Page 65 of Healed Heart
No.
Anyone she asked would have come straight to me to warn me.
And she was perfectly capable of writing it herself.Even in the throes of the deepest mother’s grief, she still was able to function.She wasn’t going to work, but she was getting out of bed, making coffee, doing basic household tasks.
So it wasn’t her.But who, then?Who would have the audacity to sit at my wife’s bedside, take her hand, and help her pen a suicide note that wasn’t hers?
The buzz of my phone interrupts my thoughts.An email.I pick it up and see it’s from Tom.Attached is a scanned page from one of Steve’s notebooks.My heart pounds as I open the attachment and look at the handwritten lines.
Random musings about old football games, thoughts on the news, memories of work-related stuff.And then something that makes me freeze.
Ronny Burgundy keeps coming into my thoughts lately.Don’t know why.Haven’t seen or heard from him since high school.After graduation, he just vanished.
Nice that Tom got right on this, seeing that his brother just passed, but how is this supposed to help me?I already know Ronny disappeared after high school.Ralph Parker told me that.
Then another email pops up.
A note from Tom.
Found this with Steve’s notebooks.Looks like it’s from Ronny himself.
I begin reading the note from the jpeg he sent.
Dear Steve,
I don’t even know how to start this.I guess by saying that I’m sorry.Sorry for all the shit I caused back in high school, sorry for disappearing on all of you without a word, and sorry for reaching out now after all these years.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.Reflection, I guess you’d call it.And it brought me back to you.To us.To what we shared and what we lost.I realized that if there was one person who might understand, it might be you.
I’m not in the best shape these days, Steve-o.I made choices that led me down some dark paths—paths that felt endless and suffocating.I ran, thinking I could outrun my mistakes, my guilt.But you can’t outrun yourself, can you?
I’ve ended up in a place where the past and the present collide, where I’m haunted by the ghosts of decisions made in haste and in ignorance.There are secrets, Steve, secrets that eat away at me, secrets that are buried deep, but not deep enough.
But I’m ready to take care of everything.
The time has come.
Thanks for being my friend back then, buddy.I’ll never forget it.
Ronny
There’s no date on the note, but because it’s with Steve’s notebooks, I assume he received it sometime during the five years since his accident.Maybe there’s an envelope somewhere.I can’t bother Tom again today, but I’ll ask later.
But something nags at me.
Something familiar about it.
And then I see it.
I fucking see it.
The handwriting.The distinctive slant to the right.
It’s damned similar to the handwriting on Lindsay’s note.
A chill settles over me, more unsettling than any cold winter night could ever be.My heart pounds so loudly, I think it might burst out of my chest.My hands tremble as I compare the two letters side by side on my desk.
Lindsay’s suicide note was written by Ronny.
