BURDEN OF AN ANCIENT OATH Joshua Brown (large ebook reader .TXT) 📖

her seat. The first signs of emotion she showed since entering the office.

“Yes, I’ll take your case. Whoever’s harassing you and your family will be brought to justice, miss Crossley, of that I can assure you.”

We got up, and I led her through the door. Saying our goodbyes, she departed my office.

“What do you think about this one?” I asked, turning to Lauren.

Flicking the intercom system to my office off, she leaned back in her chair. Her lime green dress stretched around the bosom and contorted down, reaching her hips. She looked as stumped as I felt, crossing her arms.

“I… I don’t know,” Lauren replied.

“At least I’m not alone then,” I scoffed, making my way back to my office, collecting the envelopes and letters. It was going to be another long night delving deep into the startings of a case.

“Feel free to head home if you want. I won’t be in much longer,” I called through the door.

Lauren stuck her head through. “You sure? I don’t mind sticking around if you need someone to bounce ideas off.”

“Nah, I’m gonna look at it in the comfort of my chair next to the fire tonight. Just let Aaron know we’ve got business to take care of in the morning. He might come in handy with those computer skills of his.”

“Got it, boss,” Lauren said.

She left 20 minutes later, and I was soon to follow.

Chapter 2

Jack

Spending a painful night alone with the stack of letters, a pack of Lucky Strikes, and half a bottle of whiskey, I started my investigation into the case. As Marylin said, the earliest of the letters were almost pleasant to read. The calligraphy and style were natural, almost like a love letter with sing-song timing and rhythm.

The letters spoke of better times, not all that long ago, when the word was at peace. But even these pleasantries carried a dark undertone. When reading between the lines, it was easy to see that the world was a better place without Marylin Crossley in it. Perhaps the subtle nuances escaped Marylin. Maybe she wasn’t looking for them, but the sinister nature left a bleak outlook for her future.

Beyond the gibberish and rambling that sprouted throughout the letters, I found a few lines that caught my attention and kept me hooked:

On Parris, the mutt ate the cake, and the wicked sang their knowing song. With soot and piss, we’ll find your wrong.

Another read:

Prick, prick, pricking, tick, tick, ticking, your blood will flow. Filling valleys, and rivers, and oceans—sink or swim, let’s begin.

Out of 13 letters, these seemingly obscure messages felt more out of place than the rest. Why? I had no idea. Somewhere in the back of my mind, something clicked. A strange sensation of knowing, but it was lost in a sea of thoughts.

As I often did with strange notes and letters of this kind, I tried deciphering any code. Reading the first letter of both the right and left, trying to see if a message ran along the spine. I tried piecing together hidden messages in strange places, the first word of every page or paragraph. But there was no logical reasoning to how these letters were written. They were long slews of nonsensical babbling from start to finish, growing ever-more delirious with each new page.

There were only words, lines, and sentences, with some making more sense than others. Somehow, all of them eluding to Marilyn Crossley and her oncoming death. The thought that this might be a madman trying to warn her of some ill-timed fate seemed plausible. The preachings of a lost prophet trying to protect rather than harm.

But even that fell short with direct threats of murder and mutilation. Marilyn’s children had similar mentions. They were the spawn of the wicked and would someday, too, find their untimely fates at the hands of whoever sent these letters out. But never once did Marilyn’s husband come up in any of the documents—not even in fleeting.

Whoever was after her had no interest in anyone but her and those who came from her. Was that a clue? Or was this just some sick bastard looking to scare a poor mother?

After reading them one last time, polishing off a quarter of the whiskey and another two smokes, I decided to head to bed. In the morning, I’d be able to approach the case with fresh eyes. Lauren and Aaron could help too.

~

“Morning, boss,” Aaron said the second I stepped into the office. It was a little after 6 AM. I thought I’d get in early, before my team, and organize my thoughts. Seeing him there was a reminder of his loyalty to his position as my second detective.

“Aaron, you didn’t have to come in so early,” I replied, looking around the office. On his desk, Chinese takeout boxes stood, half-eaten with chopsticks sticking out the top.

“Come in? I never left,” Aaron chuckled. “Lauren sent me a message saying everyone was headed home, so I thought I’d come and make use of the computers and see what I could get on this case.”

“I already thought you were home,” I replied, removing my coat and hat, flinging it over the rack beside the door.

“Had a personal errand to attend. Everyone was gone when I got back,” Aaron ran a hand through his slick, black hair. “But let’s talk about the case.”

“You found something?”

“No,” Aaron shook his head. “But that’s the interesting thing, right? You’d think that a name like Marylin Crossley, so bold and out there, would turn something up. But it didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” I gestured for Aaron to follow, walking through the empty space to my office. Pushing open the door, drawing open the blinds, Aaron found a seat opposite me at the desk.

“I tried tracing the name back as far as