It was unnoticeable. The book had sat there on the shelves collecting dust and never seeing the light of day, untouched, for decades. Only after stumbling into the bookshelf and knocking over the books it had contained Lucas was able to notice it. There laying amongst the numerous other books splayed over the floor was a thin black moleskin notebook bound in cloth. He was drawn to the mystery that lay in the pages of the journal. Upon asking the bookstore owner about his discovery, Lucas was met with a shrug and nonchalant expression. In quandary of what knowledge lay inside the book’s pages, he decided to take it home to investigate. Cracking open the book’s ancient binding, dust flew up into Lucas’s face. After recovering from a coughing fit, he went back to inspecting the details of the book. Engraved on the back cover was a faint R.H. signaling who the possible owner of the diary once was. The only writing in the book was written on the first page. All that faced Lucas were the words “I didn’t mean to”. Left perplexed and more confused than before he started Lucas closed the book. However, thoughts of what this R.H. figure could have done in his lifetime haunted him throughout his daily activities. After a week of ignoring the questions that plagued Lucas’s mind, he opened the book once again to examine its contents to see if there was anything left unnoticed the first time. Squinting at the pages, Lucas observed the slightest indented squiggles on every page he flipped through. Perplexed as to what these small markings could be, he turned to the internet. After searching for hours as to what these indentations could be, he had an epiphany. Off he went looking for an iron in his house. After returning to his room with the iron, Lucas went to work ironing the second page of the diary. As the iron passed parts of the page, words suddenly appeared in front of Lucas’s eyes. He had been right, whoever had written in the diary had used invisible ink to hide their secrets away from the world. There written in the pages of this inconspicuous book was the tale of a broken man.
I didn’t mean to do it. I only wanted to help. That was the only reason I did what I did in the first place. My whole profession focused on helping people. I was a therapist. I only wanted to help.
It started and ended with him. I did everything I could to help him and make sure he was in a better state of mind. He was a young boy, only 17 years old, with his whole life ahead, yet I couldn’t help him enough.
I had grown close to him throughout the years because of the fact he had been my patient for years at this point. That’s what made it harder for me. Weekly, he confided in me and trusted me with the crucial moments of his life that were important to him.
For years, I could see his resolve declining. I did the best I could to aid him and reassure his value in himself. My care and affection for him wasn’t enough.
He cracked. He couldn’t take it. He took his life. I failed. My one job was to help this boy and make the difficulties he faced easier on him. I couldn’t do it. I only wanted to help.
I cracked then.
I’m not proud of what I did next. I couldn’t cope with the failure in myself because of my inability to assist this boy.
I stayed up late each night pondering what more I could have done for him. In my mind, I went through every possible outcome that could have occurred instead of the end of his life with my negligence of my job.
My conscience channeled the worst part of me.
I proceeded to spend every waking minute of my existence trying to find those who made life unbearable for him to continue on. After months of questioning those close to him and the others around him, I found the culprit.
My life soon revolved around following her around. Every day she had the same routine. Leaving for school early in the morning, staying there for eight hours and dropping by a local diner only to return home and stay there. She was bubbly and bright. I had no idea what this girl could have done to him to hurt him badly enough.
I wanted to get close to her. In my head, if I wanted to do what I intended to do, I needed to get close to her.
I made my move. After noticing that nobody else was ever there when she was at home, I saw an opportunity.
It was pouring. I posed as a stranger caught in the rain. She let me inside. She made a mistake.
I was conversing with her. She seemed perfectly normal. I had still yet to see why she could have possibly inflicted so much pain on him. It didn’t matter. It was going to happen. I left. Only leaving one of her windows unlocked to ever acknowledge my presence in her house.
One week later, I found my courage and did it. It was late at night by the time I arrived at her doorstep. She was asleep. I slipped into the unlocked window.
I stood over her bed at this point. Just watching. Waiting for what was to happen next. I started ruffling through her things, looking for anything that connected her to him. I stopped when I heard rustling. Turning back, she was tossing and turning in her sleep. Raising my hand, I chloroformed her.
I grabbed her and ran into the darkness of the night. Placing her into my basement, I tied and gagged her. I then sat there, waiting for her to awaken. When she finally came to, she looked up in confusion of her surroundings. Upon looking in my direction, I saw the panic in her eyes.
I wasn’t going to kill her. Yet. I wanted my questions answered first. I questioned her relations to him. She said nothing. I asked again. Still, nothing. I left her in the dark for two days. I retuned with food for her. This time, I used the food as a reward for every question she answered. Unbeknownst to her, I had put the smallest dose of arsenic into the food to poison her slowly while she was with me.
I asked again. This time, she spoke. She stated that he was simply a boy who had had a crush on her, though she had never reciprocated those feelings. I recalled everything he had told me during our sessions.
I realized he was a broken boy who had just wanted love. Having never received love from his family, he had turned to his classmates. But, even then, there was none to be had. I felt guilty. If I had just told him, I loved and cherished his life, he would still be here and I wouldn’t have put this innocent girl in danger.
At this point, I realized I was in the wrong. It was too late though. I had committed to finish the job and had no way to just let her go back out into the world to let her live her life.
One of our lives had to end. I decided it had to be mine.
I let her go. Now I’m writing this after ingesting the arsenic I had intended for her. I only wanted to help. Yet now, I’ve only made things worse, frightening that young girl.
I’m a monster. I wanted to help. It wasn’t enough. I made things worse. I should have never interfered.
Lucas closed the book. He put it away and intended to never open it again, for this person’s life wasn’t his to reflect on. He returned the book back to the shelves of the bookstore only for it to sit there and regain all the dust it had collected before. It stayed there, unnoticed for many more years after that. Until, it fell into someone’s footsteps once again.