To Suzanne,

Dear Suzanne, my beloved sister,

I know we haven’t spoken in years, and you may find this letter a surprise considering the newspaper published my obituary. But I wanted to reach out to you, I need someone I can talk to. Someone to listen. I want to reconnect with you.

No one is perfect, we all have imperfections and fall short of expectations. We have to learn to meet people where they are. People are just people. When it comes to someone you love, how far are you willing to go to meet them?

I’m in love. He is neither remotely nor imaginably perfect. He pours his milk before his cereal, eats without a napkin, doesn’t wear socks, nor excuses himself from the table. But none of that prepared me for the journey of meeting him where he was.

We had a simple home. Three bedrooms and two baths, with an upstairs and a downstairs. The latter was his man cave, and I rarely went down there. I respect his privacy. Whenever he opened the door I could hear banging on pipes. He always told me it was a leaky pipe, and that he would fix it soon. But it never was. I always thought it was too loud for a leak, but I trust him.

One day I walked down there to bring him a sandwich. And while I was there, I heard a scream. He glanced at me quickly to say,

“That was the movie.”

But the movie had been muted. Whatever, I trust him. So I left trying not to think about it.

We began to get calls every other day with always good things. One day I got a raise, another day the bank dropped the interest on our mortgage. Once I received a free car. Not sure why or from who, but it was left in the driveway with a giant ribbon and bow.

Things really began to freak me out when often he’d come up from the basement with blood on his hands. I remember clearly a time when he came up covered in blood, and there was a chunk of his ear missing. Almost as if someone or something had bitten him. He seemed angry, and sometimes the more I asked questions the more he would dismiss them. Whatever, I trust him.

During an evening in the winter, I was home alone. The power went out. The breaker box was in the kitchen. I flipped every switch and had no results. We had a backup generator... in the basement.

I walked down our old creaky wooden steps, very slowly. When I arrived I went straight for the mud room where the generator was. I gave the ol’ hunk of metal a couple of good tugs and it eventually fired up. Once it did the basement lights came up and I was taken aback.

What I saw were sets of chains that were secured to our walls by heavy-duty bolts, and several splashes of blood beneath each pair. There were two unconscious bodies hanging from the chains, man and woman. I wasn’t sure if I should be more afraid of who these people were, or who my husband was… but I trust him.

I left, and when he came home I was silent. He already knew about the outages in the area and asked if I had fired up the backup.

“Yes,” I said

“What did you see?”

“I saw nothing.”

He smiled a toothy grin. The familiar face I had known for years.

“Great. In that case, let me introduce you to our guests.”

We went down there together and he told me that the girl was the manager at the bank, and the guy was the dean of the college our son was accepted to. I was horrified, and I guess that emotion was worn out on my face because he looked at me and said,

“Honey, you are mistaken. I do this to get us the things we need. It's amazing what some people and organizations will pay for ransom. I’ve been thinking about upping the stakes. Taking out bigger names, demanding bigger payments. Imagine what we could do with the president of the United States here.”

“Baby, I need some time to process,” I whimpered.

He didn’t seem to like me saying that,

“Okay.”

I went upstairs to sleep for the night. The next day I got up early to go for a run. And I thought about it.

How far are you willing to go for the ones you love?

I met him, and told him that if he’s going to go for bigger names, he’s gonna need help. So I bought us higher quality chains, thickened our walls, and purchased guns and knives. I suggested we change our names, which will explain how I’ve signed the letter.

We began to kidnap big names in politics and people who had the power to deliver anything we wanted. We traveled for free, fattened our retirements, and even secured positions in our local government. Our lives were lavish… until the heat caught up.

They came knocking and kicked our door in and a swat team ran the place. We hid out in our safe room until the coast was clear. We hightailed it out of there as soon as we could, and thus our life on the road began.

I know this letter may come as a shock to you, and I am not using it as an admission of our guilt. I am only writing you, Suzanne, so that you know your sister is alive. I hope to see you someday.

XO,

Sincerely,

Bonnie

P.S. Clyde is excited to meet you.

P.P.S. Please don’t tell anyone about this letter, that I’ve changed my name, or that I’m still alive.