Yours forever
I put the picture and the letter back into the envelope, went to my room, and called Bruce. He was all but literally at my house before I hung up the phone. Mom and Cass got home soon after he arrived. I didn’t want them to worry, so I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell them about the envelope until there was something to tell. He grudgingly agreed, and when they walked in, the TV was on and it was just Bruce hanging out with me watching television as if nothing had happened.
Mom always felt better when Bruce would hang out with me when she wasn’t home. I don’t know if it was because she thought of him as my bodyguard or a father figure. Either way, it kept her out of my hair with her constant worrying, and it gave me someone to confide in about what was going on in my life.
Mom and Cass went to bed soon after they got home, but Bruce stayed with me for a couple more hours after that. I wasn’t afraid to be alone, but it’s always nice when he stays around. I used to ask him how he was able to be here so much when he must have other cases. He says he makes time for them around me. I felt a little weird about that at first, him making me more a priority than his other cases, but now I don’t think about it. He’s here and I wouldn’t know what to do if he weren’t.
The night has been going okay, all things considered, but now Bruce is fidgety, anxious, which is freaking me out. “Bruce. What the hell. Why are you acting so weird now?” I prod him.
“I’m sorry. I just, I-I have something I want to show you, but I don’t want to upset you anymore tonight.”
To be truthful, I’m not that upset. I’m probably delusional to think that now that there is another note there will be more evidence, and more evidence means the sooner the guy will be caught and the sooner everything will go back to normal. It’s a grand delusion to say the least! “Fess up, man,” I scold him.
I think he’s leaving when he gets up and reaches for his jacket. I watch as he reaches into the inside pocket, pulling out a square piece of paper. He seems lost as he walks to me, even though it’s only a few feet. I’ll admit this is more intense than finding the envelope on the porch.
“I thought I could avoid this, but I think you should know. I hope I’m doing the right thing.” He says that last part in a hushed voice, as if to himself instead of me.
After seeing what’s in his hand, I understand why. It’s another picture. This one is of Rogan and me. It’s not a very old picture, but old enough since we haven’t seen each other in months. I look closely at the picture, taking it in. I confess it takes me longer than it probably should to process what I’m looking at.
For a moment, I forget that Bruce is still here. I forget about the picture and letter in the envelope I just found. I forget that Rogan doesn’t belong to me anymore. I’m so lost in the picture, I forget it all.
It’s Rogan and me with a backdrop of green grass and moonlight. I can’t make out many of the details, but the point comes across all the same—this was the night of our anniversary. This was our first and only night together. Now a photo, taken by a nameless, faceless, beast taints a moment so special and sacred in my thoughts.
I slam the photo down onto the coffee table and storm out the front door. I don’t know where I’m going, if I’m going anywhere; I just need air. Bruce is my shadow, not two steps behind me as I pace the front porch. I don’t understand what it all means. How long has he had that photo? Where did he get it? Who all has seen it?
That’s when the sickening awareness hits me. It was from the first letter. I remember now that there had been a picture, but I never looked at it after I read the letter and stormed off to Rogan. This was what mom saw, what Cass saw, what everyone in the police station saw—a girl losing her virginity.
I stop moving long enough to get the confirmation I need from Bruce. He has a hard time looking me in the eye while admitting that it was the picture from that first letter. How could he not have told me about this? Does he understand what’s happening in that picture, that it goes beyond a couple having sex, but a couple having sex for the first time? I don’t want to ask him.
“Thanks for showing me,” I say dryly.
“I’m so sorry, Jess. I’ve been torn about whether you should or shouldn’t see it. Whether you would or wouldn’t want to see it. I couldn’t figure out what was the right thing to do, and as time moved on and no more letters came, I figured you would never have to see it because you wouldn’t think about, I mean, you hadn’t asked about this one so I figured since you forgot about it we could just move on. I should have expected that you would get another one; maybe I was just hoping I would have caught the asshole before he could take another picture. I really am sorry. Please don’t hate me.”
I know his apology is sincere, but that does little to calm the storm brewing inside me. “How many people have seen that?” I ask him.
“Not many,” he answers vaguely.
“Humph. That many, huh?” I ask sarcastically, knowing by his tone that he’s trying to pacify me. “I think I want to lie down now. Just lock up on your way out.”
I brush past him and he lets me. I sense the unease in him, the will he’s using to not reach for me or say anything more to me, and I’m thankful for that. I take the stairs two at a time, flop face-first onto my bed, hating everything.
I hear my phone beep on my nightstand. It’s so late or early, depending, so I know it has to be Bruce; no one else would be up texting at two o’clock in the morning.
Bruce: Are you mad at me?
Me: No
Bruce: Now I know you are. You never give me one-worded answers. Talk to me. Please.
Me: I’m not sure what you want me to say. Something private has been seen by my family, a whole station full of cops, and you. That is probably the worst of it. I get why you didn’t show me. I forgot and you wanted me to keep on forgetting, but still, this is a big deal. I should have known.
Bruce: You’re absolutely right, I should have told you. It’s just that I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than you were already hurting by not seeing Rogan anymore. I thought this would be too much. When you didn’t ask about it after that first day, I waited for days after, wondering if you would remember it and want to see it, but when you didn’t, I was so relieved, thinking it was something I could protect you from. Something you would never have to know about. And don’t think the whole station saw it. I wasn’t lying when I said not many.
Me: I guess that’s something.
Bruce: I am so sorry.
Me: I know. I’m tired so I’ll ttyl. Thanks for coming over tonight.
Bruce: I will always do anything I can to be there for you.
Fast forward five days and this is where I am. It’s a half day of school today for a teacher conference or something, I don’t know. I just know that when warmer weather hits there are more and more half days than we have all winter. I know they have to have us come at least half a day so they can be paid the school funding, but still, it’s pretty funny. I guess even teachers don’t want to be in school all day. Anyway, this seemed like a good day to take off.
This week has been harder than I thought it would be. Not telling mom and Cass about the letter has been wearing at times, but I know it’s for the best right now. Bruce and I are talking again, but it’s a little weird to think about the picture and the fact that he, and so many other people, saw it. I try not to dwell on that.
I haven’t been sleeping much. I wake up throughout the night thinking someone is in my room with me. It was warm the other day, so mom opened some windows to get fresh air. When she tried to open mine, I snapped. Seeing as how I hadn’t slept in forever it seemed, I didn’t have much energy to come up with a good lie as to why I wanted to stay in a stifling room, so I told her to leave me alone, that I was perfectly capable of opening my own window if I wanted to. I’m figuring she passed it off as PMS.
Mom is at work. Cass went to her morning classes because she wanted to, because she has friends, because she’s normal and like
s her life. I used to be like that. People used to like being around me, and I them, but now I’m an outsider, a nobody, a shadow following those living and breathing around me, those who don’t know how good they have it.
It’s safe to say, I don’t feel much like myself these days. I’m a caged animal, ready to attack. I feel crazy most of the time, not knowing what’s real, always on the edge of something, not knowing what that something is or if I want to jump to find out. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe I’m not real.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
This wouldn’t be so bad if I had Rogan; but I don’t have Rogan. I have no one.
I should stop wallowing. This is the point where most people would say, “Others have it worse than you.” Do they really? Does it even matter if they do? This isn’t exactly a gumdrops and Skittles kind of deal I’ve been dealt. This sucks, and I’ll wallow if I want to wallow.
Things can’t get much worse than they are right now.
My phone is beeping; must be Bruce.
Meg: Have you heard?
Meg? Why is she texting me? We haven’t spoken in months. She used to be one of my best friends in case you’re curious.
Me: I guess not, what’s up?
Meg: You should probably turn on the news. I can’t talk right now.
She can’t talk right now? Why did she text me then? Why is she watching the news? Who watches the news besides old people and smart people? Why is she watching it at school?
Ugh!
Dragging my lazy bum downstairs, I flop onto the couch and turn the TV to one of the local channels. I forgot to ask her if this was local news? Global news? Fashion news? Why I should care about the news at all?
There’s a banner running across the bottom of the screen . . .
Breaking news
“Rogan Eli Morgan, has been found murdered. No further details have been given. We’ll keep you informed as more information becomes available.”
What. What? What!
No! Absolutely not! Not Rogan! He was supposed to be safe! He was supposed to be there when this was all over! He was supposed to be with me!
I think I’m screaming. I’m not sure, it could be in my head, or maybe I’m doing nothing. What am I supposed to do? This is all my fault.
I hear the home phone ringing in the background and my cell phone ringing, beeping, and vibrating with calls, texts, missed calls, you name it, beside me on the coffee table. I should answer. I can’t move, though.
Rogan? It must be a mistake. There must be another Rogan Eli Morgan. Right? That could happen, couldn’t it?
I hear the front door slam against the wall, but I don’t move. Maybe I’m next. Maybe whoever killed my Rogan has come for me. Maybe there really is something in the Cosmos that’s going to take me away before the pain sets in, before this becomes reality, because right now this isn’t real. I know this isn’t real!
“Jess! Jess, where are—“Bruce shouts, sounding terrified. He finds me in the living room and sits on the coffee table, watching me, waiting for me to break; but I won’t break. This isn’t real, so I won’t break. “Jess, oh my God, you saw it? Damn it! I thought I would make it before you did!”
“A friend told me to watch the news. You don’t have to be so upset, though. It isn’t Rogan. They made a mistake. Don’t worry. This isn’t real,” I reassure him. “It’s not real.”
I see pity in his eyes. I don’t think I ever knew what real pity looked like until this moment. I snap my eyes back to a black TV. I see the remote in his hand. He turned it off. Fine by me; I don’t want to hear about a boy with the same name as my Rogan being murdered. That’s too depressing.
“Jess,” he starts, his voice octaves lower than normal. “Jess, you have to listen to me. That isn’t another Rogan. There is no another Rogan. I’m so sorry, but Rogan really is dead.”
I blink repeatedly at him. Why is he being so mean to me? Why is he saying this to me? “Bruce, stop it. Just stop it! This isn’t true. This can’t be true. I left him so this wouldn’t happen. This can’t have happened. I left him to protect him. I left him because you told me to. Because you said that was the only way to keep him safe! You told me he would be safe!” I shout.
Anger is blinding. I don’t know when I start hitting him, slapping him, yelling at him, threatening to kill him, but once I do, I can’t stop. “This is your fault!” I scream the whole time. “This is all your damn fault! I’ll never forgive you! Never!”
“Honey, stop, this isn’t solving anything. Bruce is just trying to help,” I hear mom say. I don’t know when she got home and I don’t care.
“Mom! Leave me alone!” I swing at her, trying to escape the hold she has on me from behind. She can’t stop me. “It’s his fault. You know it is! I left Rogan so he would be safe. Now everyone is telling me he’s dead. If he isn’t dead and that’s some other Rogan, tell me. If it is Rogan, it’s Bruce’s fault, so just leave me alone.” I take a breath and wait for her answer. I’ll stop hitting him if someone just tells me it isn’t real; otherwise, I may keep going until he’s as dead as my Rogan.
“Honey, that is Rogan, but Bruce didn’t kill him. Bruce did everything he could to keep him safe. We don’t know what has happened; maybe it was a random crime that has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Really, mom? Are you serious right now? How many murders do we have? Luke and his mom was the first since I’ve been alive, so are you really going to try to tell me this is a chance killing? That it has nothing to do with the psycho who’s stalking me, the same one who all but told me to ditch Rogan?”
I wait expectantly. There’s nothing she can say that will take this away. If this is all true, there’s nothing anyone can say to make this better.
Nothing.
Nothing.
That’s what’s left, nothing. I have nothing. My soul mate is dead. He’s . . . he’s . . . Oh I can’t say it again. I won’t say it. I want to go to sleep. I just need to go to sleep and wake up from this hell.
Slipping out of the slackened hold mom has me in, I collapse onto the floor. Breaths are caught in my throat. I deserve this. I deserve never to take another deep breath for as long as I live.
I clutch my chest. The pain in my heart is too much. My eyes are blurring shut with tears, only adding to the torment of the reality that my life has changed irrevocably. I’m a sixteen-year-old girl with a stalker, no friends, and a dead boyfriend—make that a murdered ex-boyfriend, and he never knew why I couldn’t be with him. He never knew what was going on. He never knew that he did nothing to cause any of this, that no one knows who’s causing any of this. He’ll never know.
I’m so cold. Why is it so cold? Strong, warm arms hold me from behind. I know it’s Bruce, but I don’t fight it. My teeth are chattering as I shiver from the freeze that I feel hardening everything inside me, starting with my heart. I’ll let Bruce warm me, but only because he owes me, and he might as well begin by taking away the miserable icy feeling biting into my skin like piranha picking the skin from my bones. I’m no more than a carcass to be feasted upon—at least I’m worth that much.
“Just breathe, Jess. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always keep you safe. Just breathe, focus on my voice, and try to calm down,” he says while brushing the hair out of my eyes, wrapping it behind my ear.
“I have you. No one will hurt you for as long as I’m alive. There are no words I can say that will make this better, I know that, but I’m truly sorry. Just breathe. Stay with me, Jess,” he whispers while continuing to stroke my hair.
Between his touch, the warmth of his hold, and the soft, even tone of his voice, the pain is numbing. I feel like I’m floating and drowning all at once. Is that even possible? If Rogan really is dead, I suppose anything is possible.
Chapter Twelve
Three Years Ago . . .
“Jess? Baby, wake up, I don’t have long, please wake up.” My eyes don’t want to open, but I feel the urgency in t
he voice coaxing me awake.
Blinking repeatedly, I realize I’m in my bed, in my room, covered by my own magenta pink cotton sheets. I thought I got rid of these sheets? I’m pretty sure I threw them out the day I first learned of my stalker, the last day Rogan held me as his own. These were the sheets I had laid on after our anniversary night, and once I knew I couldn’t be with Rogan anymore I didn’t want the reminder of the best night of my entire life, knowing I might never have another night like it again. These sheets were a reminder of a life that was no longer mine. Yet another thing my stalker had stolen from me. So why am I lying between them now?
“Baby, please wake up,” the voice urges once more.
“I’m awake. What’s going on? What time is it?” I ask sleepily, still not completely aware.
“That’s not important. There’s something I need to tell you, and I need you to listen. There isn’t much time.”
Recognition snaps me instantly out of the remnants of my sleep—it’s Rogan. He’s sitting at the edge of my bed, nearly landing on the floor after I throw myself into his arms. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in years. I miss you. I don’t want to be without you anymore. I want to tell you everything that’s happened, and I want to be with you forever if you’ll still have me once you know what’s going on.” I rush the words before I lose all my nerve with my willingness to confess all the sordid details I’ve been avoiding telling him.
“None of that is important right now. Besides, I’ve never really been away from you. I’ve always been with you. We were meant to be together in this life and will find each other again in the next life. It’s you and I forever, no matter where we are, no matter what happens to either of us, we’ll always find each other.
“That’s why I’m here. I needed to tell you that I love you and that nothing that has happened is your fault. You did nothing wrong. I know you’re going to blame yourself, but please don’t.
“Knowing you and loving you made my life mean something. I know you’ll carry me with you, but I don’t want you to use me to weigh you down. Take me with you wherever you go, but don’t die with me. Live like I’m down the street. Love someone like you loved me. Make friends again. Don’t be afraid to take chances, because you never know how many chances you’ll have. Life is short. Very short as it turns out for some of us,” he says dejectedly. “So don’t miss any of it.”
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