My Darling Claire

I found the first note in February. February 15th, to be more precise. It was my 13th birthday. I had spent the whole day celebrating at the lake house with Jenny. Mom had asked if I wanted to have a big party and presents instead of just inviting Jenny and Dave to come over, but I kept telling her that it was fine. I can still remember the way she ran her hand down the side of my pale cheeks, and brushed her fingers through my brunette streaks contrasting with the sun kissed blonde locks of hair that fell in front of my face. I can still call to mind the look she gave me, and how she complemented the rich chocolate shade of brown that filled my irises. Ignoring her compliments, I kept telling her that presents didn't matter. Dave and Jenny were my very best friends, and I just wanted to have some fun with them.  And even though Dave couldn't make it, it was still a great day. At least Dave was able to come over and hang out a bit the day before.
Jenny and I had such a great time together.  The two of us slipped on our sandals and jackets after hours of splashing through the tumbling waves, and building small-scale castles in the warm sand. The sun finally began to sink below the horizon, whispering final farewells of pink and orange, so I walked Jenny back home. As our flip-flops clicked against the cement, creating a steady beat to the frog and bird harmonies in the distance, we slowly made our way down the sidewalk, reminiscing about past summers spent on the beach.
"We should definitely have more days like today," Jenny said as we approached the porch of her house.
"Yeah, we should," I agreed with a light chuckle.
Jenny wrapped me in a warm, friendly hug, and smiled from underneath her flowing auburn curls, stumbling in front of her mystic amber eyes and dazzling white teeth. "Happy Birthday Claire," she said, squeezing me tighter.
   As the two of us pulled back, I heard a light tap against the wood of the deck. A red pen had fallen out of Jenny's pocket. She quickly bent down to pick it up. "Oops." She giggled at herself, then looked back up at me. She was always clumsy, but sometimes that's what made her so lovable.
"So, see you soon?" I asked.
"Yeah, totally."  Jenny replied.
"Alright. Bye Jenny. Thanks for coming over!" I said as we went our separate ways.
    "Bye!" Jenny cheered, disappearing with the slam of her house's screen door.
  I then turned around and strolled down the street, back to my own house. Nature's symphony continued on, now with a melody of crashing waves in the background, and one less flip-flop percussionist. Traveling up the stone pathway leading to our front door, I casually stuck my hands into the pockets of my thin, jean jacket. My fingers wiggled into the depths of the navy blue denim, curiously feeling around for whatever treasures could be hiding there. Right pocket? Nothing. Left pocket? Something brushed up against my fingertips…A small bit of paper, perhaps? I grasped the flimsy unknown object and looked at it in the palm of my hand. Yep, paper. It was a bright shade of pink.  It was folded unevenly, like a poorly made card. The front was bare, but on the inside was a message, scrawled down in red ink.

It's coming, Claire. Be careful, but don't run. Stay close. Don't fret; don't be frightened, for a dead man has no worry.

A messy red heart was scribbled down at the bottom of the page, and my own heart seemed to recoil at the startling note. I read each sentence over and over again, trying to tame the thoughts racing wildly through my head. I couldn't bring myself to form any sensible conclusions. It's a shame that I couldn't. It was a huge warning, but I didn't realize it at the time... Maybe if I could have known it back then, a life wouldn't have been lost later on. But when you're in shock, you do crazy things. So I simply put it back into my pocket, deciding to look at it later. If only I had known what was going to happen in the near future.
I found the second note a few weeks later, when Mom and Dad got divorced.
"Claire," they said in unison, "we have something to tell you."
I looked at my mother and father, already guessing what they were going to say. The memories of screams pounding throughout the house came rushing back like thrashing tidal waves. I could recall all of the sleepless nights, where I had nothing to do but listen to the insults firing back and forth, and the arguments that never came to an end. The two of them just couldn't be together. They could never get along.  Hearing all their appalling remarks to one another made me see how awful some people can be. It made me hate each of them. What did I ever do to deserve all those hours of hiding in my room, crying beneath my sheets? As every second went by, I began to resent my parents more and more.
"What's wrong?" I asked them, without really needing an answer.
    They sighed and looked at one another. Dad looked down at his feet, unable to look me in the eyes, as if he had a guilty conscience, rattling memories of blameworthy events into his mind. Mom finally gave me the gift of her soft, comforting gaze after a long silence.
"Your dad and I are going to get a divorce," she admitted, trying to force out a small, relaxed smile.
I looked at both of them, rapidly losing the ability to transfer my feelings into words. Tears floated to the surface of my eyes, and I got up from the couch. I ran into my bedroom, hoping I could escape their madness yet again. As I entered my sanctuary, I slammed the door behind me in frustration, and then jumped onto my bed, reaching for my beloved stuffed dog that I had gotten from Dave years and years ago. Tears finally began streaming down my cheeks as I sat in my room, accompanied only by the silent toy. Thankfully, my parents were smart enough to give me the space that I needed.  I buried my head into the soft, plush canine, muffling the sounds of my weeping. Finally, I caught my breath and looked up, drying my eyes with the backs of my hands. I pulled myself up from the bed and grabbed my good ol' jean jacket. There was no better way to avoid this insanity than to physically remove myself from it. I needed to get out of the house. Just for a little while. I needed to go for a walk.
I opened my door as quietly as I could, and tried to sneak out the back door without a word, but unfortunately, Dad caught me just as I was about to make my escape. He put a hand on my shoulder, bringing me to a halt before I could even take my first step out the door. I spun around quickly to face him, a bit frightened before I saw the look in his warm, chestnut eyes.
"Where are you going, Claire?" He asked, looking straight at me.
I glanced down at the yellowed kitchen floor tiles beneath the sandals I had just quickly slipped on to my feet, then back up at my father. "I just need to go out for bit… I need to clear my head," I said, "I just want to go for a little walk down the street."
He nodded gently. "Alright," he said kindly, "but take your boots instead of those petty flip-flops. It's muddy outside from the rain today." I smiled at him, thankful and surprised for his understanding. Dad grabbed my big tan boots that were sitting on the floor next to him, and handed them to me.
"Thanks, Dad." I said with a tiny smile.
He just silently beamed at me, and gave me a big hug. I hugged him back tightly, afraid to ever let go, and fearing what life would be like when he moved away.  
After giving my father another smile and one more thank you, I finally got to go for a walk down the street and through the neighborhood. As I walked, I did my best to forget all that had happened, and just think about other things like the latest book I had been reading, and how well it had pulled me in. I made my way all around the block, doing my best to avoid troubling thoughts, and I nearly did it until I came back home. As I walked up the driveway, I noticed an odd feeling off something rubbing against my heel inside my right shoe. When I had gotten to the porch, I sat down and took off the boot. Then, I carefully stuck my hand in, cautiously grabbing for the mysterious object that had been irritating my foot. It was the second note. This note was incredibly different than the first one. It was much neater. The paper was a yellow sticky-note, folded neatly in half. The outside was still blank, and on the inside was a new message, written in a slightly neater hand than before.

You don't understand, Claire. It's not what you think. It's still coming. But it's up to you to keep it silent.

Another note? Alright, this was getting scary…  I took out the other note which had still remained in my coat pocket, and looked at each of the papers in my hands. Where could these have come from? What did they mean? What was I supposed to do? Unfortunately, my answers to these questions came nowhere near close enough.  I should have realized the reality much earlier. I shouldn't have followed the instructions by keeping my mouth shut about the whole situation in fear of more mysteriousness and trouble… But at the time, all I could do was come up with two suspects as to who was writing these odd letters… Jenny or Dad.
The first note was written in red ink, and on the day of the note, Jenny had dropped a red pen from her pocket. The second note, on the other hand, was made on a sticky-note, which could have come from Dad's office.  Did Jenny write the notes? Did Dad? Did both of them? There was a possibility of anything at this point…I had no evidence…And the clues were very vague. If they were the culprits, why were they writing the notes? Did they know something I didn't? Did the notes have something to do with the divorce? There were far too many questions racing through my head at each second. I had to give this a break. I walked back home, hung up my jacket and kicked off my muddy boots, then brought the notes into my room. I placed both of them into my old jewelry box, where no one would find them. Then, I slipped into bed, covering myself in the friendly warmth of the sheets. I dozed off into a dream, free of crazy notes and fighting parents.  I was so foolish back in those days. Why couldn't I have just faced the problem there and then? I should have realized what was really happening. It would have kept such an innocent soul from the darkness that is known as death.
When I got the third note, I was more afraid than ever.  But luckily, it brought me much closer to the answers to all my questions.
The third note came in my locker when I was at school a days later. I had guessed that it was slipped in through the small openings towards the top that served as vents. When I found the third note, I stuffed it into my pocket and brought it with me to lunch. While I ate small bits of my food, I reviewed the note more intensely this time. It was written on the corner of a piece of notebook paper that had been quickly torn off the page.  It was folded neatly to be slim and lightweight.  I read the message, penned in dark blue ink with the neatest hand I had seen from the anonymous writer so far.

I know you may be afraid, but don't flee, my darling Claire. It will all be over soon. It will all be okay, I promise.

I read the message over again. "My darling Claire?" Who would ever call me "darling"? As I tried to sort out all the clues, I realized that I couldn't do this alone. That's when I got Dave involved.
I scanned the cafeteria, looking for the stunning blonde locks that usually allowed me to spot Dave amongst a huge crowd. After peering closely at a lunch table filled with jocks, I found him. I looked at all the guys smiling around him while he sat in silence, managing a small simper every now and then. He didn't really seem to fit in with that group. He was always a bit shy, even reclusive sometimes. He wasn't the loud, outgoing, football-loving boy. He was a quiet, sweet, quirky guy, and although he could be really depressed sometimes, he was still my best friend, and he always had been since I first met him in kindergarten. I remember how often he was bullied, and how much it would upset me to see people picking on him. The bullies never seemed to know how much their verbal harassment affected him. When they sneered at him, made jokes about his appearance, called him names, and put him down, he always became really sad…It hurt seeing him so unhappy. I always wished that I could have said something to cheer him up, but I was never really the type of person who would say the perfect thing at the perfect time…
Noticing that I only had a bit of lunch time left, I snapped out of my people watching thoughts and walked across the room, heading over to Dave's table. I stood behind him and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned around and looked up at me.
"Oh. Hey, Claire. What's up?" He said. He seemed a bit happy that I had come over, like I had been saving him from the drowning waves of unpopularity.
"Uh, could you come over here and talk to me for a little?" I said nervously, gesturing to my bare lunch table.
Dave smiled at me, and, being the great friend that he is, stood up and left his big group to come sit with me. The two of us sat across from each other, and I bit my lip to keep myself from spilling my thoughts before I could calmly collect them. I played with the note in my hands, wondering how I should explain the situation to Dave and ask for his help.
We both just awkwardly sat there for a moment.
"So...?" Dave broke the silence. "I'm here, what do you want to talk about?"
I looked down at the paper in my hands, wondering what Dave would say. I thought that maybe he would call me crazy and walk away. But I was wrong. He acted like the good friend he always was. However, parts of his responses weren't exactly truthful, as I would find out later.
"Well," I said, "I've been getting these…uh…notes… It's hard to explain, but please just don't think I'm crazy…"
"Claire – "he began.
I interrupted him. "I'm sorry, it's just that I'm…Well…I'm scared. And I need your help sorting all of this through and gathering the clues."
Dave looked at me while I was slowly sinking in my own sorrow and embarrassment. He brought his hand to the tip of my jaw, gently lifting my head so that my eyes would meet his.
"Don't worry," he said, "I can help you through this." He gave me another one of his famous heart-warming smiles.
"Thank you." I said, stifling a simper.
"Alright, now what do you know so far?" Dave said, a little bit of bounce entering his voice.
I told him everything I knew. I described the location, appearance, and content of every note I had received, and I explained how scared I was feeling. I told him of how I was suspecting Jenny or my dad as the author, because of the pen, the Post-It notes, and their access to the places where the notes were found. I told Dave all about how I was thinking that someone was planning to kill me, and how I had been paranoid and frightened ever since the first note came.
Eventually, the bell rang, forcing my rambling to end. I took a deep breath, trying to recollect myself.
"This all sounds…Really complicated…" Dave mumbled.
"It is." I assured him. "I'm hoping that the roller skating party tonight at the rink down the road will help me get my mind off of it."
Dave's eyes lit up. "Ooh, a party? Can I come?"
"Sure." I said with a smile. "It's a school fundraiser."
"Awesome, I'll see you there!" Dave said, getting up from the table.
"See ya'!" I said, waving as I walked out of the cafeteria.
Talking to Dave really made me feel better. It was great not having to keep all of that bottled up. Too bad that happy mood only lasted until the fourth note came…
As the sun set yet again on the city, the rollerblading party began. That was when I found the new note. That was when my predictions grew to more frightening levels.
Jenny and I met up by the booth for skate rental. We greeted each other with bright smiles. Jenny offered to get my skates for me, so I took off to find Dave.
Soon enough, Jenny and I met back up near the booth. She handed me my neon colored skates and we began discussing the night's homework while tying the laces up our ankles. As I stuck my left foot into the skate, I felt something odd rub against my sock. I pulled my foot out, and then peered inside the worn, odorous boot. My eyes widened at the sight of a piece of paper, crumpled into a ball and resting inside the old shoe. I stuck my hand inside the skate and retrieved the paper. Looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching me, I quickly unfolded it. It was another note - a small piece of the blue flyer that advertised the party, with a few sentences sloppily written on the blank side with a black marker.

Someone is going to die… Such a lucky soul…
But, as I have told you, there is no need to worry. Stay close, darling. Peaceful rest is silently waiting for us. The rest face a life of misery and ignorance.

As I read the final word of the message, Dave came up behind me, as cheery as ever.
"What's that?" He asked, reaching for the paper.
I allowed him to take it from my hand. "Another note…" I grumbled.
His smile faded when he noticed the fear glinting in my eyes. He quickly read over the note, then looked down at me as I sat on the carpeted floor with my skates. He gave me a soft look, obviously not knowing what to say.
"Are you scared?" Dave finally choked out.
"Of course I am! That note sounds like a death threat!" I said, about to finally blow my top.
Dave took in a long, deep breath. "Well, the note says not to worry." He tried to comfort me, still hovering above. "I think you should have faith in the author. Just relax."
"Have faith in a potential murderer? I can't, Dave! I can't! What if it's Jenny, or Dad, or someone I don't even know?! What if someone is going to murder me?! I can't just sit back and let myself die!" Tears began pouring from my eyes, as they had too much in the past few weeks.
Dave looked like he was about to say something, but I just continued on.
"Jenny was the one who had my skates last! And she could have put the notes in my coat and my boots and my locker!" I exclaimed through my sobs, finally coming to a realization. "It had to be her! She even had a red pen like on the first note! It's her, Dave! She's going to murder me! It's Jenny!"
"Oh, come on, my…" Dave stopped himself for a moment, then continued. "Claire, don't jump to conclusions like this." He bent down to meet my tear-filled gaze.
I let out another petrified cry, unable to form any words that could possibly describe the gruesome thoughts racing through my mind.
"It's alright Claire…" Dave whispered to me, oblivious to the pedestrians staring at me, curious about the reasons for my wailing.
Dave wrapped his arms around me in another attempt to calm me down. When he realized that wouldn't do much, he cleared the hair from my forehead with his careful hands, and I looked up at him.
"You just need to relax. We came here to skate, so let's skate. Lace up, put that note in your pocket and let's go." He stood up and grinned at me, knowing that one of his tactics had prevailed by the way I smiled and took his hand to stand up.
Dave pulled me over to the entrance to the skating floor. As our skates touched the wooden surface, he tapped me on the shoulder while pushing ahead.
"You're it!" He said through a snicker.
I laughed to myself quietly, realizing how lucky I was to have a friend as great as Dave that could cheer me up so well. I pushed forward, and rolled behind him, ready to take part in his wild game. I figured that if Jenny really was going to kill me, I may as well make the most of my life for the time being.
It's a shame that I didn't realize the truth that night. It sure would have saved a lot of time and suffering for everyone. It could have even saved a life. But…maybe it was actually for the best when no one fessed up. Maybe I wouldn't be as better off as I am now. I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and everyone is born for a reason, whether they know that reason or not. I just wish more people could know that too. I guess the incident was just destiny. If someone had spilled that day, my whole life would be flipped upside-down right now. Just like it was when I received the next note.
The fifth note was sort of an apology, trying to ease my sorrows, but it was also even more frightening than usual… In an odd way, it made me feel like the author was an old friend; like they were someone who cared about me.
The fifth note appeared the very next day after I found the fourth note at the skating party. I came home after school, and I saw it as soon as I strolled into my room. Its placement was a bit odd. It was just simply sitting on my bed, a few inches below my pillow. Why was it hidden in such plain sight? Anyone could have found it. Either of my parents could have just simply picked it up off the pillow, and found out about the whole predicament. Isn't that what the author of the notes kept trying to avoid? I sat on my bed, letting the streams of sunlight warm my neck as they peeked in through the gap of the curtains. This note was in the shape of a paper airplane. I unfolded the plane, and read the message, written in a soft, unusually neat style.

I'm sorry you feel afraid, my darling Claire. I didn't mean to scare you. You are not going to die. Just rest assured that everything will be okay. You won't get hurt. And neither will I. The feeling that commoners seem to view as pain is actually an emotion of happiness in the eyes of one who is oblivious to a warm heartbeat.

Chills crept up my body with every word of the letter. This one was confusing me a bit. I quickly got up and grabbed the 4 other notes out of my jewelry box. I read them all over again, trying to see if I could figure out their true meanings.
"…A dead man has no worry…"
"…Keep it silent…"
"…It will all be over soon…."
"…Someone is going to die…"
I continued reading them all again and again. If the fifth note was telling the truth, and I wasn't going to die, who was? The notes must have been written by a crazed killer, someone who had a sick mind, rattling with insanity. Pain couldn't possibly be a happy, beautiful thing like they had described it to be. Death couldn't be something that someone would look forward to, unless you were suicidal!
Thoughts racing through my mind once more, I felt as stressed as ever. I picked up all the letters, and held them in one single cluster of paper in my hand. As I was about to throw on my sneakers and head to Dave's house to discuss the matter, I heard the familiar sound of a pebble tapping against my window. I looked out and saw Dave, standing down on the sidewalk below my window, a few more gray, speckled pebbles awaiting their fate in his hand. I stuck my head out the open window, and he smiled.
"Hey, what's up?" I shouted down to him.
"Not much… Can you hang out a little?" Dave asked from below.
"Yeah, I was actually just about to head on over to your house. I'll meet you downstairs. One second."
I pulled myself back inside the room, stuffed the notes into my jacket pocket, and ran outside, meeting Dave at the sidewalk.
"Dave," I said, pulling out the latest note, "I just got another clue! And from the looks of this one, the author is insane!"
He gave me a surprised, curious look, so I showed him the dismantled paper airplane along with the older notes.
"It's like this person is suicidal or something! But I doubt it. It seems more like a crazy killer to me" I explained.
"I just don't know how I'm going to figure this all out…" My voice faded as I began to fall into my  deeper thoughts.
Dave pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his wristwatch. "Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry Claire…I was wrong about the time I had, I have to go."
"Oh, alright…" I said, a bit disappointed that I wouldn't have an assistant detective.
"Bye." He said, walking over to his own side of the street.
"Bye, Dave. See you later!" I waved and made my way back into the house.
While walking back to my room, I reviewed the fifth note once more. It was up to me to find the future killer and put a stop to their madness.
The sixth note came the next day. I was at school, in English, my 4th period. I went to get out my book as I finished up my final bit of work. It was a fascinating read so far. Dave loaned me the book in 2nd period, during science. I opened back up to page 32, where I had been reading about the main character's challenge of making it through his struggles with school and family, and his wild adventures of running away from home. When I turned to page 33, something fell from the book and into my lap. It was the final note, written on an index card.
That note, despite it being the very shortest of them all, was the one that scared me the most. Over the fine blue lines of the paper were two words, written in rugged black letters.

It's Dave.

I shot my left hand high into the air, still clutching the note in the other.  My teacher, Mr. Simmons, called on me, and I asked to be excused to the restroom. He let me go, and I shoved the note in my pocket as I vanished into the hall. I ran over to a class down the hall that Dave had told me was his 4th hour class. I peeked in the window, looking for him between the bunches of other students. I couldn't find him anywhere, and his desk was empty. I heard footsteps echo down the hall behind me, and I turned to see Jenny walking to her locker.
"Jenny, where's Dave?" I asked, knowing that she had the same 3rd hour class as him.
"He left at the beginning of class last period…I'm not sure why."
` And that's when my heart sank, yet still began beating ten times faster. It was Dave. Dave was going to be murdered.
I dashed down through the halls, then burst through the front entrance and towards the road, not caring that I was breaking so many school rules all at once. I sprinted as fast as I possibly could to our neighborhood, looking all around for Dave as I ran. Finally, I reached Dave's street, without seeing any sign of him yet. I darted towards his house, praying to see him sitting on his porch, or watching TV in the living room. I leapt up the steps, jumping to the door. Still no sight of Dave. The door was unlocked, so I pushed right through it, calling for Dave all throughout the house, only to get a response of silence from the apparently empty house. I shouted out for Dave one last time, peering into every room and peeking into the backyard. Finally, I gave my lungs a rest and gave Dave's bedroom one final check, actually stepping into the room to look into every corner… And that's when I caught a glimpse of the most horrific, traumatizing scene that I had ever laid eyes on.
Dave's pale, lifeless body lay on the carpeted floor, in the corner next to his nightstand. His jeans were stained with crimson splotches, as were his shirt and loose, striped jacket. His head hung down, draping his blonde locks in front of his face. A piece of paper was scruffily stuffed into the breast pocket of his jacket. I took slow, tiny steps towards the corpse, afraid to accept the thought that I was too late, that a murderer was still on the loose.  While in reality, the truth was written on that sheet of paper. My hand trembled as I stretched my arm out to pluck the paper from his pocket. I unfolded it, and held it out in front of me, doing my best to see it through the tears blurring my vision. As I wiped my eyes, I realized that it was a letter. It was the final note. I recognized the handwriting. It was Dave's quirky penmanship.

Darling Claire,
I'm sorry. I just couldn't take it anymore…But now neither of us has to worry anymore. Everything will be okay now. All is well for each of us.
I looked up from the note for a moment, perplexed by what I was reading. I wiped at my eyes again, then continued on with the letter.
The murderer is me.
The victim is also me.
I killed myself.
Yes, you read right. I committed suicide.
I hated life, Claire. I just couldn't handle it anymore.
The only thing I enjoyed was spending time with you, and that's why I wrote you the notes.
You're my best friend, so I wanted to tell you first.

Chills ran up my spine as I shuddered and stepped back a bit from the body. I sat on the bed, gripping tighter onto the letter.

I'm sorry I couldn't tell you to your face…It was just…too hard…
I wanted to say something, but I just couldn't find the courage. I'm sorry for putting you through the fear and suffering that you experienced, and all the grief you may experience in the near future due to the recent events.

There was no use in wiping at my eyes anymore. The bed was now becoming drenched in a storm of my tears.

You may be wondering how I managed to pull off this note-leaving scheme. Well, my darling Claire, it is a wonderfully brilliant tale.
It all began on Valentine's Day – otherwise known as the day before your birthday, and the day before you discovered the first note. I was making you a card on a pink sheet of paper, but gave up, too frazzled by all the stress and harassment I was going through at school. I hated being at school, I hated living. I decided the night before that I wanted to commit suicide. So as I sat at my desk with the pink paper and red pen, I decided that I wanted to tell you first by writing you an anonymous note. I slipped it into your jacket when I came over after school, and I dropped another into your boot, knowing that you would find it when it rained a few days later according to the weather forecast.

I felt sort of idiotic. I never knew Dave was this clever.

Then, I wrote you another note. I dropped it into your locker on my way to lunch. Then you told me about the notes, and I was too afraid to admit to you that I was the one writing them, despite the way you expressed how afraid and freaked out you were, I was just too frightened by what you might say to tell you the truth. Then, when you told me about the skating party, it occurred to me that I could maybe take that as an opportunity to give you another note that may be a bit clearer, or may ease your fear. I slipped one into your skate when I saw Jenny with your rollerblades. Unfortunately, there is one flaw in my oh-so intelligent thoughts. I could absolutely not  write good notes. I hated seeing you so scared, so terribly worried. When I saw you cry, I wanted nothing more than to be able to have the courage to tell you. But that courage just never came.

I hated the way that I could practically hear Dave's voice through his writing.

I decided that I needed to tell you very soon, before the suicidal thoughts finally crept up to me in such intensity that I finally went through with it, but without telling you. So I wrote you the note in the book I gave you, knowing that you would come find me as soon as you saw it, being the amazing friend that you always have been.

I smiled to myself at the thought of our friendship.

Thank you, Claire, for being the amazing girl that you are. I know you may disagree with my opinion on my own death. But I just couldn't stand the torment from bullies and my awful parents anymore. I understand that you may miss me, and that this may be hard for you to cope with, but I can assure you it was for the best. Thank you for accepting my choice. I love you like the sister I never had. Thank you for staying by my side and being such an amazing person. I look forward to eventually seeing you again someday.
Sincerely,
David John Lucien

I finally lifted my head from the paper, and I took one last glance at Dave before swimming my way out of the sea of tears I had created in his room. I noticed the pills scattered on the floor, pouring from the orange and white container that rested on his fingertips. I saw the silver razor blade sitting in his lap, dotted with red droplets. I left the note on the bed, and slowly walked out of the room, chills still slithering up my back and twisting around my neck, making me shiver and cringe as I took hold of the phone in the kitchen. My fingers quivered as I dialed 911. I could barely gather the right words to explain to the woman on the other end of the line that I had just found my best friend dead in his house, with a bottle of pills, a razor, and a suicide note.

I don't remember much of anything else from that day. I've always tried to block out the rest of the experience, but faded memories of the flashing blue and red lights on the ambulance, mixed with images of a black bag on a stretcher still linger in my mind. I remember the funeral a few days later, and all the people who showed up and mourned. For weeks, I came home crying every day. So many things between me and my friends had morphed into something new. The school was never the same. The town still isn't what it used to be.  Everything changed.
I still miss Dave all the time. It's so hard to think about all that had happened. I still have every single note, including the final letter. They're kept in the same jewelry box I had as a little girl. I still have the book he loaned to me. It really is an amazing story. I've read it over so many times, and I still love it just as much. I won't ever forget Dave. He was the brother I never had, and he was the best friend I could have ever asked for. No matter how much time passes, I will always remember Dave Lucien, and I will always be his darling Claire.