The Nightmares Come While I'm Awake

Dearest Jane,

I know that he’s a liar, but I still had to sit and watch as his body lost its flexibility as it had lost its warmth earlier. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, it is because I was afraid he understood. When it was done, I left. I’m sure the police will find him with an explanation for them. If any of them truly care about justice, they’ll understand.

There was plenty of money in the house, enough to fund the rest of my investigation. Better, there were clues. The pictures of you, they were terrible to see. Wonderful too, because you were alive in them. Smiling and running, but he kept them locked up and away from the world where he could make up his sick fantasies about you.

He seemed to be expecting me when I let myself in the back; he just looked up from the kitchen table and asked me if I wanted to sit and join him for a drink.

Even before he said anything more I knew that I couldn’t drink anything that he gave me. So I just sat down and waited for him to say his peace, but he went back to sipping his highbrow beer and looking at me until I told him why I was there.

“You can’t have her name.” He had this smug smile that made me nearly lose it. As if I didn’t know that already. As if I couldn’t tell that your name is Jane now, no matter what it was before.

But I held it together long enough for him to tell me more. It was mostly lies, about you, about what kind of girl you were. I could tell that he wanted me to give up, he wanted to protect his boss. Don’t worry, he didn’t take that secret to his grave. I won’t tell you what I did to get the answers, but I got them.

You do have to tell me more though. I need you to come and whisper to me like you used to. He’s filled my head with so much that I can’t focus. And before he died he tried to confuse me about your name. I know you aren’t Cora, and probably never were. I know that you aren’t anybody else’s. He said awful things about you and where the pictures came from. I burned most of them, but I kept a few. I can’t figure out where they were taken. Sometimes I think in a garden, but the sky isn’t right. Were they from a greenhouse?

It is too complicated, all of it. The lies, what you told me, and what I know. After him, I started to write this letter, but knew I needed to clear my head first. At the bar they were playing a tribute to you on the TV and everyone was watching it. One of the men said someone ought to be doing something about it. It felt great for a moment, until someone else said he was doing something. Everyone started listening to him, and he said he knew it was someone rich, someone who saw you and realized you didn’t have a real family, and used you, and dropped you somewhere new. He promised us that he had leads.

I asked, and he showed me, showed me the details he pieced together, the names. I recognized some of them, even though I knew he was wrong. But, he told me that you told him to get justice. He was crazy, I think, but even if not I don’t blame you for telling as many people as you can to help, you just should have let me know.

I’ve got to find out more. There is someone who did this to you, and I know that when it is fixed everything will be clear. But I’m lost right now Jane, please help.

Yours,

John Stag