I'll See You Soon

I’ll see you soon.

Thirteen letters. Four words. Waiting in the mailbox. No name. Just her address on an envelope holding a thin piece of paper. Small, curly black letters scratched into the middle of the whiteness. While many curiosities of the letter fought for attention in her mind, one, perhaps not so important, stood out. Who writes letters by hand?

Who wrote this? Why is this in my mailbox? Or even, What the heck? Would have been better questions asked than the one Lily chose. But alas, being still young and somewhat unconcerned about matters not directly related to her, Lily took only a half moment to examine the writing. When it was decided she did not recognize the hand in which it was written, it was placed on the kitchen table along with her keys and the other junk mail to be forgotten.

I’ll see you soon.

Johnathan exercised more caution when his letter arrived, but not by much. He was confused. Understandably so. His first question — “What?”— was a good one. Quite logical given the circumstances. Johnathan, being ex-military, stared at the loop of the letters, the slight bleeding of black ink. He was becoming distraught. Alarm bells started to sound. Past missions came to the forefront of his mind. Everyone he wronged. Everyone who could have a vendetta against him. “Who sent this?” would have been his next question but it never fully formed as the laughter of Sean Dawson, the punk kid from two doors down, hit his ears. “Figures,” he mumbled. Alarms bells went silence, and Johnathan walked back into his house and laid down; an effort to calm his too-fast beating heart.

I’ll see you soon.

The last letter arrived at 776 Harrison Street. The mailman slid it through the letter hole. It landed on top of what seemed to be weeks’ worth of mail. The letter teetered at the top a second, not sure if it was going to stay put. Then ever so slowly, it fell forward. It slid down the mail pile, gaining enough momentum to push it all the way across a dark wooden floor to where it came to a stop at the heel of the third recipient’s foot. Never to be read.

The last letter was sent first. But due to an unforeseen error in the separating room of the post office, the letter was sorted into the wrong bin and thus sent to the wrong address. The letter traveled about for several weeks; all the while Miriam continued on in her normal life routine. She went to work, she went out with friends, and she went home. Over and over again. She had no cause for worry. But of course, she never received her letter. For by the time it had arrived it was three days too late. He had already come.

Lily and Johnathan were mirrors of each other the night Miriam’s death was covered on the news. “Local High School Teacher, Miriam Tyler, Found Dead in Her Home.” Oh my God, they both thought. Hands pressed over their mouths, eyes wide in shock. The report took place outside of Miriam’s house. Yellow caution tape blocked off the entrance. Police cars dressed the reporter in red and blue lights. “Please note that the following video footage may be disturbing to some viewers.”

Body now removed; the camera crew showed the crime scene. They roamed the house as they thought the killer did. Starting outside, half a footprint in the dirt. “No signs of forced entry.” The killer had come in through the back door. Through the kitchen, a knife missing from the set. It happened by the stairs.

Lily and Johnathan had both stood up by then, turned away from their television screens to find their phones in different rooms. They missed when the camera crew zoomed out to show the room in full. Mail piling up by the front door, a pool of blood blurred out for viewers, and there in the corner of the screen, the small white envelope with black, swirly letters that had come to rest by the victim’s heel.

If only Lily or Johnathan saw it. Perhaps it would have raised suspicion. Lily might have rummaged through the mail on her table, searching for the letter so similar to the one on the news. Johnathan might have dug through his trash, hoping that to God the size and the scribe was just a coincidence. But Lily was busy calling Johnathan and Johnathan was busy calling Miriam’s parents.

Lily got a busy signal. She tried again. And then again. Each time she was greeted by the beeping of a line in use. She hung up the phone, a loud sigh of frustration coming out of her. She understood of course. His ex-girlfriend had been murdered. He had other people to call besides her. She set her phone back down. She’d wait for him to call back. And he did call back, but Lily wasn’t able to answer. For in the moment when she sighed so loudly, the lock on her front door broke. She didn’t hear him come in.

Johnathan tried to call Lily again. The phone rang and rang, but she did not answer. He too sighed loudly, but death would not find him tonight. He reasoned she had probably gone to bed. It was late after all. He would see her soon enough.

Johnathan knocked on the front door. He prepared himself for this on the drive. He’d express how sorry he was for their loss. Tell them what a wonderful person Miriam was. When the door opened, Miriam’s father, pulled him into a hug and then welcomed him inside.

The kitchen housed the only family Miriam had. Her mother, Deb, her father, Frank, and her husband, Caleb, made ex by Johnathan. 

“Caleb, I—” Caleb held up a hand. “Not here, Johnathan. Not now.”

Johnathan nodded.

“I have to get going though,” Caleb said standing up. “Deb, I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you, Caleb.”

“Frank, it was nice to see you again. I wish the circumstances were different.”

“Me too, son. Me too.”

“And Johnathan… I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m sorry?”

Johnathan knew there was something familiar about the words. Only he thought it was because he had heard them somewhere recently, not read them on a small, white letter.

He tried to think back. Who was it that said that? Was it someone from work? A show, maybe? Lily?

“At the funeral.” Caleb said.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll see you there,” he said still trying to figure out why the words were so familiar, but he couldn’t recall and therefore, let the thought drop.

It wasn’t Johnathan who found Lily dead, rather, it was her mother. She wanted to stop by; see her daughter. Take her to lunch, possibly plan a day to go shopping. She wanted to pick out clothes with her daughter in a few days time, but instead she had to pick out her casket.

The funeral was in session. Everyone dressed in their best shade of black. The preacher droned on about Lily as if he knew her personally. It took all of Johnathan’s strength to stay seated with his mouth shut, but what he wanted to do was stand up and shout at the preacher. Pull him by the collar of his shirt demand he tell him something about Lily that wasn't written down in his notes.

“Lillian Evangeline Carter was a beautiful soul tragically taken from us,” he said.

Us.

Johnathan wanted to hit him. 

He hated it all. He hated the preacher, he hated the black everyone wore, he hated the sniffling and the weeping and the crying, and most of all he hated that Lily was dead. Murdered in her own living room.

“Do not shed tears for me, for I am in a better place—”

Johnathan couldn’t take it anymore. He would lose his mind if he stayed any longer. He stood up from his place in the front row and as calmly as he could, he walked out.

He sat on the bottom steps outside of the church. No tears fell from his eyes. He was lost in thought. Thoughts of Lily; thoughts of who killed her. He only knew he was no longer alone when he felt someone sit down beside him.

“You okay?”

Caleb.

It took a moment for Johnathan to answer, but eventually he said, “Yeah. Yes. I just needed some air.” 

“Ah.”

They were both silent for a moment and then— “You know, I used to come sit on these very steps after Miriam told me she was leaving me for you.”

Johnathan didn’t say anything. What could he say?

Caleb continued. “I liked it here. It was quiet, never anyone around. I could think clearly. Rationally.”

The last word was strained. Like it was caught in Caleb’s throat. Johnathan shifted.

“I wanted to get at back you. At Miriam. I wanted to make you suffer how I suffered. You took the love of my life away from me." His words were unhinged.

Johnathan looked at Caleb, slightly weary. He looked as if his mind was far away. "How could I do anything but the same to you?”

The realization hit Johnathan a little too late. For by the time he had stood up a knife was already wedged deep into his abdomen. He looked at Caleb, at his blank expression, at his too clear eyes.

“You—" Johnathan struggled for the words. “You killed—” He couldn't comprehend it. He grabbed hold of Caleb’s shoulder to steady himself. “You killed her.”

“I did warn you. All three of you. Didn’t you get my letter?”

It was then that Johnathan finally understood the familiarity of Caleb’s words. I’ll see you soon. They were the curly, black words written on the letter. Four words; thirteen letters that he blamed too quickly on Sean Dawson.

Caleb pulled the knife out and slowly helped Johnathan lay down.

"Why Mir—” blood was coming from Johnathan’s mouth now. He coughed. It sprayed onto the steps. “Why Miriam?”

“Why Miriam?” he repeated. “Is it not obvious? She started it all. And in turn had to be the first to go.”

Caleb crouched down next to Johnathan. “And Lily was after Miriam. It was all planned so that you could sit in the grief of losing something you love.”

“And then came you.” Caleb looked Johnathan over. From his head to his bloodied dress shirt to his toes. He looked him over as one would an insect—irrelevant and small.

Johnathan wanted to curse at him. He had several curses forming in his mind. He tried to move his lips, form the correct shapes with his mouth, but life was almost completely drained out of him.

Caleb smiled. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said standing back up. “I have a funeral to get back to.”

Johnathan watched as Caleb walked into the church. He waited until his frame could no longer be seen from where he lay on the bottom of the steps. And then he closed his eyes forever.