english,
Betty,
I’ve been so scared.
I. Solar Eclipse
I met you at that party they held for watching the solar eclipse. Wednesday, August 11, 1999. The date was down on my calendar the moment I found out when it would be; it’s always fascinated me how a simple shadow could engulf everything you know. It was a total solar eclipse. It was also the last eclipse of the millennium, so I suppose the universe found it only fitting that something momentous happens for me too. It's funny; if only I had known then.
We talked and laughed, and you told me at some point that you were glad your friends convinced you to come. I felt the same. When the moon finally overcast the sun, I saw you smile, and I remember thinking I didn't really miss out on the light much.
I walked home that night elated. There was this—almost painful—tightness in my chest that made me feel like something big was happening.
II. Black Butterfly
We continued talking. The weekend after the party, I was sitting on my porch when I saw that black butterfly, which was surprising. I'd never seen a black one before. I couldn't pinpoint why at that moment, but it made me think of you. You said later it was because you mentioned you loved butterflies, that seeing one always gave you a feeling of freedom. Looking back on it in hindsight, I feel like there was something else there too.
I ran around trying to chase the butterfly, and then I took it in my hands, went inside to put it in a jar to give to you. Even though I didn't run much, I couldn't catch my breath and I felt extremely lightheaded. I didn't mind though, because I knew it would bring me closer to you. Then I sealed the jar, like I did my fate.
When I handed the jar to you, you looked at me like I was crazy. The butterfly lay inside, withered. There was no air to breathe. You felt so sorry for the butterfly, almost crying for it.
I stood there paralyzed and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how I was still out of breath. Under your unnerved gaze, I felt just like that butterfly, like something was stealing the air out from my lungs and it was only a matter of time before I lay withered, too. And yet, you still did what you did. Why didn't you feel sorry for me?
III. Will-o'-the-wisp
I should have seen it coming. It was so obvious then, and I didn't. People use the name “will-o'-the-wisp” for delusive goals, and I think you deceived me in the same way.
I called you out to search for them once; you'd never seen them before in real life. On the phone, you said it was just a throwaway thought that you didn't really mean; you didn't even know if they were real. But I wanted to do everything to make it up to you. Will-o'-the-wisps, ignis fatuus—foolish light.
I looked for those balls of light for about an hour. The night was chilly and I wasn't straining myself, but surprisingly enough, I was breaking out in a cold sweat.
The will-o'-the-wisp finally showed up with the honk of a car. You arrived. It was telling that it only showed up when you came. You had this uneasy look in your eyes, but you spared me a smile and thanked me for your effort. You saw I was sweating and that I looked fatigued, so you drove me home straight after.
As I was waving goodbye, I noticed a reflection of light in your eyes. You were staring up at my house in awe. The universe always seems to conspire to defy the odds it set every time we meet.
I turned my head, and sure enough, there it was. Another will-o'-the-wisp.
There's another name for them. Corpse candles.
---
Oh, Betty.
They keep telling me I'm in this hospital bed because my time has come; all of them say it, the priests, the doctors. But I figured it out, and I know better. You do too, don't you? It all started when you came into my life. Every one of our moments has been an omen, and each one has been yours. But you’ve tried to pass the shadows on to me. My dear, sweet Betty. Who would have thought you to be an angel of death?
I have been so scared. I was.
But I'm not anymore. I see now that it was never my time. It was yours.
I'll miss you forever, but it's time for you to stop running away. I know it's hard for you to accept things as they are. So I’ll help you. For you, I'll carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.
Letter found Wednesday, August 25, 1993, in Betty Fisher’s house. Fisher found dead; stabbed with knife from local hospital.
Literary: Omen
Betty,
I’ve been so scared.
I. Solar Eclipse
I met you at that party they held for watching the solar eclipse. Wednesday, August 11, 1999. The date was down on my calendar the moment I found out when it would be; it’s always fascinated me how a simple shadow could engulf everything you know. It was a total solar eclipse. It was also the last eclipse of the millennium, so I suppose the universe found it only fitting that something momentous happens for me too. It's funny; if only I had known then.
We talked and laughed, and you told me at some point that you were glad your friends convinced you to come. I felt the same. When the moon finally overcast the sun, I saw you smile, and I remember thinking I didn't really miss out on the light much.
I walked home that night elated. There was this—almost painful—tightness in my chest that made me feel like something big was happening.
II. Black Butterfly
We continued talking. The weekend after the party, I was sitting on my porch when I saw that black butterfly, which was surprising. I'd never seen a black one before. I couldn't pinpoint why at that moment, but it made me think of you. You said later it was because you mentioned you loved butterflies, that seeing one always gave you a feeling of freedom. Looking back on it in hindsight, I feel like there was something else there too.
I ran around trying to chase the butterfly, and then I took it in my hands, went inside to put it in a jar to give to you. Even though I didn't run much, I couldn't catch my breath and I felt extremely lightheaded. I didn't mind though, because I knew it would bring me closer to you. Then I sealed the jar, like I did my fate.
When I handed the jar to you, you looked at me like I was crazy. The butterfly lay inside, withered. There was no air to breathe. You felt so sorry for the butterfly, almost crying for it.
I stood there paralyzed and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how I was still out of breath. Under your unnerved gaze, I felt just like that butterfly, like something was stealing the air out from my lungs and it was only a matter of time before I lay withered, too. And yet, you still did what you did. Why didn't you feel sorry for me?
III. Will-o'-the-wisp
I should have seen it coming. It was so obvious then, and I didn't. People use the name “will-o'-the-wisp” for delusive goals, and I think you deceived me in the same way.
I called you out to search for them once; you'd never seen them before in real life. On the phone, you said it was just a throwaway thought that you didn't really mean; you didn't even know if they were real. But I wanted to do everything to make it up to you. Will-o'-the-wisps, ignis fatuus—foolish light.
I looked for those balls of light for about an hour. The night was chilly and I wasn't straining myself, but surprisingly enough, I was breaking out in a cold sweat.
The will-o'-the-wisp finally showed up with the honk of a car. You arrived. It was telling that it only showed up when you came. You had this uneasy look in your eyes, but you spared me a smile and thanked me for your effort. You saw I was sweating and that I looked fatigued, so you drove me home straight after.
As I was waving goodbye, I noticed a reflection of light in your eyes. You were staring up at my house in awe. The universe always seems to conspire to defy the odds it set every time we meet.
I turned my head, and sure enough, there it was. Another will-o'-the-wisp.
There's another name for them. Corpse candles.
---
Oh, Betty.
They keep telling me I'm in this hospital bed because my time has come; all of them say it, the priests, the doctors. But I figured it out, and I know better. You do too, don't you? It all started when you came into my life. Every one of our moments has been an omen, and each one has been yours. But you’ve tried to pass the shadows on to me. My dear, sweet Betty. Who would have thought you to be an angel of death?
I have been so scared. I was.
But I'm not anymore. I see now that it was never my time. It was yours.
I'll miss you forever, but it's time for you to stop running away. I know it's hard for you to accept things as they are. So I’ll help you. For you, I'll carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.
Letter found Wednesday, August 25, 1993, in Betty Fisher’s house. Fisher found dead; stabbed with knife from local hospital.
Suspect (hospital escapee) arrested day of. Found dead in holding cell shortly after; cause of death: heart attack—impending weeks before, condition worsened by grief
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