To The Place I Belong

THE LAST LETTERS

Ethan,
             I think it takes real strength of heart to pull yourself out of the oblivion which has decomposed your cells and tissues; an oblivion which gives the uneasy sensation of falling through it until you are unable to trace your way back home.
By the time you read this, I will have been sucked into the quick sand of time and my body will have absorbed an unusual coldness. So I unwillingly push myself into the unsolicited darkness- the kind of abyss I had been running from my entire life. But I think you should know the truth, you have every right to know it. So here it is-
You had always wanted to know the grave truth about my sister’s death- hear it today- she was brutally raped and left to die.
Do you know you had known the rapist all along? Hold on till you hear the bastards name. MICHAEL STALLION. We went to high school together. Stephanie was a junior. Michael has been a bully all along. He had been after my sister all throughout high school. When she humiliated him in front of everyone, you know what was the best remedy he found? Assert physical superiority. So one day after her violin classes got over, she was returning home on her bicycle, he led her to a warehouse asking if she could help him carry an injured friend to the hospital. It was 9p.m already.
Later the next morning, the police found her bicycle parked outside the warehouse and Stephanie lying blood wrapped in a corner-raped, brutally. We took her to the hospital. I think she put up a long terrible fight for 48 hours. When I asked her who did it, she had whispered the bastards name into my ear. We filed a court case against him but his rich dad had all the sources needed to save the black sheep of the family. They even manipulated the newspapers so that they printed in his favour.
Before dying she had said one thing that has kept ringing in my ears all along, “Will you do it for me? Will you fight for me? Don't let him escape.” She had held my hands and I knew those were my sisters dying words. Ethan, she died that day itself, her hand still holding mine, growing stiff and then loosening its grip.
Dad and I put up a two year court case fight. He won, Ethan, that bastard won. Evil wins in some stories but not in this one, not in this story.
When dad wanted to shift somewhere around where Michael lived I agreed without delay but with some strict rapprochement so that he wouldn’t doubt in the slightest bit what I had in mind.
You got me right. I killed him. It was I who stabbed him repeatedly, all over the body, so that they have a pretty hard time guessing if it were a man, a woman or a gang. I slipped out that night you guys were at the carnival, so that no one would suspect what was happening to poor bastard Michael. He didn’t have a way out-that’s how I had planned it.
Here’s truth number two about me: the old man, dad’s biggest investor, and the guy who had harassed me when I was kid was none other than Sinan Pelvis. I killed him too. He too was on my list. I had chosen a day and time when he would not have his servants at home so that I could visit him slyly and slip poison into his drink while taking care not to leave any finger prints anywhere. You see I couldn’t have left any finger print at all as I was wearing gloves for the play that night. Ironically I was the lady Macbeth who had the actual blood on her hands and she cared not if her hands weren't clean at all. I had waited for the perfect opportunities with the perfect plan, but you see this ain’t me. I have never belonged here. Not in the world of crimes, no in the world of darkness, all I wanted is justice for my sister and happiness, the latter never came to me. It was never meant for me, right from the start.
So this is it. I choose to end it this way. After all what use do flowers have on the dead? I didn’t just give my little sister the justice she needed, but also ensured that girls like Stephanie fall a prey to him. I know Jane must have told you about the letter addressed to her, but she doesn’t get to know all of this. I choose to not burden her with uncanny truths and let her live a life she always deserved. But do not hate me for what I have done, for –
Here’s truth number three: I have always loved you Ethan, and I have known it all along.
When you asked me,
“Is it love that I see in your eyes?”
I have always wanted you to know that:
“It is, Ethan. It is. And there always will be.”
For now, remember me in the story you are yet to write about your gothic heroine. I think you now what to write, isn’t it?

Love,
Sylvia.