Suicide Note Read Count : 127

Category : Stories

Sub Category : YoungAdult

Suicide Note




I'm a pretty happy guy. I left state for college after high school, got a degree in psychology, and now work as a counselor for high school-aged kids. My little brother Jed is happily married with a two-year-old son, which makes my mom turn her attention to me, heckling me about when I'll be able to give her more grandbabies. Life has been very good, but I've recently discovered something that may turn everything upside down.

My dad needed help cleaning out the attic, something which he said hadn't been done "since Reagan was in office." I agreed to help, but my brother wouldn't be joining us since he had work. I had only been in the attic a handful of times throughout my entire childhood, so being up there again felt surreal. Dust and cobwebs coated every box, chair, and trinket in sight. I almost had two heart attacks thanks to a couple of rats scurrying around, but my father and I managed to sort through a lot of things, figuring out what was needed and what we could throw away. While my dad took a break, going down to the kitchen for a drink with my mom, I continued to curiously scour the attic. That was when something colorful caught 

my eye.


     It was one of my old comic books, lying unceremoniously on an end chair in the corner. I picked it up, waves of nostalgia surging through me as I admired the front cover, which depicted my favorite superhero, the Hulk, raising a car over his head, his teeth clenched. It had to have been almost 15 years since I had last seen that book. I was surprised at how good a condition it was in; The rats hadn't touched it. I flipped it open and began thumbing through the pages, enjoying a little piece of the past that had been forgotten. As I neared the middle of the book, however, a single sheet of white paper, folded horizontally, slipped out and drifted slowly to the floor, coming to land at my feet. I kept a finger on the last page I had stopped on, so as not to lose my place, and bent down to pick up the paper. Opening it, I began to read the message that had been written:

I can't take it anymore. I wish that someone could understand what I'm going through, but no one ever will. Mom, I love you so much and I hate to do this to you, but it's the only option that I have. Dad, you did your best for me and Jed, but still, I have to go. By the time you read this I know that it will be done. Don't tell my friends the truth about what happened; Don't bury me, either. I don't want to be worm food. Jed, you were the best brother in the world and just know that this is not your fault. I'll be singing with the angels and watching over all of you from now on.

-Darby

     I stared at the note for a long time after I finished reading something that looked like my words but I had no recollection of it. . I read it again and again, not knowing whether or not this was a joke. If it was, then it was cruel and I didn't think that anyone I knew was capable of doing such a thing. I stared harder at the words. My heartbeat hammered against my ribcage as I pondered the possibility of the note being...legit? The handwriting was very similar to my own and written in orange ink, my favorite color pen to use when I would write in my journal or when I would write stories when I was younger. My head was spinning. Could it be possible that I had written this and simply suppressed the memory? I couldn't recall any negative experiences that could have made me consider killing myself, and I was sure that seeing something like this would bring such experiences to come back to me. But they didn't come.

"Darbs?"

     I jumped, spinning around and hiding the note instinctively behind my back. My dad was standing near the entry of tbe stairs next to the attic. He was wearing a confused look on his face.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine, thank you. Just uh...a little thirsty, I guess I should have taken my break too. You mind grabbing me a glass of water?"

"One glass of water, coming right up!" he replied, but as he descended the stairs, I could see him watching me closely. As soon as he was out of sight I folded the note into a square and stuffed it in my pocket. I waited until I finished my water before telling my dad I needed to get some errands done, and that I would help him finish the attic another time.

I went home and immediately tried comparing the handwriting in the note to my own. My current handwriting was a lot neater, but I could totally imagine myself as a teenager or preteen writing the way the message was written. Then again, if someone had been trying to copy my writing style, then that would explain the slight differences. After a couple hours of questioning my childhood, I decided to sleep on it. Maybe I would call my brother and ask him if he remembered anything traumatic happening when we were younger. I lay in bed for hours, but just as I was about to drift off, I received a text message from my mother

"You found it, didn't you?”


Second Part




     I stared at my phone's screen, the only source of light in my pitch black bedroom. I was frozen in shock, not sure what to say or do. This wasn't right--it was well past two in the morning. My mother had never texted me this late before. I let the screen fade to black, and I was once again submerged in darkness. The creak of my fan spinning above me only put me more on edge, and I remained lying in bed, completely numb.

Surely she hadn't noticed that I had discovered this little piece of paper that had been hidden away in an old comic book for more than a decade. What the hell were the chances of that? Then again, my father had definitely noticed my discomfort and skittishness in the attic---I was even more anxious now. Maybe my mother was talking about something else? Maybe she was referring to the comic book itself, or something that she thought may have been of value to me or worth taking notice. That still didn't explain why she needed to text me about something so trivial at 2:30 in the morning.

My phone buzzed again, the screen illuminating my face and making my hand jerk in surprise. My phone flew into the air and I leapt, catching it before it could land on the floor. I looked at the next message.

"You awake, hun?"

No, Mom, I am not awake, I decided at that moment. I would leave her on unread all night and reply in the morning. I knew how suspicious it would be if I responded at this time of night, even if I played dumb. A good night's rest was needed anyway for me to deal with the dilemma that was now at the forefront of my mind. I placed my phone on my nightstand and pulled my covers tightly around myself. I don't know when sleep came, but I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing once again very soon after. An immense torrent of dread poured down on me as I read the message.

     "I didn't wanna have to do this."

No. This had gone way too far. This was my mother texting me for crying out loud. It was time to man up and get to the bottom of this. I unlocked my screen and tapped, "Mom" to call her. That was when I heard my mother's melodic ringtone down the stairs. She was in my house.

I sat up in bed, terror engulfing me like it had never done so before. I heard the sound of heavy footsteps rushing quickly up the stairs along with the ringtone, which played like a swan song for my final moments. I had nothing to defend myself with; My dad had guns but I had never wanted to touch one of those things before in my life. I tried to hop out of bed, maybe find a hiding spot, but I slipped because it was dark and I was in a haste---my phone flying through the air and landing on the other side of the room. My bedroom door burst open and I heard someone run in.

"What the fu-" I was hit in the mouth, and judging by the power behind the blow, I knew I was dealing with a man. I kicked out, trying to knock him off his feet, but he came down on me, striking me twice in the face. I threw a punch of my own blindly in the dark and connected with what I was sure was the man's throat. The last thing I remember was hearing him cough before he knocked me out.

I woke the next day feeling groggy as hell. My head was ringing and there was dry blood on my mouth. The sunlight streaming through the curtains did nothing to remedy the situation. I sat up slowly, looking all around the room to see whether or not I was alone. It seemed that I was.

     

     The first thing I needed to do was call the police. Looking across the room, however, I saw that my phone was gone. That made my head hurt even more. Glancing towards my nightstand, where I had stashed the suicide note, I saw that it was wide open. Now my head was surely going to burst open. Someone who had been carrying my mother's phone had actually come into my house, assaulted me, and stolen my phone and the suicide note. This was too much. I knew I needed to record this somewhere. I needed to before I suffered any memory loss from the beating I had taken to my head.

I went down to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and walked around my house, just to be sure my assailant had left. Nothing was out of place or stolen. Whoever had come in the night had thrown a rock through one of my windows, but the hole was barely large enough to fit a person inside. This didn't make any sense. Why hadn't I heard the glass smashing? Then I noticed the back door. I wasn't 100% sure that I had locked it the day before. Now, however, it was unlocked. I knew I needed to get in contact with the police immediately.

I went to my laptop and hurriedly recorded the series of events up to this point. Upon finishing up, I walked over to my neighbor's house with an icebag held to my forehead. I used his phone to call the cops, and he let me sit on his porch as we waited for them to arrive.

When they did, they asked me a series of questions about what exactly had happened. This was the most difficult part for me. I wasn't sure how the person who had taken my mother's phone had gotten in the house, whether they were sent by her, or if it was even my dad I had been fighting the night before---but I love my parents. I didn't want to drag them into this or incriminate them---yet. So I lied. I told the cops I had no clue who would want to steal my phone. I made no mention of the note. They dusted for fingerprints on my back door and let the medical team patch me up. Once I was cleared, the officers gave me a card with my case number and told me they'd keep a squad car in the area.

I knew what I had to do next, even if I didn't want to. I drove to my parent's place. I was in awe and surprised to see that there were a couple of cop cars sitting in their driveway as well. Fear stabbed at me like a cold knife as I darted out of my car into the open front door. One of the cops, standing near the stairs, spun around and raised a gun.

"Freeze!"

"Put the damn gun down, that's my son," my father yelled angrily, and I could see him, my mother, my brother Jed, and my nephew Elliot all at the kitchen table. There were three other officers there in addition to the one pointing the gun at me. He lowered it and looked at me sternly.

"You don't run into a crime scene like that. That's how people get hurt." I didnt understand.

"A crime scene? Mom, Dad, is everything okay?"

Mom was still in her bathrobe; Elliot was looking down at a colorful book, flipping through the pages, and Jed was shaking.

"Someone broke in late last night," muttered my dad, his eyes piercing. "Jed was helping me finish the attic so he... Elliot spent the night here, thank God that bastard didn't hurt my grandson or I'd never be able to forgive myself."

"It's my fault, Dad," mumbled Jed, his voice hoarse. "I went outside for a smoke and forgot to lock the back door. It was too easy for that asshole to come in here."

"He stole our phones and the blu-ray player from the living room," my mom added, staring down at the floor. "He must have been planning to take the TV too because he came back. Jed was going to the bathroom and ran into the guy. He fought him, but the guy got away. He was very careful and methodical. None of us heard a thing until the altercation."

I looked at my brother. He had cuts on both arms, and, glancing over at the smashed glass that had been the coffee table, I could see why. Jed's right fist was busted as well, swelling up badly.

"Someone broke into my place too." They all glanced at me. "Same thing, basically. Beat me up and took my phone."

My mother and father looked at each other, then back at me. The police officers took a look at the card that the other officers had given me for my incident, took a few more notes, then left. Jed had refused medical attention. My mother hugged me as my father stood shaking his head. Mack held Elliot close, as though afraid someone might come back into the  house.

    "Did you text me last night, Mom? Before your phone was stolen?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.

"No, honey, I didn't..."

We all sat in silence for a moment.

"Hulk...SMASH!" giggled Elliot loudly, and that was when I noticed what book he was flipping through. It was my Incredible Hulk comic.

     I had reached my conclusion. At this point, it was very clear to me who had written the suicide note in the first place, broken into my house, kicked my ass, and left me bleeding on the floor.

I pretended as though everything was okay as the day went on. I would steal furtive glances at my brother whenever he wasn't paying attention, wondering why he had written the note in the first place.

What could I have possibly done to him growing up? Sure, he was definitely more like dad, a macho man who liked to play sports and go hunting. Dad was a retired construction worker, and my brother had followed in his footsteps. I, however, had always been more like mom; bookish, clever, and a people person. The reason I had gotten into psychology was due to the fact it was her line of study too. Despite our differences, however, my brother and I had never had any issues. At least I had thought so until recent developments.

My brother's wife, Veronica, showed up later on in the day. My mom and Jed both decided to take naps, but my dad insisted on staying awake, sitting in his favorite chair with his pistol in his lap.

     "I'll give that asshole something to steal," he said as he stared through the window into the front yard. He lasted all of five minutes before he was snoring just as loudly as Jed was upstairs. Veronica asked if I wanted to go to the park with her and Elliot, but I declined. Once she pulled out of the driveway, I knew that I had my chance.

I grabbed Jed's keys from the counter and snuck out to his truck. Though he had tossed a jacket over them, I found quite the collection of things in a box. For starters, my mom's, dad's, Jed's, and my own cellphone were all there; my house key, which I figured had been easy for Jed to swipe from my parents, was there; and there were three different books.

I glanced towards the house, just to be sure I was still alone, and then examined the books closely. One of them was falling apart and covered in dust, clearly from the attic. The title read "Le livre de contrôle de Hannerson", and looked to have been handwritten in French, though, in later pages of the book, English had been scrawled. I didn't bother reading it; The other two books were the real bread and butter, because I recognized one of them. I hadn't seen the red cover in years; It was my journal, which I had stopped writing in when I was probably fifteen or sixteen. The third book was green, with the name JEDI scribbled sloppily on the front.

I swiped both journals and all of the cellphones. If I found answers, I would need to get to the police as quickly as I could. I couldn't risk Jed waking up and leaving the house with the phones in his possession. I made my way to the backyard and hid my own and my mom's phone under a few rocks near the backdoor. These were the ones that were most important, in the event something happened to me. I knew the cops would search the premises for clues. This evidence seemed to incriminate my mother, but I knew all it would take was fingerpint examination to discover that my brother had been the one at my house last night.

I found a secluded spot behind a tree and flipped open my brother's journal. There was mostly typical things you would see a kid write about, but there were other strange things sprinkled in too

"Grandpa says that I'm not good enough to carry along the family legacy. He says I will never be more than a sheep!"

"Darby is their favorite, I know it. Dad takes me hunting but Darby is the one who brings home good grades and awards. Mom even says he is too smart."

"I don't remember doing my chores, but Darbs says I did them. I think I have memory loss or cancer or something. I forget doing a lot of things. Maybe dad will take me to the hospital"

As Jed got older, however, his journal entries began to focus on regular things teenage boys would write about. I didn't find anything cruel or any sort of jealous words about myself in those pages. I then turned my attention to some orange-inked entries from my own journal.

"Dad took Jed out of school early to go and watch the baseball game. That's fine with me; Grandpa says I don't have time for sports. He says he will teach me the family way when I get old enough."

"Grandpa died in his sleep. I have been crying all night, but dad says everything will be okay. I asked him if he will teach me the family way, but he doesn't know what I am talking about."

"Mom has been trying to teach me some weird words, but all I remember is cease nevire, plie moi, and something something douleur. I'd much rather go to the science fair today. I think she knows it."

"Mom says I need to stop, but I'm better at this than her anyway. She can barely make dad mow the lawn when he doesn't feel like it anymore. I can make Jed do whatever I tell him to. If he was smart, I would have him do my extra credit work, but I know Ms. Norris would fail me. Though, she can resist it sometimes, I can make mom do things too. Jed and dad don't remember when they are under control. Mom does."

"I'm pretty sure mom threatened me today. She says that unless I renounce my ways, or éloigne mon esprit, then something bad will happen. I don't want her to hurt dad or Jed, so I may go through with it. I'm not afraid for myself; I know that she cannot control me."

That was the last entry in the journal. To my horror, I realized that I had managed to remember only the orange ink from my past; Nothing about any of this had ever been recollected in my mind. What the hell was really going on here?

I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head. Stunned, I slumped over, and then my brother was on me again. Jed's eyes seemed void of emotion as he reared his fist back, hitting me several more times.

Once I was dazed enough, he began binding my legs together with rope. In my daze I could make out my mother standing slightly behind him, surveying me with cold eyes.

I wanted to say something, but my mouth was numb again and my mind was slow. Once Jed tied my wrists behind my back, mom muttered, "La maison," and he hauled me into the house by my collar. I was regaining my senses as he threw me hard onto the floor. He then stood back, crossing his arms, his swollen fist bleeding now.

"Mom? Mom what the hell is going on!?" I spat in anger. My mother had her arms crossed as well. Dad was still fast asleep in his chair, his saliva slowly dripping out of his mouth.

"     You forced me to do this, Darby. You've always had the family talent, I'll give you that much.. You probably didn't even need the damn book to invade the minds of weaker people. I thought my father and grandmother were adept at it, but you took it to greater levels. You even made teachers give you grades you didn't deserve, though you were so smart none of that was necessary. I was weary of you, but once you started dipping into my mind, well, that couldn't do."

"Dad!" I yelled, and my father jerked awake, the pistol falling to the floor. He took one look at us but before he could even open his mouth my mother shouted "Sommeil!" My dad's eyes dimmed and he fell to the floor, apparently in a deep sleep. I turned back to this woman who I didn't recognize anymore.

      "So what now, huh? You gonna kill him too?"

She shook her head. "No, I can wipe his mind easily. But you, darling, well you have reached the end of the line. I showed you mercy the first time. Even after you wiped your own memories, I still considered having your brother kill you. Even if the police connected the dots and figured out that you didn't do it yourself, well, Jed would be the one to do time, not me. But I let you live. I let you prosper. I wanted you to give me grandchildren to train in the ‘family art’, but you don't have balls, apparently. I suppose Elliot will have to do. Maybe he has more willpower than his musclehead father."

I was very aware of the pistol lying a few feet behind me. I only needed to stall a little longer...

"So why am I alive right now? You could've had Jed snap my neck in the yard."

"You hid the phones. I'm gonna need those back, Darbs. And you're going to write a suicide note yourself, this time. There are other ways I can make you do things."

She turned towards the kitchen, where my father's toolbox sat open on the counter. I took this opportunity to leap for the gun; I landed right next to it, but before I could even get a grip on it, Jed kicked me in the back and bent down, picking it up for himself.

      "Well that just cost you an ear. I was gonna have your brother start with your  toes, but you just had to be Clint Eastwood, didn't you?"

I shouted the first words that came to my mind. "Plie moi!"

My brother relaxed now, as did my mother. I stared in complete disbelief at them. Whereas my brother seemed to have lost the light in his eyes, there was not only recognition, but rage in my mother's. I knew what I had to do. She was too dangerous to be left alive. Who knew what she would have my father, the judge, or any security guards do. I didn't know the words to say, so, tears running down my face, I spoke to them in English.

"Mom, pick up the gun and shoot yourself in the head."

There were tears streaming from her own eyes now, though whether they were from sadness or anger, I can never say. She picked the heavy gun up and placed tbe barrel under her chin while tears broke the levees and her black mascara mixed with salty tears lined her face. She was thinking how suprised she was that she was I saw her hands shaking while she looked at me with rage.

CRACK

She fired the pistol right under the chin and her brains painted the wall behind her. Her lifeless body fell like a pretzel. Once she did the deed, I told my brother to sleep, and he fell to the floor as well. Veronica found us just a few minutes later. I told the responding officers that my mom had hired someone to do her dirty work, but that when he had failed, she had decided to finish things herself. I claimed that I had talked her out of it, but that she was so overcome with grief and guilt that she took her own life instead.

We all cried, and I consoled them as best as I could. I knew they could never know. I took the journals and the family book and burned them in a wooded area. I don't know if any of my mother's extended family know about the book or have the gift, but I'm not worried about them coming after me. Afterall, I'm better than them at this...

BOOK TWO: To be Continued...

Comments

  • I enjoyed this, It was interesting and I'd love to see you write more stuff like this

    Nov 06, 2018

  • Nov 06, 2018

  • Nov 06, 2018

  • Nov 06, 2018

  • Jazz Knight

    Jazz Knight

    thank you, Alexa Frank!! Not sure how to reply to you. i hit the button but it doesnt work, so i hope you come back if for some reason and see this. i really appreciate such words. i added a few more. letter to my daughters killer is a short but good read imo and Im the worst at gauging if the content is shit or not. thanks again

    Nov 10, 2018

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