Page 17 of Heartbreak Bay

I keep staring at the envelope as if that will make it go away, make it not happen, but here it is and here it will remain.I should burn it,I think.Or shred it unopened.It’s thin enough I could do that in the office without trouble. And there’s a certain freedom in the idea that’s seductive.

Melvin has nothing to say that’s meaningful to my life now.

And yet, my hands reach for it. I’m almost observing it, not directing, as I rip open the top and slide out the letter. Unfold it.

The cramped, precise writing that stains the page makes me flinch so badly that the paper makes a faint, protesting flutter. Without willing it, without wanting it, my eyes focus on the first line.

Dear Gina,

It’s always Gina.

I know this will come as a shock to you, but I’m not angry anymore.

That’s a lie; he was always angry, a beast waiting to pounce, even when he hid it behind smiles and calm words and charm. He was angry the night I killed him.

I forgive you for all the harm you did me.

I make a sound in the back of my throat, half a laugh and half a gag. Harm I didhim, a monster who claimed an appalling number of lives. Manipulation and control, gaslighting, Melvin’s stock in trade. I can feel him on the other end of this letter, calculating effect.

If you’re reading this, I’ve died. Maybe that was just karmic justice; maybe it was something else. I’ve always thought that if I die it’ll be because of you. Was it?

Yes, you asshole. Yes, it was. I shot you in the face.

Doesn’t matter, dead is dead. But you know I can’t let go that easily, don’t you? I loved you once, Gina. Not that you were ever worthy of that love. But I can’t help it. We were meant for each other. Made for each other.

The poisoned honey in those words. I’d wanted to believe in him for the longest time, craved the affection he showed me, and I’d swallowed the bait every time. I’d believed I wasn’t worth much, that no one could ever love me but Melvin, that my only happiness lay with him. And here it is again: control.

He’s dead, and he’s still trying. You can’t say he isn’t dedicated.

I made arrangements in case this happened, obviously. Letters, so you don’t forget me and what we were together. Enjoy what you think is freedom, because it’s just a long leash I’ve let you run on. Soon you’ll get to the end and that will be a short, hard stop. And in that moment, you’ll know that I’ve never really let you go. Never.

I’m breathing faster now. My fingers are crushing the paper, nearly tearing it. But I keep reading.

Till death do us part, that’s what we said in our vows. I’m going to hold you to it.

Bye for now, my beloved wife. Kiss our children for me.

His signature sprawls at the bottom, taking up space with spiked arrogance. I stare at it for a moment, then ball up the letter and drop it to the table, where it sits like a paper grenade.

I have a choice. I can give this more time, or I can think about it later. Kez is waiting.

And Melvin’s still going to be dead.

I take the letter to my office and put it in my desk drawer, and I feel a half a ton lighter when I leave Melvin’s shadow behind, locked in the dark.

I text Kez from the NPD parking lot, as promised, and I keep a low profile to avoid being spotted by any of the uniformed cops. I have something of a local reputation in Norton. It’s not exactly favorable.

Kez walks confidently across to me and slips into the passenger seat. “Best be on our way,” she says. “Shift change is about to start.”

I drive us out onto the Norton main drag, which is just a two-lane state road; being back in town makes me feel unsettled, a little strange. Although maybe that really has more to do with Melvin Royal’s ghost darkening my door again. It isn’t unusual; he’s got acolytes all over the country who got packages full of letters he prewrote to me before his prison break, and they all enjoy sending me his twisted form of love.

Kez is giving me a cool, assessing look. “What?” I ask.

“You don’t seem like yourself.”

“Really. How does myself usually seem?”

She lifts one shoulder in half a shrug. “Calmer,” she says. “Something happen?”

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