The Stuff of Nightmares Part 8

He hadn't realised how hard it would be. The pen was a heavy weight in his reluctant hand. Somehow it seemed wrong to type this on the clinical coldness of a computer keyboard.

It took him hours. Then finally it was done. Down in black and white. He folded the pages precisely and tucked them into the clean white envelope.

Now others would know what he had done.

What he hadn't done.

But the words could not convey the guilt that he had lived with these long wearying years.

The guilt that ate away at him.

He needed to confess.