The ghostly white envelope sat unopened. Resting on a mahogany writing desk, surrounded by nothing, the snow like paper was untarnished. Bar one word. A name. Written in a scruffy but cursive script, the darkened ink drew the attention in the room.
A figure strode across the panelled floor and removed the envelope from its home. The slight movement unsettled particles, leaving a rectangular patch of desk free from dust. It was clear this room had not been disturbed in a significant amount of time. A beam of light broke through a gap in the blinds, poetically hitting this envelope, illuminating the name. The figure sighed, turned, and exited the empty room. The sound of the door clicking shut breaking the ever long silence.
In another room, sat another desk. This one was cluttered, yet organised. It was adorned with personal effects, giving away the sentiment of its owner. The room itself, was darkened, the ticking time piece on the wall giving reason why. There was no need for anyone to be in this room past midnight. This room was quite clearly lived in. In fact, the half empty cup of coffee sat on the desk suggested someone had been in here on this very day. Contrary to the room mentioned at the beginning of this tale, no figure was to be seen within these four walls. This space was patiently waiting for its next visitor, content with being in darkness until that moment.
Now this is where our story really begins. I must first warn you that this tale is not particularly happy. In fact, it starts out rather sad. I am sure you are intrigued, for that is the aim.
Clearly the letter our mysterious figure has quite rudely removed from its home has an intended reader. Who may this be, you ask?
Well. Our reader is currently packing away her things getting ready to head home for the night. She is sighing morosely at the empty desk across from her, as she pulls on her darkened coat. She reaches to switch off her lamp, and exits her office, slamming the door behind her.
Now. You may be wondering where our mysterious figure is at this moment.
He is knocking on the door of a house not too far from our reader's current position. He is having a short conversation with a young man who is rather perturbed at having been disturbed so late. He is being quite insistent that he must get hold of our reader. Begrudgingly we can see the young man step aside, and welcome the mysterious other in.
In a break from her normal routine, our reader has taken a detour on her way home. It has been two months since she last drove down this street. Two months since she last looked at the small, but attractive looking terrace house. She pulls up outside and just stares. She closes her eyes and lets the emotions spill out from her closely guarded mind. The blonde hair swishing in the breeze, the smell of coffee and cigarettes, the taste of Shiraz on her lips.
It has been six months since she last gazed upon that blonde hair. Six months since she last smelled the combination of caffeine and tobacco. And four months since she last tasted Shiraz. Every one of those items reminds her of a time she wishes she could lock away. A time she wants to cherish, but at the same time stop from replaying over and over again.
The woman restarts the engine of her car and drives away. Away from the emotion, and away from the memories.
When she arrives at her home it is extremely late. Or very early. Depending on your perspective. Either way she is surprised to see the light in her hallway is switched on. Our reader locks her car and enters her home, heading for the kitchen. Instantly her eyes are drawn to the item at the centre of her kitchen table. At first she doesn't register what it says, she only identifies the familiar handwriting. The memories of blonde hair and coffee rush back into her mind again.
Our mysterious figure is here still. He is sat at the aforementioned table, watching the woman intensely. The young man he had previously spoken to had returned to bed around an hour ago.
'It was in her study.'
'What?'
'I hadn't been in there since she left.'
'Oh.'
'I'll leave you to it.'
The woman barely registers our mysterious figure standing to depart. At the last second she calls out to him.
'Marcus.'
He turned.
'Thank you.' The man nods and continues on his way.
With trembling hands the woman reaches to the back of a cupboard and uncorks her first bottle of Shiraz in four months. She pours a glass and somehow manages to sit at her table, in front of the envelope. Her hands continue to shake as she reaches for it. She brings it to her face, inhaling its scent. A slight hint of Tobacco. She takes a shaky breath, and begins to open it. Sliding the folded paper from where it had been living for goodness knows how long, she flattens it out.
Our reader is clearly stunned. She is shocked. She is speechless. I shall share with you what she is comprehending at this very moment.
For it has been months since the blonde haired lady with a scent of coffee and tobacco has been seen. It has been two months since efforts were somewhat withdrawn from finding her. She left for Kiev and never returned. Yet here, sat on this very kitchen table, lays a letter. A letter written by the missing piece. It reads…
Serena.
This is quite possibly the hardest letter I have had to write. I have left it in my old marital home in the hope that someone will find it when necessary. I can only presume you are reading it when the time is right, although the circumstances for you must seem exceptionally wrong.
From the day I was born my life was not simple. I grew up knowing I wasn't quite the same as all other little girls around me, I spent my time in the army learning who I really was. I hid from the life I had set up with Marcus, I was a coward. I took every opportunity that meant I would spend more time away selfishly. I wasn't happy, I was distracting myself. Several of my operations remained active long after my release from the armed forces, something I was aware of. I never believed I would ever cross paths with them again, but you reading this means I have.
Meeting you was quite possibly the best thing to ever happen to me. I may not have realised at first, but you have helped me so much. By aiding you in working out who you are, I have really started to understand myself too. I am eternally grateful for the time we have spent together, and am dreadfully sorry for leaving you the way I did. As I said before, I really am a coward. There is nothing more to it than that. I think in one way I was scared of the feelings I had developed for you. For this love I feel is stronger than any I have felt before. It runs through my veins constantly, and keeps my heart beating.
Please also know that you are with me always, as I will be with you.
For you to be reading this I know things must have escalated. Although I am unsure of how long it has been, I am sure that whilst you read this, my heart still beats and I am still living. When the time comes I will find you again. However for the moment there are things I need to do. Problems I need to solve, battles I need to finish.
My love for you is eternal, and will forever keep you safe.
Your Bernie. X
We must leave it here for now, but fear not, this story will continue. There are many things we must learn together with Serena. Together we will find Bernie and bring her home. But for now it is time to say goodnight.