"Tristan, I love you, Tristan." I could hear the voice of my long-gone beloved wife once more while still asleep. I could see their perfect body shape and those perfect round eyes staring into my soul while I drowned in the abyss, trying to reach out to them, but it was useless.
I've long known that my wife is gone, and I can do nothing to get them back. Everyone has been so nonchalant as well, only telling me that it's time to move on and that I should forget about the love of my life and get another wife, as it was that easy to overcome this pain.
Many would argue that a sudden death is far less painful than a prolonged death caused by cancer or some other awful disease, but I would say otherwise. My wife didn't deserve to die like that. She definitely did nothing wrong. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.
They were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver who didn't even realize they had killed somebody until they were arrested and taken into custody. Remembering that guy's face always makes me angry and even more when the judge sided with them instead of me and my dead wife.
Citing that they were just some young, naive teenagers who showed signs of remorse like that would bring my wife back to life. I did get a minor win in the car crash settlement; however, since my wife's car was totaled and her car was a high-end SUV, I got a paycheck of forty thousand dollars.
Most of the money went into funeral fees and into another small sedan, which I needed to get since getting that car for my wife took away my little sports convertible; I swear I always did everything to make her happy, and now she's just gone like that in one night she just left.
I've had nightmares since then, and while I know this is normal stuff one goes through, and yet I can't help but feel like the Beth in my dreams is the real one. I yearn and ask god to please let me touch her and hug her one more time. Just one more time would be enough. Oh god, hear my prayer.
I wonder as thunder rumbles in the middle of the night rainstorm, which also lets me see a faraway silhouette out there in the cornfields before my house. I live out on the outskirts of town, far away from the city and next to a small family farmhouse that sometimes plants tomatoes, corn, or even peanuts.
Not that it mattered, but the silhouette freaked me out when I saw it out there in the rain; not paying much attention to it, I fell back asleep. I mean, what could it be? Perhaps my neighbor finally had enough of the birds eating his crops, so he made a scarecrow; it wouldn't be much of a mystery then, would it?
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The following day, I woke up with a headache and lethargy so great I almost felt like calling off from work, but I couldn't afford that, so I forcefully went to take a shower and dressed myself for work. I am an accountant for a small credit union, which is poorly known but pays well.
{Knock knock}
I hear two soft knocks on the front of my door, and I wonder who it could be. I mean, I know my neighbors wake up at around the same time as me, but what could they want? Not wanting to seem like an asshole, I go to answer the door as soon as possible just to see nobody out there, not even my neighbor picking some fresh corn like always.
That was strange; I told myself as I closed the door so I could pick up my cup of coffee before leaving for work in the city. I always had to drink some coffee before heading to work because I wasn't the same without my usual caffeine dose to wake me up.
I notice a small piece of old, wet, dry paper on my windshield as I approach it with my cup of coffee at hand, wondering who could've left me a note in the middle of a rainy night. I don't pay much attention to the piece of paper at first, only throwing the note inside my car so I can drive to work while listening to the Joe Rogan Experience podcast.
The drive to work goes as usual, and there is not much traffic at 6 AM, making it a dream to drive since no one else is driving to work yet. I've been obsessed with work to try and tire myself out, so sleeping will be easier at night. I was usually always the one to open the bank before the official opening time.
My coworkers all arrived at around seven-thirty AM, and I usually beat them by around forty minutes or so, giving plenty of time to set my desk up perfectly before anyone else even arrived. With this plenty of time, I now look at the note inside my car as I turn the engine off in front of the bank.
The note read something strange; however, an address was on it. "1095 Gary Lane Drive, California," the address rang inside my mind for a while as I struggled to remember who the address was from. I knew that address from something, but I failed to recognize it at the moment.
It was only after a short Google Maps search that I remembered when I saw the picture of the house from the Google Streets pictures. It was the house of the murderer of that disgusting guy who killed my wife. Still, who could've left me the note? My neighbors knew nothing about it, and I was pretty sure I was one of the only ones who knew their address.
As to how I found out, it was all thanks to the court documents my lawyer let me read through while we built our case to send that son of a bitch to jail for the rest of their putrid life. Still, as I disclosed before, we lost anyway, but why would this not be on my car this morning? Was someone playing a prank on me?