suppose it doesn’t matter anymore since I’m dead.
Jan (Kerry)
I took a deep breath
and threw the diary across my bedroom.
Truthfully, I don’t
know why. It just felt like the appropriate response, and then I immediately
regretted it. I shouldn’t have been flinging around my last, final connection
to the woman who had trusted me with such heart-punching information. And what’s
worse, I had confirmation of our souls connecting, but evidently, I had come on
too strong and blown it.
This isn’t a new
revelation. I’ve heard it before—and disagree—but I had to give credence to
her feelings. Love is compromise.
Still, to this day, it
feels so…I don’t know, square-peg-round-hole to call her Jan, so I’ll just
continue referring to her as Kerry. You’ll know who I’m talking about,
regardless.
The She of All Things.
She’s Kerry to me, and
always will be.
***
Here are three
important facts I learned by reading her diary:
1) Harry DeShazo
deserved a fate much worse than time behind bars. Death wouldn’t have been
enough. I’m a wretch? Look in the mirror, Harry.
2) My arch-nemesis,
the bane of my existence, the Hatfield to my McCoy, Clarence, was her father.
You probably saw that coming before I did. My judgment was clouded. Grant me
that, at least. And I felt guilty for my animosity toward him. Poor guy.
(Strange to think that after so many months of disgust.) His wife had died of
cancer and his daughter had been murdered. My new mission, completely
contradictory to the one where I wanted to shove him into a burlap potato sack
and hurl him into the sun, would be to do whatever I could to make things right
for the man. Hard to believe? People can change their minds. That’s the
beauty of free will.
3) If Kerry had been
telling the truth, two million dollars sat buried underneath the rows of
tomatoes and green beans she’d recently planted. Two million dollars that had
been the cause of her hasty exit.
***
It may seem like that
last one shouldn’t matter. Money shouldn’t matter, not when someone so
close to you has met such an unjust end. But it did, and not in the way you
might think.
I wanted to set it on
fire.
I wanted to pile it up
in a tidy, perfunctory pyramid and douse it with lighter fluid.
I wanted to watch it
burn.
But I didn’t. A more
suitable scenario would’ve been to take every last bill, no matter the
denomination—George Washington preferred, due to the bulk—and shove it down
Harry DeShazo’s throat, making him swallow my pain so I wouldn’t have to.
I sat there for a
while, on my bed, legs crossed, daydreaming about finding him, tying him to a
chair, and then prying his mouth open with a crowbar. Then, I’d coat each
individual dollar with fiery hot sauce and force it down his horrible gullet so
that it would sear his insides, all the way down.
I checked my watch. It
was a little after three in the morning.
Knowing that sleep
wouldn’t come anytime soon, I went out to my tool shed and grabbed a shovel.
And for the first time
in a long time, I didn’t think about how Shayna would react.
CHAPTER 10
Officer Planck
“I’ll ask again,
Officer Planck, what did you find?”
“Can I get some water?
And maybe turn those lights down a little. My head is killing me.”
“Lights and water for
Officer Planck, please.”
“Thanks. That helps.”
“What did you find?”
“Let me give you a
little background first. I mean, you probably want to know why I
decided to help him, right?”
“That’s a question that
has come up, yes.”
“On the night of Miss
Oliver’s death, Steve…uh, Mr. Pendragon called me for assistance—”
“And why did he do
that, Officer Planck? Why call you first?”
“I told you already,
the guy was obsessed with me and he wanted my help because
Jan (Kerry)
I took a deep breath
and threw the diary across my bedroom.
Truthfully, I don’t
know why. It just felt like the appropriate response, and then I immediately
regretted it. I shouldn’t have been flinging around my last, final connection
to the woman who had trusted me with such heart-punching information. And what’s
worse, I had confirmation of our souls connecting, but evidently, I had come on
too strong and blown it.
This isn’t a new
revelation. I’ve heard it before—and disagree—but I had to give credence to
her feelings. Love is compromise.
Still, to this day, it
feels so…I don’t know, square-peg-round-hole to call her Jan, so I’ll just
continue referring to her as Kerry. You’ll know who I’m talking about,
regardless.
The She of All Things.
She’s Kerry to me, and
always will be.
***
Here are three
important facts I learned by reading her diary:
1) Harry DeShazo
deserved a fate much worse than time behind bars. Death wouldn’t have been
enough. I’m a wretch? Look in the mirror, Harry.
2) My arch-nemesis,
the bane of my existence, the Hatfield to my McCoy, Clarence, was her father.
You probably saw that coming before I did. My judgment was clouded. Grant me
that, at least. And I felt guilty for my animosity toward him. Poor guy.
(Strange to think that after so many months of disgust.) His wife had died of
cancer and his daughter had been murdered. My new mission, completely
contradictory to the one where I wanted to shove him into a burlap potato sack
and hurl him into the sun, would be to do whatever I could to make things right
for the man. Hard to believe? People can change their minds. That’s the
beauty of free will.
3) If Kerry had been
telling the truth, two million dollars sat buried underneath the rows of
tomatoes and green beans she’d recently planted. Two million dollars that had
been the cause of her hasty exit.
***
It may seem like that
last one shouldn’t matter. Money shouldn’t matter, not when someone so
close to you has met such an unjust end. But it did, and not in the way you
might think.
I wanted to set it on
fire.
I wanted to pile it up
in a tidy, perfunctory pyramid and douse it with lighter fluid.
I wanted to watch it
burn.
But I didn’t. A more
suitable scenario would’ve been to take every last bill, no matter the
denomination—George Washington preferred, due to the bulk—and shove it down
Harry DeShazo’s throat, making him swallow my pain so I wouldn’t have to.
I sat there for a
while, on my bed, legs crossed, daydreaming about finding him, tying him to a
chair, and then prying his mouth open with a crowbar. Then, I’d coat each
individual dollar with fiery hot sauce and force it down his horrible gullet so
that it would sear his insides, all the way down.
I checked my watch. It
was a little after three in the morning.
Knowing that sleep
wouldn’t come anytime soon, I went out to my tool shed and grabbed a shovel.
And for the first time
in a long time, I didn’t think about how Shayna would react.
CHAPTER 10
Officer Planck
“I’ll ask again,
Officer Planck, what did you find?”
“Can I get some water?
And maybe turn those lights down a little. My head is killing me.”
“Lights and water for
Officer Planck, please.”
“Thanks. That helps.”
“What did you find?”
“Let me give you a
little background first. I mean, you probably want to know why I
decided to help him, right?”
“That’s a question that
has come up, yes.”
“On the night of Miss
Oliver’s death, Steve…uh, Mr. Pendragon called me for assistance—”
“And why did he do
that, Officer Planck? Why call you first?”
“I told you already,
the guy was obsessed with me and he wanted my help because
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