Page 27 of Deadly Sights

A craft desk dominates the center of the room. Like everything else in Julian’s home, the room has neat lines and everything is in its place. On the corner of the desk, an engagement ring and wedding bands lie on a satin pillow under a display case, speaking to the importance of the jewelry.

I reach out to the case but pull back and clench my hand into a fist. If I follow through and lift the glass, I’ll try on the jewelry, and that is a mistake in the making. These aren’t any run-of-the-mill bands. They’re Darry rings, sold to one person in a lifetime.

I quell the questions in my head asking how the rings would look on my hand and why Julian has them. Going down that path of inquiry might lead to answers I’m not equipped to handle.

I turn away from the temptation the rings pose. Books line the wall, drawing me deeper into the room. I select one with YF and last year printed on the spine. Beside it is another book with the initials YF and previous years. The trend continues, but I stop counting after fifteen years.

A foreboding tingle flirts along my spine, making me rethink opening the book and discovering the contents.But Julian wants me to trust him.Actions are a good start, but I also need to know who he is when he’s not around me. Too many people discover the true character of a person too late, especially onewhose livelihood depends on deception. I refuse to be lumped in with other gullible people who allow their sentimentality to overrule their instincts. And unlike the rings, I’ll learn more from his unfiltered thoughts than wearing the fancy but gorgeous jewelry.

With a prayer that I haven’t found his stash of torture porn, I open to the first page. It’s a letter surrounded by picture cutouts and dried flowers.

Dear Y,

I killed a man today.

It’s not unusual. I’ve killed many in the past and will continue to do so, but this time was different. This time, I took pleasure in ending his life. You remember as kids theycorrectedus whenever we asked too many questions about the missions they sent us on? Our handlers provided what we needed to know to do our jobs and no more. This time, they gave me too much, and I couldn’t stop playing and replaying the many ways I wanted to kill him in my head.

I hungered for his death. Thirsted for his blood.

Why?

Because he kidnapped children and sold them on the black market. After everything we’ve been through, how could I not remember the pain you carried with you for years? How could I not travel back to the time your eyes and voice were devoid of emotion?

But in my desperation to do to him what I wish I could have done to your abductors, I got sloppy. His victim, a little boy around the age you were when we first met, was beside him. He was so small, crouched in the back between the seats. I didn’t see him, but he saw me and everything thing I did to the piece of shit who’d taken him.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel no remorse for the painful way the man met his end. What nearly broke me was the boy’s blankgaze. It was the same emptiness I saw in your eyes when we first met. Reuniting him with his family hasn’t erased the image or the memory of you.

All these years later, I’m in awe of your generous spirit. Even though I’m older, you’ve always been my hero. I still have a long way to go before I’m worthy to stand beside you, but I’ll never stop trying to catch up with you.

Trapper

I sit, staring as the words begin to blur before me. In my search to find something that will provide insight into the person who stormed into my life and refuses to leave, I stumble onto thoughts more intimate than I expected.

What he says about the Y person he speaks to in the letter resonates with me. Instead of feeling like a voyeur watching his life from the outside, his words transport me into the middle of his emotions. Flashes of my dreams surge, lasting a second before disappearing. They are too brief for me to recognize anything, yet I understand the sense of emptiness he describes as if I’ve experienced it on more than one occasion.

Then a flash of golden-brown eyes staring down at me crystalizes in my mind. They are the same, but younger than the ones I fight not to drown in daily. A manic urge takes over me. I go to another shelf, select a random year, and open the book. I read the first letter my eyes land on.

My Dearest Y,

I wish I could find some trace of you to let me know you’re okay. I’m so desperate for a sign that I’ll take anything. Even if knowing means I’ll never see you again.

Your Dearest Trapper

I select another book, this one is from ten years ago.

Dear Y, Owner of my Heart,

I’m sitting here in front of the birthday cake I baked for you, wishing there was a time we celebrated the day together.I can’t believe it took me stealing your file to discover the date when you always made certain to celebrate mine. Did I not do enough to show you how important you were to me? Did I not tell you enough that the only future I saw had you by my side?

I wish you were here to tell me where I went wrong, but so many years have passed. A normal person would have moved on by now, but I can’t. You’re my soul mate and I haven’t been complete a day since you’ve been gone. Not when I know deep down that you’re alive and unable to come for me.

For now, I’ll eat your cake and make a wish for you. Until we meet again,

Trapper

Book after book, I do the same thing, getting lost in the letters, learning more about Julian’s devotion to Y but desperately seeking something to clarify the fragmented images bombarding me. Nothing makes sense except this feeling that I’m linked to this Y person.

This is when Julian finds me. I’m in the middle of the floor with his most private reflections surrounding me. I don’t know what drew him into this room, but I realize my mistake when his eyes land on the books and the mess I’ve made of them.

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