The Letter (Part 2)

Hello, humans. Before I ‘start’ the story, I would like to thank everyone who bought/downloaded my new book, ‘I am Victor’.

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Note: This is a work of fiction.

Within minutes, my ward was filled with people who wanted to know what happened and also people who wanted to see if there was anything they could do to help the nurse that was already dead. Of course, someone tried CPR but if that works all the time, nobody would have been dead and we could in a way, achieve ‘global peace’ in the sense that nobody dies anymore. The police came a few minutes later and shooed everyone away, I included.

They moved me to another ward that was significantly bigger. “I didn’t know you get a free complimentary upgrade if a nurse died in your ward,” I said as the new nurse in charge of me walked away. About an hour later, the police came into my new room and started questioning me, as if I was the killer. “Where were you when she opened the letter?” one policeman asked me. “On the roof, ghost-hunting,” I said sarcastically and to my shock, I had to explain it to them who seems to believe that I was really up on the roof, ghost-hunting.

They questioned me for about two hours, repeating the same questions no less than 20 times. I knew that it was a strategy to find out if I’m lying because the logic is if I made up the stories, my ‘statement’ would change a little or a lot. “Can you stop repeating the questions?” I asked. “I’m not even entitled to answer your bloody questions,” I declared. “I’m not charged with anything,” I said. “You should be thankful that I would even bother to answer your questions,” I continued in an annoyed voice. They left five minutes later after saying that I would only talk with my lawyer around.

The next day, my lawyer did came and I learnt that the police found another letter in the envelope that took the life of the nurse who was taking care of me. “What was written on it?” I asked. “You have a day to live,” I was told and looked at the clock on the wall. “Well,” I replied calmly, “According to the time, I have five minutes to win,” I told the cops. “Nobody in this room will kill you,” I was told but my lawyer wasn’t convinced of the answer. “I want my client to be protected!” she yelled as the cops didn’t look like they would do anything.

They interpreted “Keep my client protected” as locking the door. As the cop walked towards the door, I saw a shiny metal on the ground. Looking closer, I found out that it was a scalpel that was left there either purposely or accidentally. Looking at the clock, I grew anxious as five minutes gets closer and closer. Then, there was a knock at the door and both cops went to answer it. I took that chance to pick up the scalpel without anyone looking. The cops opened the door as someone pushed them to the side and threw an envelope onto the table where we are sitting.

“Don’t open it. Don’t touch it,” my lawyer told me as if I was stupid enough to do it. One of the cop, the person who read the paper written, “You have five minutes to live” stated to panic and took out his gun. “Tell me who you are!” he shouted, pointing the gun at me. Then, he came closer and pointed the gun at my head as I refused to talk. I was sure that he was about to pull the trigger. So, I took out the scalpel from my pocket and slit his throat. The whole room was decorated with blood that day.

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