The Letterman

Contains mentions of death, but not in detail.

November 1, 2023

This is my first entry in what I suppose you can call a journal, though it feels more like a confessional. Maybe it’s for my sanity—a selfish way to relieve myself of some of the guilt—or maybe it’s my selfless way of giving what I can to those I take away.

Either way, it’ll be where I write little notes. Words that help me remember that every face I see through my scope is a person with a history. If anything, it’ll humanize the monsters, both them as well as me. Sender and receiver, laid out to be understood by the observer.

After each homage I write, I’ll be ripping the pages out, folding them up, and tucking them under the tongues of my jobs just so they know that I acknowledge them. Just so the readers that find them will know they were people, and that I am a person.

November 7, 2023

Vincent “Viper” Langley. Tough guy, synonymous with trouble. The kind of person who breeds chaos around him. I know exactly why I’m here. He’s got debts to pay and no way out, but I can’t say I feel sorry for him—not really. The lives he’s ruined; the hands he’s shaken once too often. It’s like a dark shadow surrounding him, following him like a loyal dog.

But he deserves something, too.

Vincent: you’re known for your ferocity, your quick wit, and the trail of broken lives left in your wake. I’ve seen your photo, your cocky smirk etched so deep into your features no knife could carve it out; it speaks of moments spent winning against the odds. But odds have a way of shifting.

You fight hard and punish even harder. Most would buckle under the pressure you invite, I’ll give you that. When I take my shot, you’ll probably face it courageously, unafraid to the very end.

Goodbye, brave lion—or is it fool?

A soft farewell for a hard man. I acknowledge you.

November 15, 2023

Marvin Corbet is today’s mark. I barely knew the guy before the job, but the decisions he made in life were glaring. Issues with the law, a notorious temper, and an ever-widening circle of enemies. Many thought he was nuts. He probably was.

Am I nuts for wanting to remember this rot of a human?

Marvin: You lived like a king in the eyes of a scrappy kingdom, ruling with fists and threats. I’m a specter in this smoky world, and even I know every king should meet their end in silent dignity. But behind the bravado and the swagger lies a terrified man, so I doubt you’ll accept death like that. Snot running out your nose, I suspect you’ll beg to be left alive. Offer up any number of other lives in order to save you’re own behind.

Perhaps you’ll find peace in the next life.

A man that reigned over his life only to fall very hard. I acknowledge you.

November 23, 2023

It’s haunting how easily I can delude myself into thinking I’m justified.

Eva Moreau is a woman of allure, her life spent luring men into her web, only to devour them whole. Many want her dead for good reason. Her reputation precedes her, and her enemies don’t hesitate to pay for my services.

Yet, as I sit in my car overlooking her downtown penthouse, I hear the echoes of laughter coming from her room. I see gardens and fancy drinks, the kind of life that makes a person forget about the darkness creeping at their heels. No sign of the black widow she’s rumored to be.

Eva: You’re the kind of figure who dances on the grave of danger and comes away unscathed, or so it seems. Your charm leaves blood on your lips. But beauty fades, and lies—well, they have a way of catching up. I wonder if you’ll even realize your end is near when I pull the trigger.

But despite whatever mischief you like to incite, I also know you as the woman whose favorite way to wrap up the day is with a good cocktail. The woman who values the cat she keeps secret above all else. You love dressing up, and especially adore footwear—not for how it makes you look, but because each new shoe lets you pretend to be someone different, giving you a way to forget past lives.

Will your last thought be of a lover? A friend? Or merely another conquest?

A life that was a string of tragedies wrapped in silk. I acknowledge you.

December 4, 2023

The first name on December’s list is Paul Parker. A name that evokes images of power and ambition. He and his twin brother rose together from nothing, navigating everything together, bonded by blood and shared dreams. Lesser men watched in awe as they maneuvered for control and influence. But as the story often goes, ambition has a way of warping kinship into enmity; somewhere along the line, loyalties turned hollow.

Paul is a ruthless man, always one step ahead, yet there’s a fragility in him—the kind born from trust.

Paul: You climbed high and reached for the stars, only for your ascent to be the root of your destruction. You protected your brother with everything you had, always putting him first. You acted an older sibling in every way.

It’s a shame the only person you cared for failed to see that.

As I place a gun to your head, I want your final moments to be those of joy as you reflect on shared jokes and the bond your twin has squandered. I want you to feel like you have it all, have finally achieved your dreams. Nobody deserves the end you’ve been condemned to.

But as destiny unfolds, your bond will fade into the night like your heartbeat.

A brother betrayed by the only thing he thought he’d have forever. I acknowledge you.

December 16, 2023

Tonight, I’ll take down a woman known as “The Rose”. Turns out her real name is Jasmine. She was a missing person once upon a time, before making a name for herself in this dark underbelly. Slippery as hell. Beautiful, too. I wonder how many noticed her absence when she was younger. Or if anyone cared.

I imagine she was a little girl who laughed too loudly, a teenager who wore a brave face against a cruel world. Now she hides, though, cold and distant. I wonder what she could have been.

Jasmine: Perhaps you were once someone’s joy, a laughter that danced in the air like the first notes of a symphony. But the roses you once grew have wilted; you’ve chosen a path among the thorns. Did you know the risks you courted with every smile you cast, every heart you ensnared?

I know about the mother you were torn away from. The mother that never protected you, but that you loved anyways. I know you’re just a hurt person hurting others to protect herself. I know you love driving, hair blowing, thrilling in being on the edge of death. Thrilling in freedom.

I wonder who will mourn your passing, if there’s someone at all. Will nobody remember your absence, just as when you were a girl? Did you ultimately never manage to leave an impression?

As your eyes fall shut, I hope the soul inside you can recall the warmth of idyllic days.

A girl who’s petals have fallen, leaving her barren. I acknowledge you.

December 24, 2023, Christmas Eve

George Hayes is a father. I didn’t realize until now, after I’d scouted everything to know about him. Underground, his reputation is simply that of a man who built a dirty empire, many innocents caught in his crosshairs. But up here, he wears the mask of a family man.

The significance of ending a man like him on Christmas Eve isn’t lost on me. I can very barely see the scene through the frosted glass of his window—twinkling lights wrapping around a tree, giggles bubbling through the air, the warmth of a home filled with love. He must think he’s untouchable, sitting upon a mountain of ill-gotten gains. He must think he’s a genius, seizing so much while feigning a existence of benevolence.

Somewhere inside that house, there are children who cherish him. Two sons and three daughters. They might rush down the stairs tomorrow morning, singing at the sight of gifts beneath the tree, brimming with anticipation; late to realizing their father was lost mere hours before.

George: Your children believe in the magic of the season, unaware that the world they know is built on cracks and lies. As I drain you of your energy, I’ll also be draining them of their innocence. And for that, I am truly sorry.

Maybe through this act I can clear the way for their true freedom. Or maybe through this I have condemned them to imprisonment. I wonder whether you knew this price may one day have to be paid? Whether you ever contemplated how your pursuits would leave them?

Your absence will become the first painful lesson in their lives. And you brought that upon them, so for that, I will make you sorry.

A father whose children cannot look up to him. I acknowledge you.

January 1, 2024, New Years

By some twist of fate, I’ve found comfort in these entries I’ve written. I’m no longer just a killer, but a gravekeeper of stories. The newspapers call me The Letterman, now. I’m a vacuum—a hole in the universe that wholly consumes narratives.

And I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep leaving these letters. Because I want people to be remembered, even if they were monsters. Maybe it’s because I hope someone will remember me, and I fear that if I stop, I’ll be lost to the shadows forever.

This is my penance. This is my legacy.

This is how I acknowledge me.