The 24th Letter

SEVENTY-NINE

Anita Johnson slept later than she wanted. Almost noon. Had the postman come yet? She bolted from bed, slipped into her robe, and checked on her toddler. Ronnie was still sleeping. Probably tired from the trip back, Anita thought. Mama was right. Go on and leave Lyle. Leave his abuse and crazy get-rich-quick schemes behind

She put on a pot of coffee, peeked through the kitchen curtains, and waited. What would Lyle send? She hadn’t been home in two days since she talked with Lyle and had decided to spend the weekend with her mother. She told her mother everything, even the last weird conversation she had with Lyle. She could leave him now. Anita had driven five hours, getting home late last night. Now it was Monday, almost noon.

She sipped her coffee, put on touch of lipstick, tied the robe around her waist, and walked outside down the dirt drive to the mailbox. She listened for the sound of his rattling diesel engine. Nothing. Nothing but a mockingbird singing its fool head off.

As she reached for the mailbox, she felt her heart beat faster. Shouldn’t get nervous, she told herself. Just something Lyle wasn’t man enough to say in person-to say when he wasn’t crazy drunk. She pulled out a stack of bills. Lights. Mortgage. Home Depot. Best Buy. New TV would be paid off when little Ronnie was six. Four envelopes with four bills. Nothing from Lyle. Where was he?

The sound. The diesel. It was coming. The postman’s truck was at the Madison’s house, just through the pines. She would wait.

“Come on mister mailman,” she whispered. Anita thought she heard the baby cry. She looked back at her house. Did she leave the door wide open? Come on, where are you? Government ought to get the mail carriers better trucks. Keep them from going postal. She almost smiled at her own joke.

He was coming around the bend. The postman wore a Panama hat, short-sleeve shirt, and blue shorts. He had a walrus mustache in need of a trim. “Mornin,’” he said.

“More like good afternoon,” said Anita. She smiled but showed no teeth.

“Yeah, I’m runnin’ a little later than usual.” He sorted though the mail and said, “Got only one for you. Someone even took the time to hand write your name and address.” He held the letter. “I was telling Larry, on the next route, that only about fifteen percent of my mail has handwritten addresses anymore.”

She grabbed the letter, nodded and said, “Thank you.” Anita turned and went back to her house.

She locked the door behind her and wondered whether she should call her mother to let her hear whatever it was that Lyle had to say. She took a deep breath and began to tear at one edge of the envelope. Her fingers trembled so much it was hard to open. Her heart pounded.

The baby cried.

“Be right there, Ronnie…give mommy a sec.”

A mournful wail came from his room. “Coming, you probably had a bad dream.” She began to read aloud her husband’s handwriting as she walked toward the baby’s room: Dear Anita, if you’re reading this, chances are I’m dead. I want you to know that I always loved you. If nothing else, you got a real good insurance policy to help take care of yourself and Ronnie. The first thing you need to do is call the sheriff’s office…

Her hand trembled so much she had to hold the letter with both hands as she entered the baby’s room. He stood in his crib and cried. Blanket creases in the side of his red, tear-streaked face. She bent down to kiss his face. “Mommy is going to give you a bath and some lunch. Just a second, sweetheart.”

She continued reading. “Call them and tell them your husband has been killed. No, tell them he’s been murdered. I will spell out the killer’s name in print so there is no mistake as to his identity. He is the same man who killed Sam Spelling and…”

The baby screamed. Anita saw that he was looking to her right. Looking toward the door. She turned just as the man in a dark ski mask grabbed her in a strong headlock.

“Please don’t!” she pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me! I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’re going for a long sleep now. Don’t resist and you will feel no pain.”

She fought with all her strength, clawing and pulling at the ski mask. He snapped her neck. Eyes tearing, disbelieving. Her body quivered as her heart pumped its final frantic beats. He let her body slump to the carpeted floor. Anita’s dying eyes locked on her crying child.

Reaching down, he removed the letter from her clinched fist and whispered, “You are the last link…the chain letter dies with you.”