The sky was dark and air murky. I could feel many hydrogen molecules clinging to my skin as I hoisted myself off the driver’s seat. A classic silver Hyundai Sonata was half devoured by dust. I glanced down to my palm. The route I’ve jotted down yesterday night was still there although blurred from sweat.

Up ahead was a cottage. A thin trail of smoke was rising from the antique chimney, and lights were flickering inside windows. I approached the wooden front door and lightly knocked on it. Few seconds later, a man’s face appeared and asked,

“Who is it?”

“Uh… My name is Carl McLean, son of Marcus McLean, do you recognize the name?”

The man flinched at my father’s name. I’ve come to the right place. The door opened silently and an elderly man stood in the doorway.

“Strange, how come I’ve never heard of you before?” He muttered and looked dubious even as he welcomed me inside. His firm hands slammed the door shut behind us. He led me to the living room. It was vacant except for a small sofa for two. He signaled me to sit as he lowered himself. Minutes of silences passed before he opened his mouth first.

“So, what do you want to know?”

His eyes were startled me. For a man so old and fragile, he had a pair of striking grey eyes that sent a chill across my spinal cord. I took a deep breathe and carefully opened my mouth,

“What kind of man was he?”

The man elapsed into silence. His eyes were closed and his eyebrows came together in great concentration. It was a while until he asked me.

“I guess I’ll have to tell you about the fact that I’ve only witnessed his last three months in bed. Will that be enough for you?”

His eyes scanned me questioningly and he sighed.

“I guess you wouldn’t have searched me out if you had better plans huh?”

I nodded in reply.

“Well, there’s nothing much to tell but if you insist… I must tell you then. It was about 20 years ago, when I was still an outgoing detective with fame and money. Well, I got washed into this case with failed suicide attempt. To fully conclude such case, I needed a complete and full communication. The only problem was that he had complete shut himself off. He was a stubborn man, he refused to talk or even let me make eye contacts with him.”

The man chuckled at the memory. His face was lit up like a child touching his very first X-mas present. For a moment, I saw a young and enthusiastic detective with flaming eyes focused on the case. He continued on,

“It was three nights before his death when I heard him talk. It was past midnight and only the constant beeping sound of the heartbeat sensor barely kept me awake. View outside the ward was completely black. A single bulb shone down on both of us. The walls were stalk white and smelled of strong medicine. In the center of the room, a bed rested on the cold hard floor. He was moaning out snippets of words beyond my comprehensive skills. He held a short Tombow pencil on his left hand and a sheet of paper on his right.”

“It was three months since I’ve started on the case but I’d learned nothing. There were absolutely no communication. He would only move when he wrote, or rather scribbled. His scribbles were hard to interpret. There were only few words that I could make out. It wasn’t enough. There were calls from the headquarters asking about progress, constantly urging me to conclude the case. The only problem was that there were ‘some’ progress but not enough to fully form the picture. If only there were absolutely no progress, the case would have ended much earlier.”

“I remember that he suddenly jerked awake. It looked like every muscles were frantically moving. Machines around him made alarming sounds and soon, busy footsteps got closer and closer. Group of people with white gowns entered the room. They gathered around him sharing voices of concern. They injected few needles of sedative and left with no hesitation. He was nearing the end. I knew it by his breathing getting shallower as days passed by. That was when his hands caught my eyes. His fingers beckoned on me.”

I was dubious of what he just said. I asked him, “Wait, he just called for you? After getting a sedative?”

The man frowned at the thought and replied,

“Well, I certainly am sure what the doctors injected was a sedative. I could be wrong though. He really did called to me. I got closer to him and he parted his lips to say, ‘Remember this’. Then he handed me the paper he was always clutching in his right hand. Well, he dropped it toward me. He fell asleep as soon as he did.”

“After three days, the monitor that displayed constant spikes of life only showed monotonous green lines, indicating death. Nurses came in and silently took him away. I didn’t take part in the funeral. Well, after that, many cases went by me. Most of them I usually forget but some just burn themselves into my memory. Cases I couldn’t solve, cases I had to let go… those cases still haunt me.”
I looked at him and saw nothing but sorrow in his eyes this time. His back was hunched and the spark of life that flickered inside was cold. Guilt and shame was consuming him. I gently called out for him,

“But you managed to save the last of him, the last writing remember? I think you’ve done enough for him. He was already gone.”
His head jerked back up. He was suddenly on his feet and darting across the living room. I just sat there, openmouthed, gawking at his speed. When he was back, he held out a little parchment. He was beaming at me. He pushed it right to my face and said,

“The last of him is right here. Now I’m really glad I kept it after all those years.”
His face was so bright and gay that I just couldn’t resist against his gift. I took the parchment and stared into it.


He stared at me wide-eyed and asked,

“Can you possibly understand it? What does it say?? Anything important than the last part about drowning?”

Truth to be told, I could not clearly understand what he was trying to convey. It didn't seem like a letter to his unknown son. The writing felt like him. I may never be able to understand it fully, but this was the last part of him I could hold on to.

I looked up to face the man and smiled at him,

“It's him”