The Mercy of Birds

CHAPTER 27: THE HUNT FOR THE KILLER III

CHAPTER 27
THE HUNT FOR THE KILLER III

+

Victor,

I'm sorry for my audacity in writing this message to you, but I will never forget that December 25 is your birthday and this is my first time in a long time that I can finally wish you a happy birthday. I couldn't be happier than how I am right now. Although, forgive me once again for wishing that someday we can meet. Even for just one second, I will be content and I will cherish that moment forever in my heart.

I have heard a lot about you and Nicholas from Cameron, all of them wonderful news. I always knew that you three are destined for great purposes in life. I believe in each path you've chosen for yourself.

There was a priest, imam, and rabbi who would come twice a month, and even though I couldn't bring myself to believe what they believed in, I still asked for their prayers for the three of you, and did you know that I used to know someone who worshiped Gods from the ancient Egyptian times? In the hospital, there was this man, whom I'd also asked multiple times to pray for you. I don't know if it works but I respected his solemnity.

I'm sorry if you found me often straying in this letter. I have asked Cameron to write it on my behalf instead or at least proofread it for me to make it more eligible, but he said I should just write my mind freely.

I want to write this letter as long as possible as I don't know when I will be able to have the chance again. I don't know if I have the right to talk to you about the years that are lost, your study, your arts, your achievements, and I'm also not very well informed about it. I'm afraid I might cross a line, but I'd like to learn. If we ever meet then, will you explain to me about it all? Meanwhile, we can talk about Freddie the Goldfish, what was his fate like? I bet he died already. Fish can't live that long, can they? They live a short life and they have no feelings.

I hope you don't find this patronizing. I realize I shouldn't talk to you like that. You are not a child anymore. You are 25 years old now. I could scrape this paper but I've taken too long to ponder on the words I'm about to say-I'm afraid Cameron will get impatient with me, or worse yet, miss his plane because of me. I think it's best to end this letter here before I also bore you too much. I'm sorry and happy birthday and Merry Christmas, Victor. All three of you are always on my mind.

Yours Truly,
Clementine.

P.S
I noticed how Cameron likes to wear jewelry and when he showed me the picture of you, I saw that the two of you seem to share the same interest in that, so I made the bracelet for the both of you. I picked different colored stones for each of them, but it is still one in the same.

+

The house was the emptiest one among the streets on the day after Christmas. Everyone had left him but he couldn't fault them for that. As he laid supine, sprawled on the sofa in the living room, the TV provided a sense of background animation, a hint of a quiet life as he had muted the sound off to give way for the silence to prevail—he thought—it was probably the worst birthday celebration ever in world history.

If he couldn't learn anything else from this affair, if his mind couldn't propel itself to reason and reflect upon the essence of the problem, he could at least admit now that he shouldn't have encouraged Cameron to divulge in his undertaking before dinner. That was the one thing that he regretted, for if they could just withhold themselves for at least half an hour, it would have procured him one more memory of them together where they were still whole.