Stolen: The Confessions of Philip Ripton

The Close

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I have never been a man of my word. I have spent my life running from the fate I brought upon myself. My body is forty-two years old, and already, I prepare for death.

Across two oceans I've fled, leaving behind only the sorrows I've sown, but the end approaches still. The solitude of Westbury can't save me now.

She is coming.

I can taste it on the wind. The tang of dust has been replaced with the nectar of the daisies and heather of my homeland. The coming rains smell of Skibbereen's salted shores.

Quiet laughter and hidden screams spin over the rooftops of the town, taunting me with memories. They have called me a madman, but I alone know the truth.

She is close.

I've placed the pieces of my life in this box, but this journal alone is the key to their secrets. Here I pen my final confession, the secrets I've harbored for so long. They must not die with me.

When you find this, remind her I didn't fight at the end. Call to mind that I died with her name on my lips. Tell her that if time could be folded and the wrongs erased, I would gladly endure eternities to change what I've done.

In my life, I have been many things. I have been a liar, a cheat, a killer, and a thief. I have been greedy, angry, envious, and proud. I have been a captor and a captive, a husband and a rake, a father and a fool, a miracle and a mistake.

But now, at the close, as I wait for her to take me at last, I must be something new.

I must be honest.

I am Philip Ripton. I am stolen, I am shaking, and I am sorry.

This is my story.