I’m sorry you have to find out like this. If I were half the man you thought I was, I’d be telling you my plan of how I’m going to make everything right again and pay back that bastard for what he did. But I’m not and I’m not. I hope when you get this that you’ll do the smart thing. Don’t try to find me. I’m not worth finding and will only bring you trouble. Kayla was always the good one.
I’ve tried to trace back my actions and what happened to see if any of it could have been prevented. Was it the conversation after the funeral? Was it when Kayla was attacked? Was it when I found the card? I guess it doesn’t matter how it happened. I know the truth of it.
It was when you and I visited Kayla in the hospital. That’s when I knew I wasn’t going to just ignore it. The right side of her face was swollen. She had a cut on her head. And for some reason they’d cut off her hair. My sixteen year old sister had been brutalized and someone was going to pay for that.
“Who did this to you?” I asked. In my head, I was already thinking she was naming the next person or people that me and Joey and Dante would be beating the living shit out of. I never killed anyone before but I was ready to kill.
Then she said, “His name is Officer Sean Rowe.”
Suddenly we knew why she wasn’t saying anything to the cops or anyone else. If cops did this, then cops can’t help. Even the good cops won’t take down the bad cops. Everyone knows that.
Kayla got out of the hospital a week and a half later. She hadn’t said another word to you or me. She didn’t leave a note like this one. She waited three days, walked out of the house completely naked, and stepped in front of a freight train in the tracks by her high school.
I know you know all this. But you don’t know what it did to me. I kept thinking how none of this should ever happen to anyone. Sure, there’s shitty things in everyone’s life, but how can someone possibly deal with all of this? I didn’t wonder why she jumped in front of a train. I wondered why we didn’t also.
After the funeral I said Rowe needed to pay for what he did and you agreed. I told you we’d find a way. What I didn’t tell you was what happened four days after that.
We were packing up Kayla’s room and I found a card. It was a business card from the police department. It had Sean Rowe’s name and contact information. He’d written in blue pen, ‘Any time’. I pocketed the card and didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to be a part of what I did.
While you were at work this afternoon, I called him from a pay phone. I didn’t tell him who I was. I told him I had information he’d want to know about a girl but I wouldn’t tell him more until we met in person. He hung up on me. I called back. I said, “Look, pal. I’m Kayla’s brother. I know what you did to her and I have proof. You want it to go away? Meet me in person. 1pm. Downtown. Crown Park. By the men’s bathroom.” I hung up and left.
I didn’t have a gun. And I didn’t have any way to get one. I knew he’d be ready for me. I didn’t care. This was for Kayla. You can see Crown Park from up on Normandy four blocks away. Around 1:15pm I took a look and could see a uniformed cop standing by the men’s room. I got in my Buick and floored it. I bottomed out on the last block right before I hopped the curb. He tried to get out of the way, but I cranked the wheel hard to the left. The side of the car hit him with a wet thump before skidding to a halt.
I got out and took a look at what I’d done. He was halfway under the car and bloody. I saw a pin on his chest that said, “ROWE”. What I didn’t see was that he hadn’t come alone. I saw the third officer just as the second one hit me in the back with a nightstick. I fell which turned out to be a good thing because his buddy shot a tazer that hit Mr. Nightstick in the face. I did my best to ignore the pain in my back and got back in my car, shoving it into reverse. By this time Rowe had gotten back on his feet. I saw him pull his gun, but one of his friends stopped him.
At this point, I know it’s only a matter of time before they find me and you’re visiting me in the hospital or the morgue. The cops will find me and hurt or kill me. So instead, I’m running. I’m leaving town and I’m not coming back. I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I figure it’s better for you to know I’m out there somewhere than in jail or dead. And I know I’m running off like Dad ran off. I’m sorry about that too. Hell, I’m sorry about all of it. But since I can’t win, I don’t intend to be around to lose.
Your Loving Son,
*Like what you see? Read more about Cameron’s projects and purchase his book “Ruin Your LIfe” @ jackcameron.com*