The Letter

To my darling Veronica,1

I'm terribly sorry that I cannot stand to remain any longer. Life has not taken a turn for the worse, nor do I feel as if I am breaking, no, my darling, it is more that I cannot bear this weight any longer.2

It is more that I cannot bear to put it on others any more than I can shoulder it myself. This is the note that you shall find, but you  mustn't forget the good times. You gave me hope again, my dearest friend, and gave me a reason to live when for so long I went on simply because I had nothing to die for.3

But now, my darling I'm afraid that I must go. I know this will be hard for you, but do not ask yourself why. Please, do not try to determine what killed me, it is too much for me to bear, and you have carried too many of my burdens for so long that I could not ask you to carry another.4

No, dearest, I shall not ask you to bear this one. 5

To my brother, I can only say that I'm terribly sorry for what I have done, and that if it had been my decision, I would never have looked into that file you gave me.6

But Veronica, my dearest friend, and my sister (if only in our hearts), when you remember the lives that have come before me- when you remember the sacrifices and tears and trials that made me- when you remember the beginning, and eventually, the ending, you'll remember yourself.7

I hope you can understand that you have all been wonderful to me, and that, on the whole, I could not have asked for a better life. 8

Yours Forever, even in the beyond,9

Estelle10

How many times did I read that letter, and fear what i would find in the next room? How many times did my eyes rove over that page before I could bring myself to look up, and find my best friend, cut her down, and beg for the strength not to kill someone to make her passing easier.11

I can't remember what happened after I did cut her down, though. When I did come back to myself, I was in the hospital, and Reed was there with me, he looked tired, worn, and more than a little distanced from himself. I suppose though that I didn't look my best either.12

That was nearly a year ago. Getting up is still a struggle, but I finally managed to get myself into the shower, from the bed where I languished in despair, sometimes in practicality. It all depended upon how much I drank before, how normal my day was, who I had to talk too.13

This morning, I was not in the mood for lying, but I found it hard not to remember her letter, not to tell myself, "but I Must ask the questions," because the police had found extremely strange evidence that Estelle had been in contact with may varied and supposedly dead people. The problem was that they couldn't do a damn thing with it, and the note just proved her tragic suicide.14

I wanted it to be my fault, but I knew it wasn't. She wouldn't have wanted it to be my fault, and so it was not. But if it had been, I would have slain myself right there to get revenge on the person who had caused her death.15

We all loved her so dearly, and I can't imagine that her death was any light thing.16

The clues are in her journals, which I gave to her brother, and he hasn't touched them. Since her death, I haven't talked to him. I saw him at the funeral, but I have no taste to call him. I've heard that since I last saw him, he's become a mess, and that he's shut down entirely.17

No one is to blame, but the tradgedy is more pronounced in him.18