Dear Mr. Coleman,
I am reaching out to you with a heavy heart, and equally heavy conscience. My name is not of importance, but I knew your son, and I was with him in his last moments on this earth. I couldn't come forward to the police due to my story, but I mean this when I say, I did not kill your son nor do I know the men who did; I did however witness the entire events leading up to his death. It started the night of the first heavy snow, December 12th, if I remember correctly. A group of my closest friends and I were taking a walk and enjoying the fresh snow. Due to the level of new snow there were no cars in the roads, and no people but us on the streets. It was frightfully cold and our exposed ears and noses didn't last long in that kind of temperature. We sought out shelter in the drug store on the corner of Elm and 39th street. While warming our bodies and buying much needed materials for our walk home one of my friends pulled me away from our group. She informed me that your son, someone she had been deeply in love with at the time, was arguing with the night pharmacist.
I had only had a few interaction with your son at our school before that night, and I can say that curiosity had gotten the better of me. My friend and I hid in the vitamin aisle and listened to their conversation. Your son was complaining about what I could only assume was a faulty prescription. Even with their voices rising it was very hard to understand them. Your son stormed out of the store and my friend and I went back to our group. We had chalked that night up to a plain argument...little did we know the way it could and did evolve.
Within the course of the school week,leading up to winter break, your son seemed very distant with his friends. He would no longer answer question if called on in class, and I heard that his grades were beginning to slip, and though I know his life was none of my business I just couldn't let him go. I stopped him on the last day of school and though we had never properly talked I simply asked if he had any plan for over the break, and though a lie I told him that one of his teachers had asked me to help him get his grades up over the break. He did not seem happy about this but we did agree to meet at the towns library on the next Tuesday. When we meet he seemed to be intoxicated, in fact the smell of rum was practically protruding through his pores, I did not question him about it though. We hardly go any work done due to his want to over share about his personal life. He told me about how strict you had become after your wife's passing last year. We gained a few odd looks from the people in the library, your son was not talking quietly. After an hour of sharing he got up, leaving his school books, and walked out of the library. He left me to clean up the mess he made and I did return his school books to his locker after winter break, though I know he never made it back to school.
I had gotten his locker combination from a friend of his and as I open the locker I saw a mess of loose papers,pencils, and hastily drawn notes from classes. I had to move some of papers so I could put his books in the locker and as I did so a torn, yellow washed paper fell to the floor. I picked up the crumpled paper with the intent of just placing it back in the locker, though as this story continues, we both know I didn’t. I unfolded the paper, smoothing it out to the best of my abilities, and tried to make out the writing on the note. I have seen your son’s handwriting before, many times I have had to grade his essays in our english class, and this was not his writing. The note must have been slipped through the slots of his locker and he must have not liked what he read, and I can not fault him, if I had an anonymous note claim to want want my father dead I would have taken action as well. Your son however did not take action, he simply crumpled the note and went about his business, but I could not do the same. I could see why your son wouldn't have mind your potential death threat, after all I know a lot about Mr. Coleman and your not the kindest man. I took the note and I left school, it wasn't hard to leave without anyone knowing if you knew where to go. Down the east stairwell, into the basement, and out the door marked fire escape. The school had to have a fire escape door down there but most students knew it wouldn’t set off an alarm when opened.
I had decided to walk past your house to see if your son was in, but when I didn't see his car or yours I figured I would chat with the pharmacist...he was the only one I could think of to have a issue with your son. I was about to leave when I saw two sets of footprints leading out into your backyard. I followed the footsteps into your backyard, climbing over the padlocked fence. The footsteps stopped when they got to your shed, a real run down looking one at that, truly house appearances are important around here, and by the look of yours I could read how you thought. I tried to open the shed but it was locked with the same padlock from the fence, an odd occurrence, why two locks Mr. Coleman? Who were you trying to keep out, or worse who were you trying to keep in? Of course I knew the answer to that question, and so do you.
You are the real definition of a man turned into a monster, but after all I have heard that the death of a loved one makes you do unthinkable things. How long did it take you to realize that after a couple glasses of vodka your memories were gone? You no longer had to be bothered with the image of your wife's dead body, lying in bed that morning. Along with the haze of your mind you also got violent, your son could vouch for that knowledge, but you didn’t care. I have also heard that children do as they see, so im am no longer surprised that your son turned to drinking to forget your actions, but it did not have the same effect on him. He turned to your prescription to help him forget, he had a deal with the pharmacist, if he filled the prescriptions your son would get the pharmacist crush to give him a chance. Your son had watched you lie so many times that it's no surprise that after a while the pharmacist caught on to the one sided deal. That was the reason they were fighting that night of the first snow.
You can thank the pharmacist for being so...open about the deal with me, when people die and you had probable cause to kill, you become open to idea of spilling your side. The pharmacist told me about the plan to meet up at the old train tracks and settle things that night, but he backed out and your son was not happy about that. Your son threatened the pharmacist that night, my friend and I did not see the gun hiding in his coat, out only enough to be threatening. Where your son go the gun is not a big mystery, maybe you should have came up with a better pin number for the safe that held the gun. This story is full of ‘should haves’ and ‘maybes’. The pharmacist told me that to calm your son he said he would meet up again, same place and time, on the night of the 3rd of January, the first day back at school.
I left the pharmacist and headed to the train tracks, a place for teens to smoke and drink without being caught. I also knew the pharmacist had set your son up, I never mentioned that your son might be dead, in fact when I found him that night, lying on the tracks, beaten and half dead I knew that the pharmacist had something to due with his death, along with the three men dressed in black leaving your son and heading into the woods opposite of me. When I was sure that the men had left I rushed to help your son. I felt the train tracks vibrating as I tried to lift his body off the tracks, I am small for my age and I could barely cary more than three textbooks for school, so your son was out of my weight reage. I began to feel scared for the first time in this story when I saw the lights coming from the tree covering. I left your son on the tracks and watched as the unknowing train plowed over his body.
You could say that I am no better than you. I let a child die that night, my DNA was all over his body but the police wouldn't find any of it, the train cut your son in half and the nature damage to the body from being left on those tracks for two nights destroyed any DNA. I’m sorry for your loss, but you feel nothing, the alcohol has damaged your brain, you wanted to feel something again. Does murdering your son make you feel again? Don’t fret I know you did nothing directly to kill your son. You sent your son to a group of men who wanted you dead, and after they had finished beating who they thought was you they realized that it was not. You do not know me, but I know more than enough about you, and because I watched the train go over your son’s body I can not come forward with the knowledge I have. In the mind of the police my knowledge is enough linked me to the crime making me a very good advocate for his murder. Since I can’t come forward I have decided to play a game of fate. As you are reading this the whole town will be waking up to this same letter posted on walls and in mail boxes. I can not come forward but I can tell the world what I know.
So have a nice day Mr. Coleman, I know I will.