Chapter 2
The next few days continued to be a blur. There was a functioning part of her that was able to arrange a funeral and stay in contact with the detectives, that was able to take time off from the SFD. Emotionally however, she hadn't processed anything. She felt as if she was watching someone else during these days.
She hadn't called either of her parents yet. The one-time Carina tried to bring that up, Maya had gone for a three hour long run, never mentioning the topic again. The case had been closed with the result that Mason had indeed committed suicide.
Maya had received a call in the morning that she was supposed to come to the station later today to discuss the final arrangements such as the transfer of the body to a funeral home.
When Maya had told Carina about the call, she immediately assumed that she was going to go with her, but Maya had snapped, insisting that she had to do this by herself.
Carina was at a loss at this point. She didn't know how to support Maya. She had been extremely distant ever since receiving the news; she hadn't cried, hadn't really spoken. Robotic.
Maya arrived at the station at about 4 pm. She was led into a conference room and being offered some water. The face of detective Bush in front of her was very empathetic and she was looking at her in pity. Maya couldn't look her in the eyes.
"Ms. Bishop, I'm sorry for your loss, again."
Maya nodded curtly.
"So, now that the investigation is closed, there are some things that you can have. There are some of his remains and we have a suicide note that is addressed to you."
At this Maya looked up in surprise. She certainly hadn't expected that. She wasn't prepared to deal with that.
"Do you have any other questions?", detective Bush asked when Maya hadn't said anything for a minute.
Maya hesitated but then asked the one question that had been in her head for days: "Where did it happen?"
Standing outside of the police station, a plastic bag in her hands, she didn't know what to do next. She stood there for a few minutes when a pedestrian almost bumped into her.
Being slightly more aware of her surroundings, she went back to her car. She let out a breath before turning the key in the ignition. She wasn't exactly sure as to her reasons for what she was doing but it somehow felt like the only thing, the right thing to do.
She began driving and soon entered a part of Seattle that she had hardly ever been in before.
She got chills when she finally saw the bridge. It led over a highway. This is where Mason had been only days ago. Why? Why had he done that?
She parked the car and gathered her courage to open the plastic bag. The first thing that caught Maya's attention was a brown sketchbook that seemed somehow familiar. She had an unsettling feeling in her stomach as she opened it. Her gaze scanned the first page. It said:
This is for Mason. I love you, happy birthday.
-Maya
Tears Sprung to her eyes immediately, she now remembered Mason's twelve's birthday when she had gotten him this. It was her feeble attempt at supporting him and his love for art. Back then Maya had felt like he had actually appreciated it, but she had never thought that he would have kept it after all these years.
She couldn't bring herself to look at Mason's art just yet, put it down on the passenger seat and retrieved a large envelope from the bag. It had the name Maya on it, and she thought that she recognised Mason's handwriting.
This must be it.
Maya opened it with trembling fingers: There was a folded-up piece of writing paper and another painting. Maya turned the painting around and there was written in blue ink:
This is my last painting. This is where I'm going in my mind. I made this while listening to "Vincent" by Don McLean. I made peace with it, I hope that you can too, one day.
Tears were streaming down her face at this point. She hardly looked at the painting before unfolding the letter.
Dear Maya,
first of all I want to say that I'm very sorry. I know that you are and will feel sad, angry helpless and so many more things. I've tried to cope with it for your sake for all my life and the thought of how you would have to suffer because of me has stopped me from committing suicide multiple times. I know that you will probably never be able to understand it and I want you to know that none of this is your fault. I was never strong enough for this, Maya. You always were the strong one, I was never made for this. I just couldn't do it anymore. It's probably hard to understand but if living and simply existing becomes unbearable, it becomes impossible to keep living. You have every right in the world to be angry at me and to hate me and to call me weak for what I did because that's what killing oneself is. It is being too weak to fight when everything becomes too much. I know that we haven't had the best relationship but that was Lane's fault. Please don't blame yourself for anything, neither for things from our childhood, nor for more recent things. I am fully responsible for what I did. I hope that you will one day be able to continue living your life without thinking about me because that not what I would have wanted. I wish that I had never been born to not cause you this amount of pain. I hope that you become happy and maybe you can forgive me one day.
I love you forever.
Mason
Her entire body was trembling at this point. She could hold it in any longer. She started screaming and crying. She wasn't sure how long she had been crying but her voice had long since become hoarse.
She was exhausted but still trembling when she took the painting from the passenger seat, grabbed her phone and looked for the song. Before starting it she took in the painting. It was the clearing of a dark forest at night. The stars were sparkling in the clear night sky. It was beautiful; peaceful somehow.
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and winter chills
In color on the snowy linen land
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
...
