Dear Josh, A revenge.

Josh.

I know you haven’t heard from me since what happened. I bet your stomach dropped a mile when you read the envelope. You certainly didn’t seem to have any remorse when you decided you’d do it, so why feel anxious now? Why, I wonder, did you?
She loved you, you know. Lord knows why, but she did. I told her you were a dirt bag. I smelled it on you the first time we met. I’m sure you said just the right things, had a shoulder to cry on when her mother died, and she married you, for chrissake.
And then you started hitting her. She covered for you, of course. She came over one day wearing those huge sunglasses, sporting a black eye, and said she’d run into a door. But I knew. What did you tell her? That you’re so sorry, it’ll never happen again, oh, I’m so goddamned sorry I could just die? I even filed a report on you when she “fell” down the steps and had the miscarriage. They told me that suspicions were no grounds for an investigation. Bastards. She covered then for you, too, didn’t she? What was the story? Did she trip? It tore her up inside. That baby was everything to her. I had even bought her baby shower gifts. Do you know what that’s like?
When you asked her to move to Illinois with you, she did. She left her mother, her father, me. Everyone she had known and loved. For you. She did everything for you. So tell me, how could you kill her?
She even stayed with you when you lost your job (She said you were laid off, but I called the factory, and you were fired, you fucking weasel), working all week, scrubbing God knows whose laundry in that shitpot little truck stop. She confessed to me that she had known. Saw the receipts for the dinners, the wonderful night-on the-town bills. She paid for you to cheat on her. She paid for you to screw around on her, with some dime bag whore. Is that why you killed her? Because she confronted you, you murdering bastard?
Temporary insanity? How did you pull that off? You should be frying, you greasy son of a bitch. I can’t believe I’m paying taxes to feed you. You live better now than she ever did. That’s what you get for electing idiots, I suppose.
No matter, though. All that matters now is your death. I deliberated for a long time, trying to figure out just how to avenge her. It has become an obsession for me. Some people daydream of winning the lottery, but I only saw your dead, cold eyes, staring at the ceiling. When you came out of the courthouse, I was there, waiting. I had my father’s old 45 loaded and ready in my pocket. I couldn’t do it, though. I walked right up to the line, Joshua, but I couldn’t cross it. How did you, I wonder? I guess it’s easier when you have no soul.
After much much thought, however, I have decided to fuck you over even worse. Your cellmate, Louis, is in for life. If you look up right now, he is likely re-reading the letter I sent him, going over the final details. I’ve paid him to kill you, Joshua. A man who’s in for life (a twisted killer, that one, do you recall the Jamestown killing spree?) would have no qualms of adding another to his tally.
Oh, this is so perfect. I wish I could be there to see the look on your face. We’ve been pen pals for quite some time now. I sent him a birthday card last week, with a razorblade in the folds. He assured me that your death would be neither quick nor painless. You’ve placed yourself right where I can get to you, with another madman. I bet you wish you hadn’t pled insanity. No time for being sorry now, Joshua. Would you like to know what your life cost me? Fourteen packages of Haribo gummi bears, and a pack of Marlboro Milds. Crazy, isn’t it? (pun intended)
You won’t even have the pleasure of knowing I’ll be caught. Louis knows that the first thing he is to do, after he kills you, that is, is to get rid of the letters. I am filled with joy to know he’ll be prying this one out of your death-locked hands as you begin to burn in an everlasting, fiery hell. And I trust that he will. Such a good boy, that Louis. Tell him I send my sincerest gratitude.

Scream for me, Joshua.

©Kate