The Letter

I thought I would always remember this but, over time, it has become blurred.

I was rummaging through a drawer, I pulled out an old envelope, it was all creased and crumpled from age. I sat on the bed pulling the letter out, carefully unfolding it, reading the words that I had read many times before, but not for a long time.

A lump formed in my throat, my mind drifting back, I could still make out the scene, his face, that poor child. There was blood, lots of blood, furniture overturned, what had happened here, a cold chill ran down my spine. I don’t know what had brought me to that house that day, or why I had opened the door, in fact all the events of that day are a blur to me. What I remember most is that face, that frail scared face, that will be with me till the day I die. Of course it was all such a long time ago now, a lifetime ago, I was 11, no 12, only a child myself, it’s what inspired me to join the force, I wanted to help, wanted make things right.

Glancing down at the letter I read those lines again, the simple child’s handwriting, neat yet immature at the same time. A tear rolls down my check, that poor child, he’d be almost 30 now, I wonder how his life would have been different if it wasn’t for that day, how all our lives would have been different. Stuffing the letter back into its envelope I place it back in the drawer, closing my eyes I lay back on the bed, our whole lives would have been different.

The kettle on, the toast in, the television on, rushing around I adjust my clothing whilst trying to make breakfast.

“.......Police chiefs have announced they are reopening the case of the so called Burlington Butcher…” The room started to spin, oh good I am going to me sick, I reach the sink in time retching as I do. No I must have heard it wrong, it must my mind playing tricks on me. Crash, what was that, oh it’s only the paper, I go to pick it up, pop  there’s the toast, back to the kitchen leaving the paper, I hurriedly butter my toast and make tea, not that I feel much like it now, but can’t go to work on an empty stomach. Dashing out the door I grab the paper as I run to bus.

Sitting down, unfolding the paper, the headline We will catch the Burlington Butcher then there it is, a picture of Jack, my blood runs cold as I look at that face again, the world’s spinning, I think back to that letter.

Dear Mary,

Why didn’t you come sooner, I called for you, again and again, but you didn’t come. He saw you, he was still there when you came, watch out.

Jack

We’ll catch him, unless he gets me first.