Misery

13. 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂

"There were no signs of a struggle on the victim's body.", the awfully familiar sentence printed in all the reports so far. There were no marks of struggle in any of the victims' bodies. 

As the thought passed my mind I came across a small paragraph written in Oliver's journal, dating five months back.

 ' I am too scared to lose myself; I can release the lamenting me with a well-worn heart from the cages surrounding him, but this daring, courageous self would then drown down, down, down - whirlpooling around the obstreperously treacherous currents of a life full of everything save for joy. I want somebody else to come save me, salve my being from the sins it has been withholding ever since it was molded into existence.'

What were his reasons? Being invisible to his father- was that enough to trigger these suffocating emotions? Or was this just him being an angsty teen and trying to write 'deep' , 'meaningful' passages? 

I wasn't done thinking when I saw a page torn up from the journal and envelopes doodled in the very next page, thankfully intact. I wasn't done examining the page when my mind coiled around a fact, something I overlooked. Something I shouldn't ever have afforded to overlook. I checked his email but forgot about actual bloody paper mails.

I careened off toward the mailbox, sitting isolated and lonely outside the front door. It probably hadn't been opened in ages by the looks of it. The tiny, metal door screeched open in one effortless pull with a sharp jerk. A single envelope rested there, unopened , foreign to life, perhaps home to death.

I snatched the envelope with my gloves on and tore it open. Inside were a few disorganized sheets of mismatched papers. I saw Oliver's handwriting marked the sheets - dark and vivid ink running down word after word, line after line; addressed to no one. Person X it said, Anonymous.

Jewel's mailbox had the daily newspaper and Coby's had nothing inside it but puffs of sustained dust cherished over a long period of time . This, on the other hand was new and the more I thought about it , the more did it seem - deliberate. 

I sat in the living room reading off those same three pages of bewilderment and ridiculousness again and again , till my eyes strained and begged for withdrawal from the black ink crawling around the paper like a venomous viper.  

When you first reached out to me , I thought you were some kid acting out one of those weird, unfunny pranks that people seem to enjoy these days. Who would've thought I'd be here , writing this to you. I thought about it day and night , a minute wouldn't pass before my mind started running in unstoppable circles starting it all over again. I've tried doing it myself, trying a myriad of methods, in varying phases of my life; it never got me anywhere as one failure after the other finally convinced me that it wasn't possible. I just wanted to tell you that I can't bear this any longer , I need you to do this . I have thought about it and this is the conclusion I have come to. I am sure about this, completely sure. I accept your proposal . I never believed anyone would ever know, would ever understand, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you've said. It is finally happening and ignoring the tempting pleasures of life, I have known this since a long time; it is for my better and everyone else's.

Yours 

Oliver

There was no dates scribbled , no names declared, no address mentioned. This was the first page. The second and third pages were written shortly after the recipient received and replied to his first letter, the ritual of keeping everything a mystery was maintained in all the pages.

The next two pages read:

To begin with , I thank you so much for agreeing to do this and not scoffing at me after the attitude I showed you the first time we met. Haha, it is very embarrassing to think about it. I still can't quite believe this is real . Nevertheless, I wish we could talk more and meet again for a cup of  coffee (without milk for you, I'd keep that in mind) - ironic isn't it. Please do not consider this a decision made in haste, I have said this before and I'll say it again , this very thought has been brewing in my mind for ages. This decision , hence, was made after months and months of accumulated misery mounting up my being. I expect you out of everyone else to understand. My parents won't be ...

The rest of the page was blacked out with no way of predicting what might have been written . Whoever did it, blocked out each word with black ink , brushed the page with black paint as a second coating and on top of it all used a black permanent marker to hide every single line on the page. The pattern followed in the third page too , except for the last few lines which read

You saved me , you saved everyone. Always remember that an air-headed teenager, somewhere in this world , at some point of his life admired and respected you so much that he would have willingly done anything for you. You would probably regret this after seeing those alluring promises of sugar-coated admiration. Just kidding , I meant everything I said; thank you once again. 

Why were these kept in the mailbox in the first place?  They certainly didn't  appear to be hidden in there by Oliver himself , judging by the deliberate care he took in abstracting every trivial detail that might have pointed to any information about the receiver. Then, the only other person who could've allegedly left these tampered papers would be the receiver, person X. 

This person wasn't even trying to hide the fact that they , for sure, were the one who did it. As if  shamelessly mocking us all and responding back with "Yes, it was me . And what are you going to do about it?". For feisty murderers who saw a semblance of pride in their  unscrupulous deeds and relished in the pure glory of 'killing' , mercy was unattainable. 

However , the contents of the letter itself was contradictory , baffling  and dubious.

  My parents won't ... 

Your parents wouldn't what? And what was all this drivel about a proposal , about him accepting an offer? Where were the letters that person X sent back? 

It struck me like a blinding beam of sunlight melting off my skin and bones. The forensic investigators were present here way earlier than I arrived. They started their job the day before yesterday and finished off early in the morning today. Hence, I was allowed to carry out my private investigations after they left.

I had a talk with them , noting down details after details of the kid's brutal passing. They said that they hadn't found any evidence suggesting to the killer apart from the note and had checked every nook and corner , including the mail box. I forgot the fact that they checked it too. 

I stood up with a jolt . Was someone there sneering beyond the doors? 

This-  it wasn't as if I never considered it a possibility; I just thought I was reading too much into it. I was about to feed this onto Althea's head shortly after the Coby Dilian situation but thought better of it . I was merely taking my chances but what if the homicides carried out were camouflages for a mass suicide, fabricated opaque curtains to hide everything else going on behind it. In the name of murder were these actually...

The ambience of solitude which enveloped my body the entire day started fading into thin air , abandoning its companion; even loneliness had a partner. There was some degree of comfort in solitude, in fact I never found it petrifying . 

It was only when it evaporated out and you realized too late that maybe you weren't as lonely as you thought you were ,only then did fear finally materialize.