'. . . . I guess when you read this, I'll be long gone. I truthfully know you won't care too much about my disappearance, which is why I chose to leave now. Now that you don't care, you won't come after me as I know you could. I could run to the ends of the earth and, if you cared, you would be there waiting for me. I almost lost my mind when I heard you'd proposed to her. Sure, there had been girls before her that you went after, but you weren't half as serious about any of them!
Most of the blood in the bathroom is mine. Your brothers found me after I'd slit my wrists the night you got back and you wouldn't stop talking about her. And Luck found me the next day when I tried to hang myself in the hospital room. I stopped trying after that.
I don't understand why I even love you, but I do. You're insane, untamable and you'd kill me if I did anything you didn't like. But then again, that's part of the thrill. Loving something that could kill me is stupid, I know. I guess it's not so much love as an addiction. And I really don't want to quit because I know what quitting means. It means not smiling when you laugh about something, not sharing your joy when you talk about riding the trains, not feeling the dangerous thrill when you pull a knife and threaten me, even if you're only teasing.
Good grief I must sound so pathetic. You'll probably ball up this letter without reading the words on it. If you do read this, you probably won't give a rat's ass. It's all about her now. Maybe I could have stayed. I've lived through your other obsessions before, waiting in the shadows for you to notice me. You'd always either kill them, or get bored and leave town for a while.
You asked me to help pick out her dress. That was the last straw. Hell, you had me try it on for size. Damn her for being the same size as me! Being that close to your attention all day nearly drove me mad. That was the day I bought the ticket. And the day I wrote this letter. Good bye. I pray to God we never meet again, because I may actually kill myself if we do.
Yours truly….'
Rachel dropped the letter onto the café table, "So?"
Claire swallowed a bite of pasta and asked, "You're a woman, right? So what should I do? She's my best friend afta all, I should go afta her, right?"
Rachel raised an eyebrow, wondering why she'd even agreed to have lunch with him again. Well, besides the fact that this guy never seemed to take no for an answer. Sighing she replied, "No."
"No? You sure?" Claire was confused. He loved Chane all right, but Alice was a childhood friend. If she got killed or something in some distant city, he had to do something about it.
"No."
"But—"
"Look, this girl loves you. She's tried to kill herself twice because she can't stand being around you when you love someone else. If you go after her, she won't appreciate it." Rachel surprised herself. She didn't speak this much unless she was giving a report. And even then it was barebones.
Across the table, Claire had fallen silent as well. He sat there for several minutes, eating quietly and chewing over everything in his mind. Alice had always been the shy one, ever since they had met on his first day at the circus. She'd been the fortune teller's assistant and had stood by him for years. When he'd left to become an assassin, she'd followed quickly, becoming his brother's secretary. And now . . .
Claire tossed a couple of bills on the table and stood up suddenly. "Thanks fer the chat, Rachel. See ya!" He said, waving good bye as he left without warning. Rachel sat there, surprised again by his abrupt departure. He'd obviously made up his mind but heaven help her if she knew what he was going to do. Then again, who ever knew what was going on in Claire Stanfeild's head?