones who raised my brother and I. But that's the reality I've always known, so it never really bothered me that much. My brother, Daniel, however, was already 6 when they left us. It always stayed with him. No matter how much I tried showing him that I care for him, he always felt unwanted. He always believed our parents would one day come back and say it was all a mistake. All he needed was his parents to tell him they love him. Hearing "I love you" from me was never enough. He didn't need me. He didn't want me. Sometimes I think he doesn't even like me.
Daniel had a tough childhood. My grandparents started seeing some signs of his aggressive behavior very early on, but they neglected it and blamed it on the trauma his parents had caused him. But it was getting worse with time, and when he was just 12 he was diagnosed with IED. It's a mental health disorder that makes him have uncontrollable anger impulses. He had to spend a lot of time in a mental hospital because of it. And it was getting better, some medication would help, some not, but I felt like after many years I finally learned how to work with him. I didn't want him to go back to the hospital ever again. He hated being there. He's been living with me for almost a year now. We have a cottage in the woods that my grandparents left us. They didn't use it anymore, because it was pretty much falling apart, but I rebuild it last summer and now I think it's actually a pretty decent place to live.
July 1 was a very rough day for me and my family. You see, I've been keeping contact with my parents for a while now, and for a long time, I managed to keep it a secret. I tried to convince them to come to the US, even if only to pay us a simple visit. I thought it would be really great for Daniel. And finally, they agreed. We had planned the visit a month prior, on July 1. But for some reason, two weeks before the visit Daniel's outbursts had started happening more frequently. Every other day he would start shouting out of nowhere, for very trivial reasons. I couldn't have let my parents see him like this, so I came up with an excuse, and told them not to come.
And that was a mistake, that I'll always be ashamed I made. Daniel can't change who he is, and there isn't really any medicine that would help him for good. Our parents should have come, and I shouldn't have tried to pretend like Daniel's someone he's not. I shouldn't have been ashamed of him.
I'm telling you all of this, Ian, hoping that you would find compassion for him, even after what he did to you.
That day I was painting in my room all evening, trying to keep my mind off of this whole situation. I was distancing myself from my brother, I couldn't face him. I kept wondering what would we have been doing if our parents were there with us, and how happy he would have been.After a couple of hours, I went downstairs to check on him, but I couldn't find him anywhere. What I found though, was a laptop opened on the e-mail I had sent to my parents. I was so scared, Ian. I knew he must have been the angriest he had ever been. I was afraid of what he could do to himself, or to others.
I ran outside looking for him, he wasn't answering any of my calls, I didn't know what to do. I took my car and drove through all the main paths of the forest. But I was too late, Ian, I'm sorry. I found you lying on the ground. You were unconscious and Daniel was standing above you, still raging. My worst fears came true. I was paralyzed. I was supposed to take care of him, and now, because of me, you got hurt. But I couldn't just call 911, they would have taken him to the mental hospital for the rest of his life, and I promised him I would have never let that happen. Please understand that I couldn't risk anyone finding out I was involved in this.
I told Daniel to go home and that I'd take care of you. I managed to get you inside of my car, and I just drove and drove trying to figure out who do I turn to for help. I know I should have taken you straight to the hospital, your life was at risk, and I was just wasting time by not doing what was right.
I drove to the middle of the city and then saw that alley. I grabbed the nearest trashcans and started banging them in fury, trying to make as much noise as I could. I waited until I heard someone coming, and then I just ran. But what if that someone wouldn't have helped you, either? What if they were like me, and... and they would have just... left you there? You could have died because of me and I'm so sorry, Ian. I hope one day you can forgive me.
I ran back to my car, but as I was crossing the road, I didn't see the other car coming toward me, and I got hit. I got to the hospital on the same day you did.
Now you know. The least you deserve is the truth. You can do whatever you want with it. If you want to go to the police, I won't be mad. There are no bad decisions here, the choice is yours.
