Searching

        I have a secret.

As for some secrets, they stay hidden away inside their boxes, burying themselves in the depths of your heart. The key that opens the box hides itself very thoroughly in some inaccessible place in your head, promising to never reveal itself.

But my secret proves to be much different. It haunts me, slowly creeping out of its shadowy hiding spot, threatening to release itself every day of my life.

             I need to tell somebody. I am going to tell you.

But before I tell you my secret, I must tell you a story. Not my story of course. Her story. Grace’s story. 

          I can't tell you Grace's story, not from my perspective. But I'll show you her sister's letter. Harriet's letter.

Dear Constance,

     It was two weeks before we went to Bertram’s Hotel that we found out we were going. The letter came in the mail that we had won a ridiculously improbable lottery that mom forgot she had even entered. 

            Looking back. I’m realizing it was probably him who sent us those tickets, baiting us into coming to the hotel. 

              The letter promised us the best weekend of our lives at the hotel. But not all promises can be kept. 

If only we had chosen to take the 3 o'clock train. The outcome of that weekend would've been much, much different.

So much different that maybe the weekend would've been considered wonderful. It would’ve embedded itself into my memory as something fun, instead of what it turned out to be.

I hate myself for not noticing him before. From the second mom, Grace, and I walked into the packed hotel, he was there. He leaned nonchalantly against the edge of the reception desk, scanning his surroundings. Searching...searching. I never even considered that it was my sister he was looking for. I never considered she was his next victim. 

        The next morning, we walked out of our room, and there he was again. He honestly looked completely normal to any passing person. Light blue flannel. Stained black tennis shoes. A smile plastered on his face. Sharp blue eyes that were searching...searching.

            Later that day., we went into the restaurant. I sat just two tables in front of him. It was obvious something was off. But how could I have been too blind to see it? There he sat, mellow and untroubled, with a cigar in his left hand. Little did I know his so-called careless act was a disguise, concealing his bitter soul. He raked the restaurant with his eyes. I never suspected that deep down this man was searching....searching. 

             Afterward we went to the movie theater. And if, only if I had turned my head slightly just a little bit more to the side I would’ve noticed him. 

            I would’ve noticed that he wasn’t truly watching the movie. And maybe, if I had stared long along, I would’ve seen his eyes flicker over in our direction. Searching...searching. Then, just as quickly as they flickered over, they would go back.

        But I didn’t notice any of this. Instead, I subconsciously blocked out my surroundings, focusing only on the present moment in front of me.

                And then, right before we went back to our room, we went to the hotel, Grace and I convinced Mom to let us go to the arcade. 

                Grace inserted three nickels into the pinball machine, just as he showed up, silently lurking several feet behind Grace.

              We were too immersed in the game to notice him at first. Then Grace’s attention snapped and she lost the pinball game.

            Then I noticed him. We made eye contact for the first time. They were searching...searching. Grace must’ve noticed me looking at him. “Hello,” she had said pleasantly. “How are you?” 

        He smiled but didn’t respond. If I had just focused on my breathing at that moment, I would’ve realized my breath had taken a shallow intake, and that my heart plunged just a little bit inside of my chest. Instead of figuring out what bothered me by this man, I took my sister by her elbow and dragged her to our hotel room on the fifth floor.

                         That night we heard footsteps in our room. That night, Grace was killed. 

             I know it was him. And I convinced myself that I could find him. I told myself I had to find him. I said I would do whatever it takes to heal the hole in my heart that was ripped open the night my sister was killed. That I would do anything to avenge my sister’s death.

                   But today, twenty years later, I’m no closer to the answer. 

          He’s probably not even out there. He might have even died the night Grace died, dying with his secret. But his secret won’t ever truly die. It'll still live in me.

                 And Constance, you might be wondering why I’m even telling you this. I’m writing this letter so his secret doesn’t die with me. His actions can't go unpunished. I want them to be justified. I want Grace to be justified. I can’t let his secret go unnoticed, silently, slowly fading away just as it has been for twenty ye. Soon it will be forgotten. Please Constance, don't let his secret die. Don't let Grace’s story die.

             Love, Harriet

And that’s her story. The only known proof of it's existence was that letter she wrote to her best friend. 

              Of course, Harriet is still looking for him. But she won’t ever find him. There’s an entire world to hide in, right? There’s plenty of cities- New York City, Paris, London... there are so many places to choose from.

                  Maybe even your town. Or even your house. There’s just so many hiding places. You would never even know he was there. That slight twitch in the curtain? Maybe it was him. But who am I to say he’s even still alive? Maybe Harriet was right. Maybe he died with his secret the night he killed Grace. Maybe Harriet dedicated her life to something meaningless. It would really be horrible, to have your life torn into pieces, all from the power of a secret. Maybe all of this was for nothing. But Harriet wouldn't ever be able to see any of that. Blinded by the grief of her sister's death and driven by the motive of a need to avenge her sister, she wouldn't ever be able to see that. She'll always be blind to it.

She won't ever be able to see that maybe he wasn't out there.

           But I know that’s not the case though. I know that man is still out there, looking for his next victim.

Did you forget that I have a secret too?

             I killed Grace that night in Bertram’s Hotel.

       And I will always be out in the world. Hiding. Waiting. Watching.

                   Searching...searching.