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gwennwrites Gwenn Dunlap

This is my first attempt at writing a book. I would love to get some constructive criticism of my writing. I decided to upload one of the chapters from the middle of the book. If you could provide me with any feedback on this chapter, I will then be able to take these criticisms and thoughts and apply them to the rest of my book. The "victim" chapter that I have uploaded is in the victim's voice. Thank you for your time and consideration. Gwenn


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Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4

So, I need to start at the beginning so that you can understand how I got where I am. This may sound strange to you, but I think I need your help in finding out who killed me.

First thing’s first, let me introduce myself. My name is Tilly – short for Mathilda, and I’m 28. I actually love my name. I always have. I was named after my mother. I know it’s traditional to have the males named after their father. But my family has always been a bit quirky. My mom wanted the tradition to be for females, too. So, she started the trend… well, that is if it ever catches on. I remember that I found a letter from her once, hiding in one of my old books. I snuck up to the attic whenever I could, whenever it was safe and I enjoyed being up there. It’s the only place I feel close to them, except at their crypt along the edge of our property. But at the crypt it was a solemn, sad closeness. Up in the attic with the books and some of their other possessions, it was a special and quiet place to be with them. My uncle placed their stuff in the attic after they passed away. I never understood why he kept it, but I’m so glad he did because it was like finding treasure when I worked my way to the attic when I knew he was out for the day. He left me home alone so many times, so I had fun exploring the different areas of the house. I never went near his room, though. It always smelled like alcohol and sweat. I stayed as far away from that room, as possible. He took over my parent’s room, and I wanted to remember it the way it was… light, warm, and full of love.

The letter I found among the boxes in the attic was so sweet. There was an accompanying note stating that she had started writing it the day I was born while she was in the hospital’s maternity ward, because the story just came bubbling out of her… she wanted to tell our Fairy Tale. So, she just wrote on some paper she coaxed out of one of the nurses. I guess she placed it in the “Where the Wild Things Are” book one day after coming home from the hospital with me. And there it sat until I found it. It was sweet. It was about a little girl who took after her mother. About how beautiful and fair they both were, and what great friends they were destined to be. They had the same name, you see, which tied them together in a way that was magical. It went on about how they were Queen and Princess and they lived a perfect life alongside the King. The princess would someday find her prince and all would be perfect. I loved how she wrote about us, about how we would be the perfect family, about all the fun adventures we would have. But this was not to be, because life isn’t fair.

OK, I got off on a tangent. I apologize. I tend to do that, I guess it’s in my nature. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I will do my best. However, right now I need to tell you my story about my life… and my death.

I was 18 when I met Joe, he was 25. I felt I just needed a way out from under my uncle’s thumb. Oh, Uncle Roger. Just suffice it to say he is evil, as evil comes – more than I even knew. He was my caretaker after my parents passed away. He was so horrible to me and I needed to get away from him. I will fill you in on his part of my life, but I want to talk about Joe now.

As soon as I turned 18, I was on the path to starting my life the only way I knew how to make that happen was to find a man to be my Prince Charming – to save me from my awful life and make it “happy ever after”, just the way my mother wrote it. Isn’t that how it works? When I first met Joe, there was a light in his eyes I never saw in my uncle’s. I met him at a coffee shop in town. It was a crowded day at the coffee shop, not a chain, just a nice family business with the best coffee and scones you could ever want. I was seated at a table in the corner, I always wanted to be invisible, I didn’t like attention. But on this day, this man comes up and quietly asks if he could sit in the chair at my table because there was no table open. I look up from my book, into nice eyes. I wasn’t expecting to see nice eyes from a man, but there they were. I looked away to glance around the room, and sure enough there were no open tables. I gestured that it was ok, and he sat down across from me. He introduced himself, and I figured it would be rude to keep reading, so I put my book down. I introduced myself and we started talking. He said he was from out of town, going to Mairn College of Business and he found this place one day and he fell in love with its charm and its coffee. I laughed, because that’s why I found myself in this shop so often. He said he was going to college for accounting and he had a 5-year plan because he was graduating that fall. I like that he had a plan. Me, I didn’t. I wish I did. The only plan I knew I had was to get out of my situation with my uncle. So, Joe asks me out and I find myself saying yes, surprising him and even myself.

We spent the next few months seeing each other every chance we could: going out to dinner, getting coffee at our favorite place, I make us dinner over his place, we walk in the local park, etc. But we never go to my house. He doesn’t even know where I live, he doesn’t know my real last name (I introduced myself using my mother’s maiden name), he doesn’t need to know. It would complicate things too early on – cross that bridge when I have to. In fact, that week I legally changed my name to Mathilda Kenzie, I wanted to make sure no one tied me to my story, the one the town all had a vested interest in because of our ties to the Mairn College of Business. My father’s family started it and still ran it. I told him that I graduated high school early (not a lie, I graduated at 16) and that I was trying to figure out what I wanted to study at college. I also didn’t want to attend the college that had my name written all over it. I am so glad I thought to change my name, putting that into place will help me to keep a little bit of distance between the story when I do attend. I told Joe that I had been working and saving for two years to try and get my own place (white lie?). I have been working at the photo shop on main street saving my money, because Uncle Roger was still providing me with the minimum amount he could get away with. I was 18 now, and smart. He had to ride the rails on this, because I could get him in trouble. I didn’t have proof of stuff he did to me when I was younger, but he knew if he went off the track even a little, I would retaliate. So, he paid my car payments, he paid my insurance, he paid all he had to that left a paper trail. Anything else, that’s where he drew the line.

I don’t know if I would ever believe a man could always be nice, but from what I could gather from being alone with him, meeting his friends, and when sneaking in his apartment when he was in class (yes, I guess that could make you think less of me, but honestly, we don’t lie to ourselves, so a man living alone – his apartment would hold secrets to his “real” self). He never forced himself on me. I had heard from Uncle Roger that men always wanted just one thing, but I guess that’s one lesson that Uncle Roger got wrong. Joe was always a gentleman. I liked his kisses, they were sweet. We cuddled when watching movies, and I enjoyed being in his arms.

So, I figure this was as close as I would get to a Prince Charming, so after a few months of getting to know him better and seeing that maybe some men are good and full of light, I asked him to dinner. Told him to meet me at the local 5-star restaurant. It was pricey, and extravagant, and perfect. That day, I was a little nervous. I mean it had only been a couple months. But I decided to go all out. I went to the Salon and got my hair and nails done and even got a pedicure for the new open shoes I had purchased along with the slinky dress. It was a beautiful evening dress. It was very pricey, but worth it. It accentuated what the saleswoman called, my assets. I told her that I was going to dinner at the Lark Restaurant and her eyes glinted. She knew that if a man invites you there, it’s for a special occasion. And if there is no special occasion, it’s probably going to be one. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had asked him on the date and that I chose the restaurant. That’s my little secret today. She said that the low-cut back would be a nice touch for when we dance after dinner. I look in the mirror and think that for once I may just be able to see what others see in me. I am only 5 feet tall and have light blond hair with deep green eyes that sometimes change to light green depending on what I’m wearing or the weather or sometimes even my mood. But today, they are deep green with just a hint of caramel flakes. I’m wearing a black evening dress with small shimmering beads that catch the light just right, making me look radiant, a light that just envelopes me. With my new hairdo and makeup done, I just maybe could pass for pretty.

I am getting excited about tonight. I remember a movie once, I don’t know which one, but the leading lady tells an up-and-coming woman that you always arrive after you’re expected so that you can make an entrance. I made sure Joe was there, waiting on me. I hope he wasn’t waiting long, but I needed to be sure. I made an entrance that night. Joe said that all eyes were on me when I walked into the room. I didn’t notice, I try not to notice. I just knew that his response was the one I was hoping for. He helped me in my chair and his hand on my exposed back felt nice, safe, welcomed. We had a great dinner, excellent conversation as usual. Joe was smart and I liked talking with him about everything. We agreed on most topics, and what we disagreed on we were respectful of each other’s point of view. The evening was going fast, I needed to slow it down some, I wasn’t ready for dessert. So, after our dinner plates were taken and before we were asked if we wanted dessert, I asked him to dance with me. We hadn’t danced before, not like this. We danced at the local pub to fast music. This was different, slow, romantic, and rythmic. This is the night I found out Joe could dance, and surprisingly I could too. He was a great lead, he made it easy to dance with him. Usually I was a decent dancer, but not great. He made me look great, or maybe it was just the night. Maybe it was magical. I enjoyed our dance, I was out of breath by the time we got off the dance floor. We sat down, and the waiter came over and we decided to get some coffee and some dessert. As soon as the waiter left the table, I took his hand in mine on the table. He looked up and our eyes caught. I started to speak, and the words just came out; unprepared, unrehearsed and unbelievable. I said, “Joe, I know that we have only known each other for a few months, but all my good memories seem to have you in them. I was wondering, Joe, if you felt the same way and if you do, would you marry me?” Joe was visibly taken back, but he just sat there with his eyes locked on mine. It seemed like an eternity went by, but then he blinked and said, “Of course I do, and of course I will.” In that moment, I felt like I never had before: safe and saved.

I figured I would tell Joe about the money only after we were married, maybe not until I was 25. I didn’t care about that money anyway. I wanted to live without it as much as I could. I could see me using it if I needed any for college, but if I go to the local college I won’t have to spend a dime. Being the daughter of the family that owns and operates it definitely has its rewards. However, using it for anything else just seemed wrong. I want to make my way without it. I did sneak a prenup into our marriage though. I had it written so that it covered both of us while making it sound like it was for his assets to be safe, and the wording was so that he wouldn’t feel like he was slighting me. See, he was also from a rich family, which is why I hated lying to him. But I just felt it in my bones that I shouldn’t taint this with talk of my inherited money.

My Uncle Roger made me hate that money, made me never want anything to do with it. I doubt that’s what he was hoping for, but I also knew I never wanted him to have it either. I already wrote my will to not leave him one red cent if I were to die before him. I made sure it would go to several charities and establishments – including that little coffee shop where I met my future husband, my Prince Charming. Joe and I got married in such a hurry, for no reason other than I wanted my fairy tale life to start. We decided to get married at the court house. I didn’t tell my uncle, no reason for him to be there. Joe had two of his friends from college to stand for us. Somehow Uncle Roger found out, and brought his drunken ass to the court house. We were already married, but leave it to Uncle Roger to fit in another one of his lessons. He pulled my new husband over after we came down the steps, and proceeded to tell Joe that he knew he was only after my money and that he was onto his scheme. Joe’s face went pale, and staring over at me. I ran over to hear the end part of Uncle Roger’s rant, and I just sat down on the bench along the sidewalk. Joe ran my uncle off, I didn’t even hear what he said to him. He came over to me, his friends started walking back to the dorm, giving us time to calm down and talk about what just happened. I took a deep breath, and slowly started telling Joe my story… too bad it wasn’t a fairy tale. Joe sat there and just listened, God love him. He never interrupted, instinctively knowing I needed to just get it all out. Once I was done, Joe gave me the lightest hug drawing me into him. He said I don’t care about your past, only your future. We will get through this, and discuss all that we need to but let’s go home. We stayed in the apartment I had rented, and married life proved to be bliss early on. We both were good at our jobs and excelled and had a really good life and could afford what we both wanted. We moved quickly into a beautiful house centrally located to all that our little town offered. I never did move back into my parent’s house. This allowed my uncle to continue to live in the main house. I used my parent’s inheritance to hire a Property Manager to look in on the house every month, to check on the buildings and the grounds. This made my involvement with my uncle minimal, I only ever saw my uncle walking around town. He would be slipping into a dive bar usually. Other times he would be just meandering around the town, but we avoided each other easily. I did go to my parent’s crypt every chance I could, I still miss them every day and my mind wanders often to the beautiful fairy tale my mother wrote and I often find myself wondering how different my life would be if we were able to live happy ever after together in our kingdom – life isn’t fair.

So, I’m feeling antsy on the Sunday a year before I die. I wake up and I figure Sunday is a day for reflection, right? This is the one day of the week I can truly allow myself to dream because Joe isn’t around to break through. He’s off hunting, his Sunday “church”. His way of unwinding and feeling renewed for the upcoming week. I have been feeling strange in my own skin, for quite a while. I’m just not happy. Honestly, I’m a happy person, I am just missing something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I mean, I keep trying to do self-reflection, read all those books meant to help you “find yourself”. I even tried different things like yoga, hypnosis, getting active, joining a book club, etc. I just couldn’t figure it out. My husband and I are just slowly making our way through life together. I mean, it’s not hell on earth, but it’s not what I want out of life either. What it comes down to is that I don’t think I love him, I don’t think I ever have. Yes, I know how wrong that sounds. But, if you can’t be honest when you’re dead, when can you?

It’s so early in the morning. Joe has left before the sun came up – like he always does when he goes on his hunting excursions. However, today is special. Joe is going hunting today and from the cabin he is going on a business trip for the week. So, I feel so free and I want to take advantage of this feeling and make the most of today. I was awake as he was getting ready because I’m feeling like everything is just bubbling under my skin, like something is about to happen today that is magical. I just feel antsy, like I just need to get out of this house. So, as soon as he left I jump out of bed and start my day. I start getting ready for a walkabout – it worked for Crocodile Dundee, so why not me? I make sure to pack hiking essentials and put on some really comfortable walking shoes, I could walk all day on a day like this.

I love this town, and I love how our house is located so centrally to everything. If I walk about 15 minutes one way, I find myself in the most beautiful park that has a great area for dogs, and then there are walking trails, and a nice area for picnics, and a large green grassy area sprinkled with just enough trees to get out of the sun when you want to. This is a great place to read, or even people watch. About another mile from the park there’s a great Farmer’s Market. If I go about 20 minutes another way, I find myself in the city center where there are the old timey main street shops, turn the corner and it’s the art district. There are so many wonderful artists in this area, with all types of mediums – painters, wood workers, ceramic, steel welders that make such beautiful sculptures – just to name a few. Another direction and you’re heading towards a great place to camp. The woods are so ethereal, you can’t go there and not know there is a God. Something this beautiful and peaceful and expansive can be an accident. It’s a beautiful Spring day, light blue skies above with wispy white clouds barely marking up the sky. The temperatures are in the 60’s and it’s a great day to go walking, and I’m happy to do it. Me?, Happy?, This is something different. Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it.

I decide to walk to the woods, it’s where I thought I should go with such heavy stuff on my mind, somehow find my way, maybe ask God for some help under that ethereal setting. I get there in no time at all and it’s just as I remember it, but even more stunning with its green canopy of trees and slivers of sunlight shining down through the leaves… I try and make sense out of my life while listening to the trickle of water from the creek cascading over the rocky riverbed. However, even after the 20-minute walk to this serene setting, I find myself meandering with no real purpose. I stop at the creek and sit on the stones on the edge of the water. I take my shoes off and go wading in the creek. It really is so peaceful here. I find my mind wandering, back to the things that got me out of the house to begin with. I still can’t figure out what’s wrong, what I want out of life. I just don’t know what is fueling this whole feeling that something isn’t right, that there’s something off. The more I am enveloped by the peace and quiet, the less I can think. I start to pace while wading in the water and I still feel like I’m caged, even out in the open. I walk over and slowly sit myself down to pick my shoes back up and as I sit there waiting for my feet to dry, I still just feel edgy. I put my shoes back on and start to walk.

I don’t even take notice as to where I’m heading, don’t even realize how much time is passing, I love lazy Sundays. As I am walking I’m starting to get a bit hungry. The grumbling in my stomach is a good indication, good thing I packed some granola bars and some water. I start munching on the granola bar and out of the blue a memory comes flashing into my brain. It comes through with such intensity that I am physically winded. I find a tree stump and sit as I work my way through it.

Of course, it has to do with dear, old, demented, Uncle Roger. I guess now’s as good a time as any to develop his part of my story. All my bad dreams, bad memories, fears, dark premonitions, etc. come from the darkness he brought into my life. He’s the reason my childhood went from something that everyone dreams of into what horror movies try and capture. I was about 2 years old, well a few months away from my second birthday. My mom and dad were on their way to get a new car. Their old one was giving them some troubles in the past few months and the mechanic could never find anything wrong with it, so they figured it would be time to get another one. They were originally going to take me along with them, but I was running a slight fever and so they decided to let the nanny take care of me. Yep, they had a nanny. We were one of “those” families. It’s hard not to be when you own the only college in the area.

Anyway, all I know about the accident is that which I could find in the newspapers, once I was old enough. My uncle barely talked about them, he barely talked to me. He came to hate me, that’s if he ever loved me at all. The only thing he would really talk to me about are all the things I was keeping him from because I wasn’t even his kid and he got saddled into taking care of me. My parents didn’t have any other family, so it was all on him. My parents had died and they had a LOT of money and a LOT of properties. In their will, they said that all of their holdings would be sold at fair market value and all the money would be put into probate for me, to be available to me when I turn 25. The accounting firm was under strict instruction to provide my Uncle Roger the amount of $15,000 a month plus the monthly cost of the house (no mortgage because the house was long paid for, but the taxes, water, gas, electric, cable, etc.) for as long as he was my guardian up and until my 25th birthday; at which point the amount provided him would be cut in half and would only be paid to him until my death. It also stated that at this point he could stay in the smaller house he originally lived in for as long as he wished. However, once I was legally able to create a will, then my wishes would then take over and any amount provided to him after my death that would be up to me, if any. You’d think that this part would’ve made him at least act the part of doting uncle, but he was never really all that clever.

Most days he would ignore me, those were the days I liked the most. Because the days he engaged with me were the ones he was drunk and on the rampage to make me pay for my parent’s decisions to keep him as my guardian and keep him with such a small part of their estate. He would play head games with me all the time, and this is why eating the granola bar just brought a memory to light. I didn’t even remember it until now, it’s funny how the mind tries to keep you safe from your past when it’s as horrible as mine. I remember one day I was playing tea with some dolls I made from some rags I found. We were around my little table, and I could hear his footsteps coming up the hallway. They were unsteady, and I braced for what I knew was going to be a bad day. He stumbled into the room, stopped as soon as he crossed into the room. I could smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores, and his clothes were all rumpled. He had this sinister grin on his face as he looked down on the pretty, little tea party. The juxtaposition of his dark presence and that of a little girl with her dolls was one that didn’t escape his eye. He even remarked on it, he said to me that even though I looked all innocent and full of good, that I was the demon seed and that he was the one who should have gone to shine goodness on the world. But that my parents clipped his wings in order to give me all the opportunities they could manage. It should have been his, but now he’s just a stupid caretaker of their little monster. I cringed, but didn’t know what to say to all that he was rambling on about. He hated when I was quiet, almost as much as he hated when I talked. Either way, I knew I was going to get taught a lesson. His lessons were always coming when he smelled like he did right now, and when he had those dark, menacing eyes. He sat down hard on my bed, to the left of the table I was sitting at. He asked what I was serving to eat along with the tea that I had prepared for my guests. I thought this odd, because all of a sudden, he almost looked like he actually cared about something I was doing. I sat there for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he really wanted me to answer. He cleared his throat, and gave me that look.. the one that he’s waiting for an answer. So, quietly I answer him and say that I was thinking about serving some crumpets with my tea. He asked what a crumpet is, and then I stammered and answered that I wasn’t really sure but I remember hearing about them in a story one time, and I laughed because wasn’t it funny to not even know what it was I was going to eat. I stopped laughing, as soon as I saw his eyes go even darker than they were before. He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a snarl. He asked what was so funny. “I just thought it funny that I don’t even know what a crumpet is,” I said. He shook his head, and said, “Stupid girl. I will be back in a few minutes with something to serve with your tea.” He started out the door, stopped to turn to glance over his shoulder in the doorway and said, “Hey! Just remember the question, is life fair?” He laughed his crazy laugh as we stumbled down the hallway. This was always at the crux of all his lessons. Is life fair? He would always make sure that I knew the answer was No. It wasn’t fair to him because instead of being rich and being able to do anything he wanted, he was strapped with me and had an “allowance”… an allowance. Is that fair? NO, it isn’t!

I sat there trying to figure out where I could go, to get away from the lesson I knew was coming. However, I learned long before that there is no hiding from one of his lessons. If you tried to run or hide, the lesson was only made worse. So, I waited, in terror, for the sound of his footsteps again in the hallway. He turned in through the doorway, with his hands behind his back. His grin was so scary, outlined with the scruff of his unshaven face and topped with two eyes that always appeared to get even darker black when he was in this mood and they appeared to devour any light because they didn’t have any shimmer like eyes usually do. They were like little black holes, all the light just disappeared into them. He held out his hand and in it was a little plate with something sprinkled all over it. He handed it to me and said, “Go ahead, girl, eat it. I made it special for your tea party.” I carefully took the plate from him and placed it on the table in front of me. I went to touch it with my finger, but just before I did, he yelled “Use your fork, do you have NO manners?” I jumped, and with my shaky hand I picked up a fork. I had a hard time picking up the pieces, but most of it was black and some brown and a lot of powder. I realized he was feeding me the stuff from in the fireplace. I broke a tooth, and I gagged on a lot of what he made me eat. He made me eat the whole plate. Looking back on this I can still feel the grit in my teeth, can feel scraping of the stones and pieces of wood going down my throat.

I wound up in the hospital that night. It’s the last time he was that careless. He knew if I was taken away from him, that his gravy train would end completely which really put him in a mood. The doctors wanted to know what I had eaten, and then when I told them it was the soot from the fireplace, they asked me why I would eat that. This was in a time before they would readily think that a caretaker could be the person who could possibly want to harm their ward, at least in this town. We lived in my parent’s old house where only the rich and entitled live in this area – except my Uncle Roger was neither. But, he was seen as such, just because of the address he held. So, they asked me all these questions under the watchful eye of my uncle. When they asked why I had eaten this concoction, his eyes bore into me and I knew what that meant. It meant lie to make him look good. So, before I could even stop myself, I heard myself saying “I had to serve something at my tea party, and since I don’t know what a crumpet is I had to serve something I could find. I found the soot in the fireplace.” The cops looked at each other, like they were trying to figure out if this story held water. They asked one follow-up question, “Why did you continue to eat it after you broke a tooth and it obviously didn’t taste so good?” My uncle was in the room, I was having visions of him teaching me more lessons if I wasn’t able to answer this to their satisfaction. I opened my mouth, not even knowing what I was going to say, and then the words just tumbled out of nowhere “I was always told to clean my plate, that there are starving people in the world.” The cops actually laughed, real laughter. Their eyes glinted and sparkled, their light was pure. My uncle laughed too, not as creepy as he did before, he actually laughed. But his eyes didn’t glint, they’re blackholes, only darkness resides there. But I guess my answer was good enough, and his laugh was seen as genuine and the cops chalked this one up to a little girl playing tea party with her beloved dolls.

I don’t remember getting home, and I don’t remember if my uncle ever talked about the performance I gave for the cops. The only thing I remember, is that night, when he told me it was time to go to sleep that he said something very creepy and I didn’t realize what it meant until after my death. He said, “Go to sleep tonight, knowing full well that life isn’t fair. You tell a lie and it’s taken as truth, when you tell the truth it will be seen as a lie.” He was right, of course. Life is never fair. I should’ve been saved that day, by the men who were sworn to protect the innocent. The underlying lesson, one that dear, old Uncle Roger never even intended me to learn, was that I cannot rely on a man to protect me, even if they have light in their eyes. It’s just smoke and mirrors.

I stop reminiscing about the “good old days”, such as they were. I take a long swig of water out of my water bottle, pick my hand up that’s holding the granola bar, give a heavy sigh and look at the granola bar. I close my eyes, kick Uncle Roger out of my head, open my eyes and take a big bite out of my granola bar. It’s hard to chew at first, my mouth is drier than it should be because I’m still remembering the fireplace soot. But I slowly kick that out of my head too, and the granola bar starts tasting yummy again. I grin as I finish the bite, close my eyes to take another swig out of my water bottle and make a contented sigh. I start to gain a flutter of a feeling, a feeling that today just may be a good day to get through to what my life is in need of. I finish the granola bar and my water, I slap my hands on my knees, get up from the tree stump and start walking again. In no particular direction.

This town is like a throwback to what towns were like in the early 1950’s, everyone knows everyone and you feel safe everywhere. I know I’m safe as I walk around with no real destination, but with a goal of trying to finally determine what I need to do to get my life back – or at least get my life set on the right course. I don’t think my life was ever mine, was it? First I was so very young when my parents were still alive, so my life was theirs to mold into what they could, but since they died when I was so young I barely remember them. I have pictures, and I like to think I have memories of them with me, but it could just be me extrapolating the pictures into my thoughts and memories. Then suddenly under my uncle’s thumb, and then right into a marriage. Joe is a good man, I did luck out with that. But, I have never just been on my own. After we got married, I went to college and got my degree in web development, it’s my passion. Joe and I rarely had to dig into my inheritance, and he understood how I felt about it. That didn’t mean that there weren’t some hot discussions here and there about how we could be living if I would change my mind… but he knew I wouldn’t budge on this. We were able to dig into it here and there, but we didn’t rely on it at all.

I look up when I start to hear faint sounds of people having fun; laughter, dogs barking, sounds of mothers calling out for their children, etc. Somehow my meandering has delivered me to the park, and it’s so busy with all the goings-on that happen on a day like today, and on a weekend. I catch myself staring at this one family. They have the obligatory 2 kids and a black lab, dressed in their casual picnic garb. They are in the picnic area, setting up the picnic table with all the fare that goes along with that. You know, the red checkered table cloth, the paper plates, condiments, red solo cups, soda. Dad, in his “#1 Dad” BBQ apron, is working on the grill; trying to light those pesky little charcoals. Finally, a smile on his lips and a curl of smoke around his head, and it’s obvious that his task has been accomplished. He starts poking around in the cooler. He gets out the hamburgers and hot dogs, getting them ready to be made into a delicious lunch for his children.

I then look around because I hear church bells coming from behind me. I see some parishioners heading towards the church. I just find myself walking in the direction of those beautiful bells, of that wondrous light. The light coming from inside through the doors is so inviting. I haven’t really been to church, not to worship. Uncle Roger never took me. So, the only time I had ever been to a church was on the day of my parents’ funeral and a few weddings. Not mine, I got married at the court house – it seemed the best option at the time. As I walk into the church, the sun is shining in through all of the stained-glass windows and it’s gleaming off of the ornate, golden statues and wooden moldings. I take a seat close to the back of the church because I just want to be unseen, blend into the background. The sermon was like it was written just for me. It was talking about how through God you can become the person you were meant to be. That if you give yourself to the Lord, He will guide you along your path. The sermon was expanding on Psalm 37:4 were it says, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” As I hear these words, I can’t help but wonder “what are the desires of my heart?”

At the end of the service, they announce they are having a picnic across the way at the park. They are celebrating the beginning of the Spring. They do it every year, and I find myself joining in. Everyone is so nice and welcoming. I meet the priest, Father Mulroney. He and I talk a while. I explain I was baptized but with the passing of my parents, I never did have a presence in the church and that I would like to change that. He seems genuinely interested in me and my story. He introduces me to some of the other women in the congregation and in the next few weeks, we get together for coffee or lunches or just to hang out in one of our houses. It’s nice to feel like I belong somewhere. We talk about the church and they explain a lot of the ins and outs of Catholicism so I don’t feel like such a fish out of water. They also explain how freeing and wonderful it is to use the confessional. How by confessing your sins to the Father, how He will take them away and His forgiveness is such a blessing. So, about a month after I first went into church I started the confessional. Father Mulroney was so easy to talk to. It felt so nice to just be able to finally let go and give all my worries to the Lord.

At the picnic, I just talked with anyone who I could find to talk with. They were all so nice. But after about an hour, I felt I needed to get back to my walk-about. I felt there was still something I needed to accomplish, and I had to get back to walking in order to do so. It’s then that I walked to the farmer’s market, walked right into the path of Anna…

So, it’s a year later, and yet another Sunday, another day my husband goes hunting with his friends. It’s his day to himself, away from all the obligations of husband, obligations of work, just to be on his own and in nature. This is how he likes it. I know this. I know that he lives for today. He’s confessed that it’s the sounds of nature, just being in the now that is what keeps him centered – it’s his path to Zen. Waiting for a white tail buck, he’s said that this is all he lives for these days. God knows I haven’t been a good wife to him lately, and we’ve discussed his confusion about how we got here about how we can get out of this rut. I don’t know what to tell him, how to tell him, because by all accounts things should be great with us. I have a great job I love, so does he. To someone looking at us, we’d be touted as the couple who has everything. I mean, the house is exactly what we both have always wanted. So why isn’t everything perfect like it should be, like it appears to be? He’s told me that he doesn’t believe in divorce. Should I? He’s told me that he doesn’t understand what he can do to make things better because I won’t talk with him about it. How can I talk about it? Do I really have the words to let him know? I can totally understand why Sundays are days to cherish, because secretly it’s the one day that I live for, too.

My day starts off normal. I get up and he’s already gone hunting. Whew. Time to breath. I’m so tired of thinking about my dilemma – time to put things right. I’ve been going to church first thing Sunday morning for a year now. I think it may actually be helping. I do know that I’m in a better place than I’ve ever been and it’s all because of that one day. I let God into my life, and he delivered Anna to me. I don’t know how to tell Joe all that is in my heart right now. I sit here with this pen and paper and I’m just staring at the empty pages. I am full of things I want to tell him, need to tell him. Why do the pages remain blank? So, I just bite the bullet and start writing from the heart. My truth is going to affect him so much, I just need him to read the words and understand that this lie I’ve been living isn’t healthy for either of us. The truth shall set you free, right? Well, truthfully that’s all I’ve been wanting for a while now, to be free. I finish the note, set it on the counter where I know he will head to first, to see what left over dinner I’ve prepared for him. But tonight will be different, instead of a note letting him know what dinner is in the fridge for him, he will find out what’s been the problem with our marriage.

Dear Joe,

I know you’re expecting a note about what’s for dinner and instructions on heating it up, but today is not an ordinary day, Joe. I find myself sitting here having to write this note, and I have to tell you how difficult it is for me to say it, but say it I must because wheels are in motion.

I know we haven’t had a real marriage for quite some time. No one’s fault, really. We just don’t belong together. I know that now. I know you know it, too. At least I think you do, by the way we try and work things out with no real outcome.

Tonight, I am going to leave. You can have the house. It’s the least I can do. I have filed for divorce, you should get the papers to sign soon. I will be back by 11 tonight to talk with you about this at length to make sure any questions you may have get answered.

I want you to walk away from this knowing it isn’t you that brought this on. In this past year, I have learned a lot about myself. I learned that I am worthy of love, and that love came in the form of a woman. We love each other, Joe. And now that we are free to marry in the eyes of the law, that’s exactly what I plan to do. I am proposing to her tonight.

I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, it’s really not my intention. But you see, a year ago I went out on a long walk trying to find myself and as luck would have it I stumbled in on a group of people that helped me start my journey towards finding myself…finding who I want to be… a person I can truly be proud of. So, slowly throughout this year I’ve been working on getting myself to the person I need to be. I’m sorry, Joe, that this doesn’t include you.

I know we both tried, but if it’s not right – not meant to be – then we can’t force it. I hope you understand.

I wish you the best. I hope you can understand that I need to be true to myself, and in doing so am allowing you to do the same.

Please don’t hate me. I do love you, just not in the way a woman should love her husband. So, there you have it. I know you’ve been asking what is wrong with our marriage, and I finally had the courage to let you know.

Tilly

That was so difficult to write, but yet so freeing and now I feel a huge weight lift off of me. I feel more light letting itself into my life. I can’t help but love today, it’s still the one day of the week I allow myself to daydream, to start picturing myself the way I want my life to be. Today is extra special, because today all my dreams are starting to feel more like reality. I don’t know how this is all going to go, but I do know the direction I want my life to go, and who I want to spend it with. Today is so full of light, so full of hope, and I cannot keep myself from smiling the smile of a person who knows they are on the cusp of the best that life can be, and all because one day I took a long walk to find myself. I guess by finding love you find yourself. The light of love surely outweighs the darkness of evil and hate. I’m so happy to be on that journey to find my light, my love, my happy ever after.

OK, now time to focus on the rest of today’s tasks… First church, everyone there is so easy to talk with, but I know that if they knew my secret they may not be as forgiving. After the sermon at 9 a.m. the confessional is available. I’ve been going to confession and been letting a little come out this past year. I’ve talked about cheating on my husband, but I would never tell that it was with a woman. I smile, despite myself. I always smile when I think of her.

I just met her, one normal, quiet, beautiful Spring Sunday a year ago. Maybe that’s the real reason why I have come to favor Sundays. I was in the farmer’s market, trying to decide what to make for dinner. It was dinner just for me. Joe was away not just for Sunday, but was on a business trip for the week. I love when he’s away for more than just a day, it lets me play pretend. Pretending that my life is really mine. So, as I was meandering around, without any real focus on what I was doing, and with that day’s sermon ringing in my mind, I happened to look up, and there she was. I don’t know if the glow came from within her or if the sun just was perfectly situated to make her look rimmed with gold. But her beautiful red hair was being lightly tousled by a Spring breeze and there I was captivated by the whole scene. I couldn’t have set it more perfectly. I started smiling then and there, this kind of geeky, dumb-founded grin. I caught myself staring, and so I quickly looked away, Anna hadn’t seen me staring. Thank God. She was looking at the fresh fruits and veggies from this Spring harvest, and I found myself trying to garner my way nearer to her. But I lost track of where she was because I didn’t want to appear too obvious. Just as I gave up and figured this meeting would never happen, I turned to go back to another table to take a look at some flowers for the table at home, I literally turned right into her. As I started to apologize for knocking into her, I realized who it was and I just stopped talking, and again started staring. To my delight, she did too. We both quietly and awkwardly apologized but never got out of each other’s space. We remained body to body, and I could feel heat and electricity running through us both. I’m not sure who spoke first, no matter, nothing of import was spoken in the next few minutes. We both felt it, I knew we both did. At one point, I remember Anna introducing herself and me to her. It was shortly after that, we stepped apart and looked around, we didn’t even have a crowd staring at us. Maybe this wasn’t palatable to anyone else but us. How can this be??? I mean my world literally exploded with light and sparks and electricity and no one sees this? We aren’t glowing like metal being forged? I was brought out of this trance when Anna asked if I would like to have a bite to eat with her, since it was after 2:00 and she hadn’t had anything all day. I agreed and was equally hungry, but neither one of us really wanted food, as we would later realize. She said that she’d finish her purchase at the farmer’s market, and that she would make us a late lunch at her house. As soon as I said that I would love to, I felt a hunger in me that I haven’t had in years, maybe ever. I was going to be alone with her, alone in her house. I actually tingled, me…, I tingled. I thought I’d never feel that kind of longing again. And it was for this woman I just met, such a beautiful name… Anna.

Anna’s house was small, and quaint, and perfect. It was decorated just like I’d expect. Looking and knowing Anna for just a few minutes you could see that she was very down to earth, laid back, and had an inner hippie. I loved how her house felt like home as soon as I stepped in. As soon as we got in the house, we headed to the kitchen. She asked if I could cut up some carrots and celery for the salad while she put together some sandwiches. So, I was set on my task. Chopping, I’m a great cook, but you’d never had known it from how I was chopping. My mind kept wandering, my body feeling her so near me. I went to rinse off the knife since I was done cutting the veggies, so I could put it in the sink. As I did, Anna had been walking behind me, so when I turned back around to toss the veggies together with the lettuce, we ran into each other again. This time the electricity was so forceful, and all I could do was stare at Anna’s lips as her face was so close. Then up to her eyes, and I saw the heat in her eyes, reflecting the heat I was feeling. As she leans in to kiss me, I somehow was able to drop the knife and the chopped veggies on the counter, some dropping to the floor. We didn’t care. All we can see and think about is how immediate our need is. Then we kiss. That kiss was the best kiss of my life. It starts off slow and calm, with a little exploring. And then it gets a little deeper, a little more insistent. As the electricity explodes in and through us, the kiss just becomes its own life force. Our bodies are so close, pressing tightly together the heat between us is inescapable. Our hands can’t find enough to explore, ever so slow, ever so gentle, with a need to know every inch of each other. We had all night and we used that time to learn each other’s likes and needs. That was the first time I had ever been with a woman. But this felt right. This felt like I wanted to feel for the rest of my life. That night I slept over Anna’s house. We talked about everything. About who she was, her beliefs, her life’s dreams; and I talked about mine. I told her about Joe and that I didn’t know what had been wrong with us until I met her. She seemed to understand. I told her about Joe’s every Sunday get-away, and somehow it was just known that we would always have our Sunday time too.

I love her, I think I loved her from the first second I saw her at the Farmer’s Market.

My reality is hard to forget, always lurking right under the surface. The truth is, I am an heiress and most people don’t know how to handle that kind of information so I usually don’t let anyone in on that. I’ve never really had to explain it to any friends we’ve made along the way. Uncle Roger no longer comes into my life, so I don’t have to worry about him awkwardly bringing it up. I explained to him that I would make sure he’d get no “allowance” if he did. I don’t live like an heiress. My husband came from money and we can afford anything we want from that and from both of our salaries. I’m not used to the money that I have, because I grew up without any real money up, thanks to my uncle. So, that inheritance is easily forgotten and hidden. Anna doesn’t even know that I have an inheritance. Knowing her as I do, I don’t think it will affect our relationship but I never can tell. I’ve had friends in school when I was growing up that would pretend to like me until they realized I didn’t have access to any of the money then. It was a hard lesson to learn, but not as difficult as the ones Uncle Roger taught. But the lesson happened to be the same, life isn’t fair.

I got used to living with very little money, especially since my Uncle Roger made sure he got the majority of the monthly amounts my parents allotted for my upbringing. My parents died when I was almost 2. I inherited everything, except for the living expenses that were given to Uncle Roger as long as I was living with him. He was given a pittance, his word not mine. Something he never let me live down. My parents were rich, old family money rich. My father’s family started the local business college and they are still running it. My mother and my uncle were very close and he lived in their house with them. Well, in actuality, he lived in his own house on the other side of their property. He lived there for free and their sibling closeness seemed to only get closer. They were born 13 months apart, and so they were always by each other’s side growing up and were mistaken for twins a lot.

It was in their will that he would get a monthly stipend to pay for both his and my living expenses, or as he saw it “allowance”. So, he would milk it for all he could and give to me the bare minimum. He said that it was the price I had to pay in order to earn my inheritance. Uncle Roger tried to say that if I knew what it was like to live without money, then I would appreciate the time when I actually had it. But when he was drinking, he’d let things slip now and then. That’s when he was the worst, drunk. He would come into my room, looking completely demented and wake me up in the middle of the night. He She would ask me things like “do you know that life isn’t fair?” I wouldn’t know how to answer, so I would just sit there. He would get mad because I was always quiet whenever he asked me questions like this. He would then start destroying things in my room, telling me the whole time that this was him proving how unfair life was. He said that in the morning I would see all the broken toys, or ruined clothes or stains on the carpet and I would know how unfair. On one of his tirades he told me that the real reason why he was forcing me to live like I had no real money. It was because he believed to his core that he should have gotten more from my parents. That he hated knowing that I was an ungrateful brat who would never know the sacrifices he was making for me. That the money was just rotting away in that bank, that he needed it. That since he couldn’t get his hands on that money, then he would use the monthly allowance for me sparingly so that he would be able to use the remainder to get what he deserved. He said he was making life as fair as he could by doing that. Fair for him.

Anyway, enough time spent down memory lane. Today is the most important day of my life and I have to get ready. First church, I felt liberated. This is the first time I was actually looking forward to confessional. I finally told the priest that I was no longer going to be committing adultery, that I now knew the path I wanted to take and it meant that I would leave my marriage in order to finally be the woman I was meant to be. I knew that the church didn’t really believe in divorce, but it’s better than adultery, right? Anyway, I felt on fire, I was able to make this part of my reality, no longer just a part of my dreams. This was the first step, letting someone real know. Letting the priest in on my plan, I told him that I had written the note to my husband, was planning on talking with him after I got home that night. That I was going to let my lover know that we would be able to get married and I would feel righteous and that my life would be seen as good, now that I was able to live better in the eyes of the Lord.

Then I make my way to the farmer’s market. There’s that smile again. I didn’t see Anna yet today, I knew if I did I wouldn’t be able to contain my excitement. The best way to get this done and on track is to just meet her at our special place. I knew I wanted to make a picnic dinner for us. Joe wasn’t due back until at least 10 p.m. so why not take Anna into our secret place right in the woods off the park. This isn’t the first time we would enjoy the beautiful weather, and the clearing about 10 yards away from the walking trail. You’d never know it was there, unless you just happened to go into the brush beside the walking trail. In fact I didn’t know it was there. Anna found it when she was walking her dog one day. I remember how excited she was when we talked the next time we saw each other after she found it. I know she’s tired of having to hide what we have, I agree. So that’s why she was so excited. Because now we could actually be outside with each other but still allow the secret to live. When we went there the following Sunday with a picnic lunch, I agreed that she had found the perfect spot. We only allow ourselves to go there once or twice a month. We want it to still remain our special place. We are celebrating our anniversary today. One year ago we met and set a course that has lifted us both into a brighter, lighter, more fulfilling life; and we have a lot to be celebrating. There’s that smile again. If anyone were watching me they’d truly know I was up to something just by these crazy, stupid grins that keep lighting up my face. I blush. I know that if someone were truly watching me, there’d be a lot more things they’d know about me. Things I need to come clean about, and soon.

I have one true love in my life, and she is on her way. Anna and I are not just secret lovers, she’s someone I want to marry. Gay marriage was recently approved, so wouldn’t that be wonderful? It’s not marriage I am opposed to. I just can’t see myself living someone else’s idea of a happy marriage, with a person that was deemed good enough to get me where I needed to go when I needed to get there. I wish there was a way to live my life for me, I go back to this fervent wish. A wish I wish in almost every private moment I have.

That’s what I want to tell Anna about. I’ve come to the decision that I am leaving my husband. I am also going to tell her about my inheritance. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’ve already seen my attorney. I’ve changed my will to no longer have Joe as my beneficiary. He’ll get something, it’s the least I can do. I mean I am living a lie with him, he shouldn’t have to live with that. I know I’ve done him wrong. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man, he really is. I didn’t think they existed, thought they were less common than a winged unicorn in this world. Up until him, the only real measure of a man that I had was my Uncle Roger. Mean Uncle Roger. I thought all men were like that: Normal on the outside, cruel and demented on the inside. So, when I married Joe, only to get away from mean old Uncle Roger, I didn’t care if I hurt Joe in the end. It’s what all men deserved, right?

Even though Joe didn’t know about my inheritance until I married him, I didn’t want that with Anna. But, Uncle Roger made it so that I didn’t even want the money, it wasn’t worth the cost he made me pay. How do you describe the cruelty that Uncle Roger did to me. To explain how, whenever the money came up, it was the worst times of my life. How can the money bring with it anything but those horrible times. But I know Anna would understand, she’s helped me see the real me in this last year. I know that with her by my side, we will be able to exorcise my demons once and for all.

Today is the day that I tell Anna. I will let her know that as of Friday, she’s my primary beneficiary. Both on my life insurance, as well as my inheritance. I am so afraid she may get mad. She’s always so big on the truth, no lies. This can be considered a big lie. I hope she understands why I did it. Why I omitted this fact. Why it has taken me so long to allow myself to be happy, to want to truly live. She has made me realize how wonderful life can be. So, I’m here in the farmer’s market, picking out some fruits and veggies so that we can have a picnic at our spot.

I left her a message on her cell once I got to our secret place:

“A, I’m waiting at our secret spot. We have lots to celebrate today, and I have made a beautiful picnic for us. Please come soon, I’m waiting. Love you, T”

I can’t wait to let her in on what our life will be like. That we will be able to do anything we want, and that what I want is for her to be my wife. We’ve fantasized about it together a few times, I hope she meant it. I know I did. I’m so scared right now. Scared that now that I’ve finally allowed myself to truly let myself be happy, to know that it’s within my reach, that she will reject me.

I hear the rustling of the bushes a few yards away, I hear footsteps, I feel woozy, kind of hard to breath, I’m so nervous. I turn and I see Anna, she’s so very beautiful, just like the day I met her. Then I hear her gasp as I fall down onto the blanket I just got done laying out. I see black, feel cold, and then I feel nothing.

Anna tries her hardest to revive me. I see her the whole time, I want to scream out to her that I love her and that I am trying to come back to her, but then I know that will never happen. I’m dead now, and she’s all alone without me. I see her lay next to me, covers us both with the blankets and she just lies there. Hours go by, it’s almost sunset. She knows she needs to get someone, I keep trying to let her know she needs to get someone. She’s just lying there, crying and weeping. A few times I hear her whisper my name, she whispers how much she loves me. She tries to get me to come back to her, and when she finally realizes she cannot, she just lies there with me some more. The police find her there with me, after my husband comes home to find my note and he can’t get in touch with me. I did tell him that I would be home sometime around 11 to talk it over and to pack some stuff so that I could start my new life. So, when 11:00 came and went, and then midnight, and then it was approaching on 1 a.m., Joe realized something was very wrong. I may have left him a note leaving him, but he also knew that I wouldn’t let him wait like that, worry him like that. I was a responsible person, I would have at the very least texted him to let him know there was a change of plans. He was right, of course, I would have if I could.

When the police found us, Anna was completely unraveled, she wasn’t making sense. It took several months fort the police to figure out I wasn’t murdered by either Anna or Joe. At first they thought Anna had killed me. They checked the food to see if it was poisoned or if I was allergic to any ingredient. It wasn’t, and it could be proved that I had bought all the food and beverages that were at our spot. It didn’t help that they found out, before she did I might add, that she was my primary beneficiary of a huge amount of money. I saw her cry and scream at this one, in the privacy of her room. She wasn’t mad, not at me anyway, she was mad at the world. She kept saying that she’d rather have me than the money. That if there was any way she could give the money to get me back, she’d gladly do it. She felt it was tainted money, was hard for her to use it, she was so much like me. I cried when I saw this unfold before me. I finally found love, saw it in her eyes, felt it in her tears, heard it in her screams. I knew what love was, I felt what love was, and I enjoyed the knowledge that I had finally found it. It was bitter sweet that I had to be dead to know that I had been able to obtain the love I had been longing for my whole life. But in some weird way, it was just as satisfying. I tried to make Anna feel better, try to comfort her, to make her feel my presence. There were a few times that she thought I might be there, but those times were fleeting. I saw the light in her eye, and realized that the light that I was seeking all along came from her and I count my blessings that I found her, even though our time together was cut short. I wished that life was fair, but that lesson was learned so long ago from dear old demented evil Uncle Roger.

The police then turned their sights on my husband, Joe. I knew he wasn’t to blame, not sweet Joe. As it turns out, sweet Joe had a secret of his own. It was only one Sunday a month that he actually went hunting with the guys. The other Sundays he was having his own affair. Much like me, he didn’t quite know how to tell me that he was also thinking about asking for a divorce from me. At the moment that I died, I somehow was able to see both Joe and Anna at the same time. Joe reading the note, he had come home early that night because he had something to tell me. He started reading the note, stopped midway and actually sighed… a relaxed, calm, relieved sigh. I smiled, because I realized he wasn’t hurt as I had feared, he was ok with my decision. He talked back at the note, as though he were practicing his speech for when I got home, but I never would, would I? HHe said that he wanted me to know that even though he had been so adamant about not wanting a divorce, that he had also found someone that made him feel more loved than he ever felt before. I winced when I heard him say that out loud, because I felt bad that I had made him so unhappy. He started talking about his lover, and as incredible as it sounds, it was one of his hunting buddies. Joe, it turns out, was just as happy that gay marriage was given the state’s blessing, because he wanted to move on with his life just as much as I wanted to move on with mine. Life’s not fair… just another part of the lesson, isn’t it, Uncle Roger…

Uncle Roger was looked at for about a nanosecond. It didn’t take the police long to realize that Uncle Roger didn’t have the brains to pull off something like this. Sure, they saw the evil in Uncle Roger and felt that he definitely could kill someone. But to make it so completely untraceable, that’s something they didn’t think he could manage. They were right. In fact, he had killed before. It turns out, he killed my parents thinking he would get their fortune. He was never a suspect because it had looked like just another car accident, and since Uncle Roger didn’t get a significant amount of money from their will, the police didn’t really look at him at the time. Well, not until they were looking into my murder. The police figured out that he had killed my parents and it was because of their investigation of my death. They had obtained a warrant to search his house because he was considered a strong suspect in my murder, after Joe told them about how I was treated by him when I was a child under his care. The police found his diary, where he wrote about how he killed my parents it and how if he were to do it again, he’d make sure the brat was in the car before he caused the accident.

He wrote about how while he was living in this gorgeous house and with all its amenities but having no money of his own was just too much for him and every day the wedge it was creating grew bigger. He kept wondering if they were so close, if they were so similar, how was she able to have her wishes to come true and he was just there to hang onto her coattails and just get the leftover crumbs. The wedge grew so big that he decided that he needed more money, and he could only think of one way to accomplish it. He wasn’t a grease monkey, but he knew enough about cars that he should be able to have their car have an accident and then it would all be his. My mother didn’t realize the jealousy and resentment that was building in her brother. She would fill him in on all the happenings that she and my father did, were planning on doing in the next days, etc. It made his plan so perfect. He could mess with the car the day before they had planned on taking a drive with me and he’d mess with it. Our house was on an expansive piece of land, and it was at one of the highest peaks just above the center of town and had such a beautiful view. This remoteness and the fact that the drive down was a bit harrowing, really lent itself to sabotaging their car. The only problem he was having was sabotaging it well enough to cause an accident but without it looking like something had been done to the car. He had tried several times to kill us, but each time would either end in the car just stalling/stopping or just sputtering but getting us back up to the house. Each time, my uncle would come to the rescue and look at the car, thus allowing him to fix what was wrong but saying he didn’t find anything. They would take the car to their mechanic as well, and they also would find nothing because Uncle Roger had already fixed it. It was these constant unknown issues with their car that led them to go car shopping for a new car on that fateful day. Uncle Roger knew that this was his last chance. If they bought a new car, then sabotage would be impossible. He had to get it right this time. We would all be out together, and it was already known to their mechanic that the car was acting strange, so an accident would be believable. It wouldn’t be in a new car. So, my uncle worked on that car all night long and this time he was able to work on their brakes in a way that it looked like normal wear. As luck would have it, the mechanic couldn’t remember looking at them that closely, so he couldn’t tell the police if the wear could have happened since he last looked at them. So, it was deemed an accident, thus sealing my fate… life isn’t fair.

He would write a lot about thinking back to that day and how he thought I would be in the car, that day. If I had been, all of his dreams would have come true... maybe. If he had been investigated back then, I wonder if things would have been so fair for him then. He also wrote all about his treatment of me and why he didn’t kill me after their murder. He knew that if anything happened to me while I was under his care, it would be too much of a coincidence and the police would immediately look to him. Once I moved out when I was 18, I talked to our lawyer and had them continue the stipend to my uncle, but I wrote my own Will. He wrote about how my getting a Will completed on my 18th birthday really tied his hands, so he tried to ruin my life in other ways. However, with my being older and out from under his roof, he didn’t have that many opportunities anymore. The police couldn’t prosecute for his crimes against me, but he was found guilty of the murder of my parents. He got two consecutive life terms in prison, no possibility of parole. Poor, demented, evil Uncle Roger… Life’s not fair…

But I didn’t know who killed me. I just couldn’t figure it out. I kept watching life unfold before me like a movie – the past, the day of my death, the days after my death and I just couldn’t figure it out. The information that I needed kept eluding me. Everyone’s life just kept on going on. Here I was watching the key players in my life, and I didn’t know who killed me. One thing I knew, and I don’t know how I knew, but I knew I definitely was murdered. I also knew my death was not just something that happened because of an unknown medical condition that somehow caught me unaware. I watched the police investigate my death, and I heard them say that there was evidence of something foreign in my system, something they couldn’t find in a toxicology report. But they knew something unnatural was introduced into my body, because I showed signs of a severe allergy to this unknown substance. The autopsy showed that not only was my heart in a weakened state and had the potential of suffering a heart attack, but my death was actually attributed to asphyxiation brought on by an allergic reaction. I was allergic to a lot of things, like certain fruits and vegetables like peaches, apples, and kale. These would put me into anaphylaxis shock. But there was no sign of anything even remotely like that in my system. This was premeditated murder, and I had no suspects, and neither did they. Life sure isn’t fair, even when it’s over.

31 de Maio de 2017 às 04:31 0 Denunciar Insira 0
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