Roger was not expecting a letter today. The letter he would receive this morning would reveal the tragedy that beset his wife Rachel. When Roger got up, he would look briefly at the picture of his loving wife on the bedside table. Roger truly missed Rachel. He felt a searing pain that shot down from the side of his head down into his lower intestines. He would let out a gasp, and feel the odd tear as it trickled down his cheek. He now felt as if something was really missing. His other half was gone. He would now continue his morning ritual of getting ready for work. The images of his beautiful Rachel would dominate this morning as it had for the past 6 months.
She had been murdered in cold blood 6 months ago. The police never found the murderer; they had plenty of suspects, but not enough evidence to put anyone away. He would receive a prank call once in a while, someone sneering words that he did not understand. He never thought much of calls because the calls were short and for the most part inaudible. Roger was still thinking of his loving wife as he strolled in his catatonic state to the front door to gather up the mail before he would finally drive off to work. He picked up the seven or eight pieces of mail, and quickly started to sort through the bills and junk mail. The last letter shocked him. He stared hypnotically at it. The small picture in the lower left hand corner was very familiar to him.
He ran to the desk in the living room, and opened up the drawer and pulled out one of his photo albums. He quickly rifled through the album. Dumbfounded, he held onto the side of the desk. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The piece of picture on the letter had been clipped from one of the photos in his album. Someone had come into his home and had taken the liberty to cut up his precious photo of his dear wife!
He looked at the letter. The address on the letter was so incredibly, like his wife’s hand writing. He slumped into the chair at the desk. The fond memories of his dearest were now his enemies, as they teared away at the emotions that he was trying so hard to suppress over the last 6 months. What was going on? He had seen the body of Rachel. There was no sign of life. There was no question that she was dead.
He took his letter opener and was about to open the letter, when he noticed that there was no stamp. This letter had not gone through the postal system! It must have been hand delivered. His hands were now visibly shaking as he opened up the manila envelope. There was a letter and several photographs. There were a couple of photos of Roger and Rachel sitting out back in land chairs by the swimming pool. There was a photo of them in a loving embrace. They looked like the photos had been taken from an oak tree 75 feet away.
The next photo was of Rachel bound and tied in her bedroom, with a horrible mutilation on her torso. A simple cross had been craved onto her torso. On the wall had been written “I shall avenge” in Rachel’s blood. Roger was now feeling the pangs down his side and into his intestines even harder now. He struggled for his breath. He threw the photo to the floor, as he gasped for breath. The photo on top was ever so gruesome. Two eyes were staring at him. They were the bright blue eyes of Rachel. The words scowled across the photo were “These are two of my trophies, when I have yours I will have four”.
Roger threw his head back and wept openly. The phone rang. Roger did not pay any attention to it as he continued to sob and cry. After about the 20th ring Roger picked up the phone. A low masculine voice, muttered, “It is your turn Roger. I have waited 10 years to avenge the death of my father.”Roger sobbed, “Terry, is that you? It was a mistake Terry. It was a practical joke. I have apologized to you and your family for years. I sent you and your family gifts…I am soooo sorry. ” The phone went dead. There was no dial tone.
The front door then opened as Terry strolled in. He had a jar in his hand, it was full of a solution that Roger could only guess that this is where his hazel blue eyes would be going. Terry sneared, “Rachel was just practice.”