A. Renee Art

In an expensive neighborhood of the city, two officers and a detective approached the door of a townhouse. The detective knocked. A man answered the door.

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you Bernard Hopkins,” the detective asked.

“He has the day off. Has something happened?”

“You’re Charles Roberts?”

“I am.”

“I’m Detective Gareth Wilson. We have an update on your wife’s case in Painscreek, along with your mother Magdalene Roberts. And…Sofia Miller…and your son Vincent.”

“My God.” His eyes began to water. “Please, come in everyone, officers. My daughter is out for the day with friends, so we have time and privacy.”

He opened the door for them to enter.

Somewhere in an interrogation room, a handcuffed Matthew Brooks sat across from Sheriff Howard. The confession tape Janet found was on the table right between them. Another officer guarded the door.

“Along with the murders of Andrew Reed, Dr. Henry Johnson, and Vivian Roberts…and P.I. Steve Moss,” Sheriff Howard said, “we’re charging you for the attempted murder of Janet Kelly. Along with arson at Reed’s place.”

Matthew remained silent.

“You sure you don’t want a lawyer? You’ll be given one anyway, as it is your right. And the fact that you were a priest will no doubt be taken into consideration as far as what your ultimate punishment will be, including death.”

“I deserve the highest punishment as God wills it,” Matthew mumbled. “Besides, an entire town died, in a way, because of me.”

“Indeed. But you know, it didn’t have to be this way at all.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Not in the way you think. Your motive was clear and it was a crime of passion. However, we read Sofia’s final letter she wrote you.” He held up the letter, protected in a plastic bag, and read a part of it. “Do you remember the wishes we made when we were at the orphanage? Yours was to help the unfortunate. Mine was not to be poor anymore. Well, I did not expect opportunity to knock so soon. Maybe heaven is helping me? With all that has happened these past few months, my wish might just come true. Soon I won’t have to be a maid anymore.” He put the letter down and repeated, “’Mine was not to be poor anymore…My wish might just come true. Soon I won’t have to be a maid anymore.’ Hmm. Father Matthew, did you really think that young lady was gonna accept your proposal with a rinky-dink plastic-looking piece of thin black metal you called a ring, when she realized her ship had just come in?”

Father Matthew started. He began lightly shaking.

“I read it about five times myself,” the officer at the door said. “I didn’t see any acceptance of a proposal.”

“I know, right,” Sheriff Howard said. “Ain’t no way that little gold digger was gonna marry a dirt-poor orphaned priest with no prospects.”

Father Matthew wanted to scream. They sounded just like Vivian. He wanted to shout at them for calling Sofia a gold digger, but instead he just folded his arms and sobbed into them. He had read that same letter multiple times throughout the years and had even come to memorize it.

Thank you for your letter and the birthday present.

That was all she said about the ring. After all the effort he went through in hollowing out the stump, carving the numbers on the stone, timing the letters perfectly around her birthday, and having the mind to do all of this before deciding that he would eventually stay abroad another six months—just a simple polite and friendly “Thank you”, nothing more. Some of Vincent’s final words to him also spoke to this.

I don’t know how my mother felt about you, but she saw you as a friend, at least.

Deep down, he knew it. All along. He even sometimes felt a slight bit of anger towards her every time he read that letter, but he managed to keep it down. Was that why he thought for a few seconds about wringing Vincent’s neck when he said that? That he suddenly imagined in the next second that he was doing the same to Sofia?

He remembered subconsciously admitting to Vincent, “We were just friends growing up together at St. Patrick’s.”

Thank you…A friend…Just friends. Nothing more.

Maybe that was why he tried so hard to find her. Not just out of his love for her, but because he wanted to hear from her how she really felt about him, affair with Charles or no. However, her closing of “Love always”left things in confusion with her earlier sentiment. In the end though, the sheriff was right and after twenty-four years, he finally heard her answer, if not from her.

Derrick Tyler sat at his kitchen table in his apartment going through the mail, one of which was a thick envelope. Opening the letter confirmed his assumption. His landline phone rang on his kitchen wall.

“Hello,” he answered. “This is Derrick. The Hartford Times? An interview? What about?” As he listened, he straightened and almost let the phone drop, but he steadied his arm. “No, I decline an interview. I’m glad the case was solved, but I’m moving on. I just got a new job in Washington. Mr. Roberts wrote me a letter of recommendation as a thank you for my service. I was about to call him later.” He heard the speaker congratulate him. “Thank you…You met Scott?”

He had a look of frustration on his face, which softened when he remembered the drawing he did of them and Trisha from the time capsule they buried. His eyes began to water as he remembered the letter he wrote and left in the box. “No, I—I don’t want to know where he is. Just tell him, ’Sorry about the punch.’”

He hung up.

At her desk at The Hartford Times, Janet hung up her phone after Derrick ended their conversation. Her Editor-in-Chief, Richard Harris, approached her.

“Janet,” he said, “I just want to say again, good job on uncovering the truth about the Painscreek Killings! I’ve decided that your story will be on the front page!”

“Thank you, Chief!”

“Got my eye on you, Kelly! Phenomenal work! Phenomenal!”

He left for his office, exuberant. Dennis came up to her.

“Glad you made it back, Janet,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Did a bunch of teens really help you, though? It’s very Scooby-Doo, except no dog.”

“They helped me cover ground, yes,” she admitted before whispering, “The Chief is the only other person who knows that, though. I’m not allowed to write that they were teenagers or name them, but I can still credit them.”

“Don’t worry about it, Janet. It’s technically your story, and you led the investigation and solved it, plus no one got hurt. Oh! I mean…”

“I’m fine, Dennis, really. Thank goodness I brought running shoes. As for the kids that helped me, I compensated them, as much as I could, for their time and their trauma of finding a dead body.”

“How much?”

“Enough money for tickets and snacks for the next time they go to the movies and dinner at the fast-food place of their choice.”

“I…guess that’s something.”

“They’re high schoolers…on a summer road trip just before senior year starts.”

“Ah, that’s cool. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Dennis left and Janet dialed the next number on her list, the one for Charles Roberts.

As Trisha and her two friends approached her home, she noticed the police cars and officers at the door. With bad memories of Painscreek flooding her mind, she dropped her shopping bags and rushed into her home and ran into Detective Wilson. She called for her father, who called for her in turn. He appeared from around a corner. The detective let her go to him, her sobbing. Her father consoled her.

“I thought…” she cried.

“I know. Your father’s still here sweetie.”

They both looked over as two officers led Bernard Hopkins away in handcuffs.

“Bernard Hopkins,” Detective Wilson spoke, “You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Vincent Scott.”

“Like I said to these two earlier, I don’t know any Vincent Scott,” he said.

“You knew him as Scott Brooks.”

“The murderer? He killed poor Vivian!”

“We have proof he didn’t. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

“That can’t be true! Please, the light is too harsh for my migraines!”

“Did he say Vincent,” Trisha asked as he was taken away.

“Trish,” her father started. “It’s time to tell you. Before the journalist gets here for an interview and news gets out.”

“Daddy, what did Bernard do?”

“It’s…not just about Bernard. Let’s wait until everyone’s gone.”

Days later, Vincent was smoking on the back porch behind Dorothy’s kitchen. She called him inside saying lunch was ready. He put his cigarette out on a railing and placed it in a garbage can below some steps. Before going back in, he took it back out and used his shoe to grind it against the ground, making sure that it was completely extinguished before placing it back in the bin.

He joined her at the table as she handed him a soda. The latest copy of The Hartford Times lay nearby with Father Matthew’s photo from his old office wall on the front page.

“Here’s the letter I received from Ms. Kelly,” she said, holding it. “Before I read it, have you decided yet, about making contact? It’s been three years since you saw either of them, and they are your family.”

“I’ve decided on a phone call for now. I gave my number to Janet along with the best time to call me. She passed it along to him when she interviewed him.”

“That’s good. If you want, I can be there when you two talk.”

“I’d like that. I suggested Sunday evening as the best time. As far as actually meeting them though, I’m not sure yet.”

“I think it’s best for you to finally see them, but I’ll support you, whatever your decision, Vincent.”

“Thanks, Dorothy. You’re really like a mother to me.”

“Technically, I should have been your nanny too, and I was, for a short while. It’s too bad about Derrick though. I wish you two would reconcile, but I guess the guilt of not telling the police the truth about your alibi at the time is still too great.”

“Janet said he apologized for punching me at the market. I guess that’s something. But really, I hope everyone can move on. Let the old ghosts of Painscreek, living and dead, finally rest and receive their due rewards for their suffering…or face their punishments for their sins.”

“Amen to that. And now for the letter.”

To: Dorothy Patterson,

My name is Janet Kelly. I’m here to inform you on behalf of P.I. Steve Moss that the secret of The Painscreek Killings has come to light, with some helpful assistance that I will always be grateful for. I’m afraid that Detective Moss’s remains were discovered in the abandoned town. His union and family have already been notified.

While preparing for this letter, I could not help but wonder: what if Charles didn’t commit adultery? What if Vivian had not confronted Sofia? What if Magdalene hadn’t insisted on a son to continue the family line? What if Father Calvin sent baby Vincent to the city instead of the same orphanage his mother and Father Matthew grew up in? Could things have turned out differently? In hindsight, it’s easy to say what everyone should not have done.

Sometimes it’s hard to make the right choices in life, isn’t it? Did Derrick really come to hate Scott so much that it led to his near death and running away? Could Matthew not have sought revenge for Sofia? Why did Dr. Henry Johnson choose to be an accomplice in Magdalene’s death? Why did he and Andrew help Vivian confront Sofia? The truth was that everyone made a choice they thought was the best, but not necessarily the right one. This made me realize the following:

We have the freedom to say or do whatever we want, but there are consequences following our actions. The bigger the mistake, the harsher the consequences. It was true that Charles and Sofia’s affair was wrong. But Vivian had a choice, either to confront Charles properly and perhaps divorce him and carry on as best as she could financially or take it out on Sofia. Perhaps being from a poor and working background, she didn’t want to start over, so unfortunately, she chose the latter. In the end, she, Andrew, Dr. Johnson, and Matthew all had to face the consequences of their choices.

But I remain puzzled by one thing: if Steve and I were both trying to find out the truth, why was I saved but not him? I hope I can find an answer someday. I’m halfway done writing the article as I speak and you might receive this letter just as it comes out. I hope you and Vincent look forward to it, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to read it.

 May you both have closure and peace at last.

Janet Kelly

August 12, 1999

They read the front-page story together as they eat.

Merc, Lydia, Connor, Caylix, and Madeline left a theater after seeing a new movie: The Sixth Sense. They unanimously loved it. Connor thought it had the best horror movie twist he had seen since he and Caylix saw Ringu last year. After their experience in Painscreek, Maddie suggested that they should see it, predicting that they would all love it. She admitted that she saw the twist coming, but enjoyed the buildup to it, so it was enjoyable for her too.

Afterwards, they went out to dinner, still talking about the movie, going over the clues leading up to the shocking end. Everyone then admitted to Caylix that they saw Sofia’s ghost in Painscreek. She was a bit jealous, but also thankful that she didn’t have such an encounter.

“She wasn’t vengeful,” Connor said. “I only saw her from the back, but to me, she seemed just…sad.”

“I got that sense from her too, though I was far away,” Merc said.

“So did I, now that I think of it,” Lydia added.

They all looked at Maddie, who nodded, sipping a straw from her drink.

“Well that’s another successful case for Club Supernatural Anomaly Investigators,” Connor said. “So much video, so little time to go through them before school.”

“So when they ask us what we did on our summer vacation,” Caylix said, “we’ll have proof! Oh, you know, we never really introduced ourselves to Janet as Club SAI.”

“It’s fine,” Lydia said. “If we told her that we investigate strange stuff as part of a school club, she would have been more concerned about us.”

“And about the school we go to,” Merc added.

Leaving McDonalds’s, Merc saw a newspaper stand for The Hartford Times. The front page read “The Painscreek Killings: Truth Revealed”. He grabbed copies for everyone before they returned to the car.

As Merc drove the group on the highway close to sunset, Maddie began reading Janet Kelly’s article.

“In 1995, Andrew Reed died in a fire, Dr. Henry Johnson drowned in a lake, and Vivian Roberts was found murdered outside of her home. Three separate deaths in less than two months. What no one expected was that their deaths were linked to a single incident that happened more than twenty years ago. These deaths came to be known as…”