Phantom of the Apartment

And Burn

     There was silence in the room as Jason finished his story, cut only by the sound of passing cars. Rebecca's expression was cold, eyes glaring holes through him as he spoke. Thomas's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he connected details of the story with those of his memory. "I promised myself I'd read it some day," Jason finished. "I never did." He took a slow breath. "That's it. That's the whole of it. I've never told anyone before." Rebecca knelt down and picked up the letter, keeping the gun against Oswald's head and her glare fixed on Jason. She held the letter up and skimmed it's contents. 

     "This is my mother's writing?" Rebecca asked. Jason nodded. He could see the resemblance now. Same emerald eyes, same strong build, same brown hair. Easy to miss, but obvious when pointed out. "You had this all along and you never said a word?"

     "I didn't know it was about you!"

     "How?"

     "I told you, I've never read it."

     She threw it at his feet. "That changes now. Pick it up." 

     "What?" Jason's mouth went dry. Just telling the story had left him feeling drained. He wasn't sure he could handle the letter.

     "I said pick it up!" Rebecca shouted, loud enough that even Oswald winced. Jason slowly picked up the letter and began to read.

       "Dear Jason," he began shakily, "you were recently involved in the car accident that took my child away. I forgive you. It's what she would have wanted. Her name..." Jason looked up at Rebecca's scowl before continuing. "Her name was Rebecca Price. She loved to dance and dreamed of one day directing a movie. She had a smile that stopped the world and a heart big enough to encompass it. She stood up for those who could not stand up for themselves and was unafraid to fight for what she believed in. She was talented and kind and the light of my life. There is a void in my heart now that she is gone, one that will never be filled. In spite of the hurt in my heart, I am glad that you survived." An awful sense of jittery dread began to fill him, one that was all too familiar. He pressed it down and continued. "That realization came to me as I sat in the hospital waiting room. I saw your parents, crying for fear of what might become of their child even as I cried over what had become of mine. I would not wish the pain I felt, the pain I still feel, upon anyone. You are their world just as my Rebecca was mine. Remember this, Jason. I hope you live a long and prosperous life, and that you take her spirit with you. I shall do the same, as will all who knew her. Though the two of you never met, I like to imagine you would have been friends. I don't blame you for what happened. It was an accident, and I forgive you. With time, I-- I hope you too can forgive yourself. From, Juliana Price." 

     He let his hands fall to his side as he finished. The letter slipped from his fingers, but he hardly noticed. He felt sick. The words were forgiving, but the memories were not. The ghostly green eyes in front of him were not. "That's all it says," he whispered. Silence fell and smothered him. The awful feeling in his chest continued to well up. No one moved.

     No one except Oswald.

     Amid all the memories, Jason had almost forgotten Oswald, forgotten the whole wild day. Now, however, the ghost seemed determined to make himself imposible to ignore. He chuckled, grin spreading from ear to ear. "Well, I suppose that's that! There you have it: a confession right from the mouth of the killer. It doesn't get much better than that."

     Rebecca turned her icy gaze to him. "Your point?"

     Oswald sputtered with rage. "Wha-- What do you mean your point? He's the murderer, not me! That gun should be against his head, not mine!"