Anything For You

I was thinking about you again today, Miranda.

Look at me, still coming here and talking to you like you can hear me. You know I never believed in any of that afterlife, spiritual stuff. Hell, I still don’t believe it. Makes even less sense that I come here, doesn’t it?

I know you believed in it. And you tried your damned hardest to get me to believe it, too. Whatever you were into that month. Tarot, zodiac, Buddha, Christ, crystals- all the same crap to me. But I could tell you really were trying to find your way. I know I gave you a hard time about it when you were alive. None of it kept you from this. You know, maybe that’s why I’m here talking to nobody. One more gesture in good faith. Just for you. Just in case.

Well, I thought you should know, if you’re still hanging around somewhere, that I still think about you. And I still love you. I don’t miss you every day anymore, though. I guess most days I’m doing okay. Jane, too. I know she stopped visiting after the wedding, but I promise she didn’t forget about you. She’s just busy, is all. Got a good job at that school the two of you wanted to work at. Picked a house for us. She’s even talking about having a baby soon. Can you believe that, Miranda? Jane as a mother? We’ll see if it happens. I don’t know. That one feels like it was supposed to be our milestone. I always thought you’d be the one having our kids. Not, you know, dead in the ground like this. Jesus.

I’m sorry Miranda.

I think I gotta go.

**

I didn’t think I’d be back again so soon, Miranda. It was, what, a couple years in between our last couple visits? And now I’m back twice in one week?

But Jane just told me something and I needed to be here. I can’t explain it. If you were here, you’d open that mouth of yours and say exactly what I was feeling, as if you were reading my mind. No, as if you were part of my mind. I always loved that about you, even if I pretended sometimes I didn’t. And now I just feel all sorts of jumbled up, and scared, and angry, and Jane’s no help. I think she tries but she doesn’t quite get it. And I can tell she gets frustrated with me when I can’t tell her exactly what I’m feeling. You were never like that.

Anyways, she said they’re going to cover your case on this podcast she’s been listening to. When you died, Jane got real deep into the true crime shit. I’m talking documentaries, books, podcasts, movies, everything. She devoured that shit. I guess it was her way of dealing with everything. Like if she surrounded herself with enough horror, what happened to you wouldn’t seem so bad. Like she could find somebody with a similar story, a similar stroke of bad luck, and breathe again because it wasn’t just you. Because this sort of thing just happens to plenty of people. And maybe if she read enough, watched enough, listened enough, the details of your story would become all twisted up in everyone else’s stories. Miranda who? Oh, I listened to that one. Real messed up, wasn’t it? Poor girl. And they never caught the bastard. She can be a bystander, an observer. Not the best friend. Not the girl who was so wracked with grief she barely ate for months after they found you. I think she’s using all this to run away. But what do I know, Miranda?

I suppose I don’t have that much room to talk. I was so broken when you died. I’m glad you weren’t around to see me. You always told me it was okay to cry, it was okay to feel things, but damn am I thankful you didn’t see my ass blubbering and snot nosed after the fact. Thank God you didn’t have to see that. But you know, at least I didn’t try to pretend you didn’t even exist. I mean, my mom was pretty upset when she heard about me and Jane getting engaged. She called me and yelled at me for three hours about not marrying you like some "I have a dead fiancee" rebound. I didn’t know how to tell her Jane and I needed each other. It seemed like the only way to keep a part of you alive.

So I guess the podcast people want to interview me. They’ve seen all the footage and read up on the trial so I’m not sure what else they want from me. Maybe they think I did it. Jesus Christ, Miranda, those sick freaks have no idea what I went through when I lost you. We thought moving away would help but Jane says lots of people still think I had something to do with it. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? We had to move. It was too hard to live in that town, knowing you died there, and knowing folks we grew up with thought I killed you. Like hell.

I’m sorry. I’m trying so hard not to be upset. I’m sorry. If it existed, would your spirit be offended right now? I’m sorry. Sorry.

**

Can you believe it, Miranda? Jane didn’t want me to do the interview.

We had a really big fight about it, but the more and more I thought about it the more and more I wanted to talk to them. I could be more honest than I ever was. More real. She tried talking me out of it. Said I'd only make myself look worse- but I don't know how that's even possible. I told her I didn't care how it made me look. Maybe it would help.

I hope this makes you smile, but it almost felt like I was channeling you during a few moments. I told them about how we met, how I called you “bun buns” because of how you always wore your hair. I told them about how you’d asked me to come over that night but Jon and I- remember him? He always thought you were cute, too- anyways, I told you I couldn’t because we were gonna go to the batting cages for a while and I’d pick you up after. Then next thing I know Jane was calling me because she couldn’t get a hold of you and thought we were together, and then I tried calling you, and then the two of us went to your apartment and your car wasn’t there but the door was wide open. I told them, you know, all the details they already knew. But I guess it was different hearing it from me. And you know what? They didn’t even ask me if I’d done it. They didn’t even mention the trial.

Jane didn’t talk to me for like a week after that. She made me listen to the podcast with her and just sat there, glaring at me. What’s her problem, anyways? Jealous they wanted the fiancé and not the best friend? Upset because talking about it means it actually happened? I don’t know. But after that she started to calm down again and you know, thaw out that cold shoulder. Then she put away all her true crime stuff. She has a bunch of books in a box ready to donate up in the attic. Before I came out here she asked me to take it and some other crap to Goodwill next week. Honestly good riddance. It might have helped her but every time she watched a damn TV show I swear I saw your body. You never deserved that.

I told them that too, Miranda. I said you were the kindest, gentlest woman on this planet. And the most beautiful. And I told them I swear to God if I ever find out who did this to you I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands. It’s the least I can do for you. I'd do anything for you.

I’m glad I came out here again. I always feel better after talking to you, ya know.

**

Jesus Christ.

Jesus, Jesus Jesus.

Miranda, I---!

I know who did it. I figured it out and I know and I’m so fucking sorry. I promise I’m going to make things right. You mark my words, honey. I’m going to make it right. I’m so sorry.

**

I don’t know when I’m going to be able to visit you again, Miranda.

Because I didn’t kill you, but I did kill Jane.

Do you know what it felt to feel the life drain out of her? To see the fear in her eyes? Because it was actually terrifying. I'm probably a bad person, Miranda. Good people don't kill people. They definitely don't enjoy it. And you know what? I loved her too. We were planning our lives together. We grieved together. We healed together. She wasn't who I thought she was. But that person didn't even exist. She made her up so she could get away with what she did to you. That bitch. She thought she’d never get caught. And she almost didn’t. I guess you knew all that already, right?

Remember I told you she asked me to take that stuff for donations? Well, I went up to the attic and I found that box of books, and a few other things, and then her old lock box. Only I noticed the lock was kinda rusted and bent up. Probably not the best thing to do if someone trusts you but curiosity got the best of me and I broke the lock. I figured she was keeping some sappy love notes from me, or ex boyfriends, or maybe a middle school diary or some shit like that. Hell, I don’t really know what I was expecting, but what was actually in there. . . God, Miranda, it was awful.

She had pictures of you. Tons of them. They started out normal enough- you and Jane drinking at a party, you and me making out at that same party. You sleeping in the back of the car on that road trip we took one summer. Selfies printed off your social media. And then they got weirder. You and me through a window. You from the back, looking over your shoulder. Sleeping in Jane’s bed, her middle finger in the frame. And then—

God I want to puke.

She had pictures of your body. Just dead, I’m guessing, because in some of them you almost looked like you were sleeping. Or playing some dumb prank with Jane. Then the pictures of your body in pieces- Christ, Miranda, I can’t go on. I’m so fucking sorry for you.

But I fixed it, baby, because I studied those pictures. I hated doing it but I needed to get it right. An eye for an eye, right? I made the same cuts, the same marks, the same burns. You know, it probably even happened pretty close to where she killed you, too. Almost exactly.

You should have seen her at the end. She had no idea what was coming when she got in that car. I handed her the pictures and asked her to explain, but she just sat there all silent like an idiot. Grinning like the devil she was. Until we got to where I wanted to take her.

Then she started talking, begging me not to do this. Telling me it was a mistake. Telling me that you deserved to die. And for what? Did she ever tell you why she was doing it, or were you completely terrified and ignorant of what was even going on? Did she sit there all calm and collected while you begged and pleaded and cried for your life? Or did she at least have mercy on you and make it quick, saving the real horror for later?

Well, I got the story out of her. She was jealous of you. Really jealous, Miranda. Because you had me. This was all because she wanted me and you were in the way! Jesus Christ, she killed the love of my life, her best friend, because she couldn’t accept that we would never be together. And when you were gone, she played the role so damn perfectly. I thought she was grieving, Miranda. Nobody ever questioned it.

What a psychopath, huh?

I sent the photos in as an anonymous tip after it was all done. That bitch already got her justice, but now at least the world can know what really happened. And I’m sure they’ll know she got what she deserved, too.

I don’t think I got rid of her as neatly as she did you, though. And I think someone saw me driving away. And when she’s not at school Monday, somebody’s going to suspect something. I’ll be long gone by then- I don’t want to go to prison- so I don’t think I’ll be able to come see you in a very long time. Maybe not even ever again.

I still love you, Miranda, even if this is goodbye for real this time.

And I’d still do anything for you.

Anything.