Secrets In The Rafters

Cole stepped out into the cool evening air, having just laid the kids in bed. He lit a cigarette and let out a long sigh, followed by an even longer drag on another nail in the coffin. Looking out at the stars, Cole felt a moment of peace, followed by the insignificance that had hung around him like a cloak all his life. When nothing but the cotton filter and a small glowing cherry was left, he tossed it into the snow and grabbed the mail out of the box. Walking inside, where the light was better, he sat at the kitchen table next to his laptop that displayed the beginnings of a story he would never finish.

Pulling a beer from the fridge, he turned his attention to the stack of envelopes. The first three were rejection letters, all regretting to inform him his manuscript would not be published by insert publishing house, stamp editor signature. They probably hadn’t bothered reading it, his life’s work as abysmally insignificant as he was. The next two were overdue bills, one for the electricity and one for his car. The lights would be off soon, and his car gone like his wife was.

Cole turned his attention to the last two pieces of mail. One was large and surely contained the notice of foreclosure on the house; the other was padded and thick, with no return address.

Tossing the bad news on the table Cole opened the package with nervous curiosity. Inside was a small black notebook and a thick envelope. Inside the envelope was twenty-thousand dollars all in hundred dollar bills, and a short letter:

Cole,

I hope you’re well, and I hope you remember me, though if you’re reading this, I’m dead. You were my favorite student, and I had always expected to read your books, or at least about your success. Maybe it was because you reminded me of myself when I was your age. You’re probably wondering how I got your address and why I sent the money. I ran into your father at the VA hospital up in Shreveport. He told me you hadn’t talked since your wife ran out. I was sorry to hear about your wife and your father, but I understand how life can be. More importantly, I was there for late-stage cancer treatment (damned cigars). Your father sent me some of your work; your talent has improved. I’m shocked you haven’t been snatched up in some agent's claws. The cash is an advance for your next novel, Murtaugh Murder Mysteries # 57: The Case of the Phantom Photographer.

I never told anyone other than my late wife Janet that I was, in fact, Sherlock Shadow. Not even my children knew of the success that bought them the latest gadget or paid their tuition. Outside of this book and the advance I sent, everything in my will went to charity. The black book contains all of my notes, the characters, and several ideas for future installments I will never write. Upon submitting the book to Dark Side Mysteries, you will begin receiving the series's royalties. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean my stories should end. The world remembers the stories far more fondly than it does the writer, so the secret should die with you.

Best of luck,

Mr. Indrid

P.S. Don’t forget to live; even if your story never gets told, it’s still the only one you get.

Cole felt a single tear roll off his cheek and hit the letter. If only his wife were here to see the winds of fate blow a good fortune on their family. Some things would never be fixed. Turning his attention to the black book, he opened the cover and flipped through the battered, time-worn pages. It was true, everything in the letter was true. In his hands was a way to save not only his house but ensure he and the children had a future.

From down the hall, Cole heard the floorboards creak. Emma stood in the hallway crying, “Daddy, I had a bad dream, and I really really wish mommy would come home. I miss her so much.” The last sentence came out in a full-blown blubber. A sharp pain jumped in Cole’s chest as he picked his beautiful little girl up and held her tightly, “I know, honey, I want mommy back too. It hurts me too.” Now tears streamed down both their faces as he carried her back to bed and sang her lullabies until she fell asleep and the tears dried on her red cheeks.

Cole headed into the basement that he used for an alchemy lab. He had a fondness for chemistry and the occult. Closing the basement entrance and turning on the lights, he walked over to his workbench and wept.

Looking up to the rafters, he sighed, “I miss you so much. I wish I could take back what I’ve done. I wish I could have been enough for you while you were still here; at least now, you’ll never leave. Sitting above the rafters was a skeleton in a wedding dress staring back at him with empty voids where beautiful eyes had once been, the same eyes Emma had now. “Why, why, why, why? You could have just loved me. If you were hurting or lonely, I could have done more! I put up with your running around for years, and it finally was just too much. The love faded from your eyes every time I caught your gaze, and I knew you would be leaving with that man.” Closing his eyes as tears streamed down, he recalled that fateful night.

In the middle of his shift at the warehouse, Cole had been canned and came home early to find her bags packed and him sitting on the bed while she penned a short goodbye. She was going to leave before he came home in the morning while the kids slept. Upon seeing them, Cole reached in his pocket to find his box cutter and took it to the man’s throat before he knew what he was doing. Then he took it to her as she cried out, begging for her life, but it was too late; Cole had nothing left to lose.

He didn’t want to go to prison; he didn’t wish never to see his children again. Cole wrapped the bodies in the sheet and bleached the room. After dragging the bodies to the cellar, he dumped the man’s remains into the furnace. Turning his attention to his beautiful dead wife, Cole paused. He needed her every day, so he pulled over a metal tub and grabbed acid from under the workbench, dissolving the flesh. Cole dressed the bones in the gown she wore to their wedding twelve years before and put her in the rafters so he could visit her every night. Taking the ashes from the furnace Cole mixed them with wood stain he intended to redo the patio with.

Cole shared the fantastic news with the corpse of his former life. Climbing up the rafters, he placed the book between her crossed arms. He hopped down and proceeded up the stairs. Turning to close the door, he tearfully said, “Looks like I have two secrets nobody can ever find out, at least now we can stay together forever. I love you, honey.”