Chapter 3

C H A P T E R  3  :  T H E  L E T T E R 

A year later.

His name is Toby Sanders. A twenty-five-year-old guy, a successful horror novelist went missing. Everyone thought he was doing his usual research, finding mysteries for his upcoming book.

Sadly, it is not the case at all as he turned up dead the next day in the lake one hundred miles outside the city. He suffered two stabs on the back before he was drowned.

Believing his story is interesting enough to be written, I run around doing my usual research about his life.

I park my car on the side of the road and kill the engine. In front of me is the orphanage where Toby used to live.

The headmistress, Sister Cecilia, finally agreed to the interview.

At first, she was reluctant to share any details. The latest news about Toby’s tragic death has caused multiple reporters to show up, banging on their doors for answers. She clearly did not need one more person inquiring about the life of Toby Sanders during his stay in Angel’s Mercy Orphanage, so when she finally called me and told me the change of mind yesterday evening, I could not believe my own ears.

I grab my bag, sling it over one shoulder, and get out of the car.

Despite what we see in horror movies, Angel’s Mercy Orphanage is a homey and grand place. Tall pines trees elevate from the ground in nearby the gate, forming a path that leads me to the front door.

The orphanage feels like a nursing home and it doesn’t have the creepy vibe I was expecting. The building itself isn’t as tall as the building I live in New York City, but the three sets of windows above the door tell me it’s four stories tall.

I raise my hand, about to knock on the door when it suddenly swings open. A nun in her sixties comes out with a clutch in her hand. I quickly take a step back to give her way. Instead, she stops and stares at me for a full minute before saying, “Juliet, is that you?

I honestly do not know which is creepier, that she stares at me with her narrowed eyes for a period of time or the fact that she only misses one letter of my name. Nonetheless, I try to be pleasant and greet her back. After all, I need the information they have for my next book. “Good morning. My name is Julie. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Juliet,” the older lady insists. She raises one hand to cup my face.

Instinctively, I grab her hand with my own. “It is Julie. Julie St. Matthews.”

She shakes her head so firmly that I’m afraid she might hurt herself. I look past her, searching for possible help.

“Your name is Juliet Matthias.” She drops her clutch and grabs both of my arms. I restrain myself from pulling my arms away, knowing she might fall without my support. “Juliet, it has been a long time since the last time I saw you.”

I know it’s a lost cause but I try to reason with her one more time. “I am sorry, I think you are mistaking me for someone else. My name is Julie St. Matthews, not Juliet Matthias.”

She cries, “No!” while shaking my body further. She keeps telling me, “You are Juliet! Your name is Juliet.” As if by saying it multiple times, I will eventually agree with her.

Just when all hope seems but lost, another nun comes to my rescue. “Sister Margareth!” She bends down and takes the crutch. Turning to me, she looks guilty when she says, “I am so sorry, Miss.”

Without another word, she takes Sister Margareth’s hands off my arms, which is quite a sweat since she’s holding on to me so tight, and finally manages to escort the older nun away.

Even when I can no longer see them, I can still faintly hear Sister Margareth’s words like a chant as she keeps telling the younger nurse that I am Juliet Matthias and I need their help.

Honestly, with all the commotion, she makes me wonder what this girl, Juliet Matthias, really looks like. My thoughts, however, are soon interrupted as another nun in her late thirties comes out.

Her face shines brightly, almost as bright as her hair, which is hidden beneath her veil, but I can see a few strands lose up from their tightened buns on the back of her neck.

Offering me a warm smile, she greets me, clearly knowing who I am and why I am here. “Ms. Matthews, welcome.” She motions me to follow her.

The front room from where Sister Margareth comes is a living room with three sofas and a small table in the middle. There are fresh red roses placed in a vase made of glass on top of the table, giving me the impression that they probably grow rose bushes somewhere in their garden and just cut the flowers this morning.

She leads me to a wooden door and holds it open for me. An enormous space with one blackwood table and three chairs tell me that this is the headmistress’s office. It looks nothing out of the ordinary, just like any other office I have ever walked in except for the colossal statue of a crowned lady in the corner of the room.

Taking a seat across from her, I express my gratitude for her willingness to do this. “Sister Cecilia, thank you for giving me this opportunity. I know how busy you are.”

Sister Cecilia smiles. She is the type who always has a genuine smile on her face. “You are thanking the wrong person, Ms. Matthews.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“After I declined your offer, Sister Margareth was the one who convinced me to change my mind.” I am floored. I can’t believe that I have the crazy nun to thank for this opportunity. Maybe I should be able to guess it. She was probably thinking, I am Juliet, who needs her help.

“Nonetheless, I am grateful,” I carefully answer. I open the zipper of my bag and take out a voice recorder, my journal, and a pen. “Do you mind if I record this interview?”

Again, Sister Cecilia offers me her smile. “As you wish.”

I start with the basic questions, like when was Toby last here, how old was he, when did he leave the orphanage, all the necessary details. Sister Cecilia opens the records, which the orphanage kept in a huge book. The list of all the children is written by every headmistress who ruled the orphanage during the period.

From there, I notice that Sister Cecilia is new to the job. She has only been here for just about ten years now. Toby was twenty-five the day they found him dead. So clearly, Sister Cecilia wasn’t here when he was first accepted.

We searched through the records to find that Sister Margareth, the creepy nun, was the one in charge at that time. I quickly copy down the information about Toby in my journal. Notwithstanding the book looking old, the information served is detailed and methodical. It goes into great detail and even includes the physical condition of each child. It is written that Toby had a birthmark on his lower back, near his tailbone, a detail I don’t forget to take note of.

“Do you have any photos of Toby when he was a child?” I ask Sister Margareth once she places the book back into the drawer.

“Well, let me see.” She walks to the aluminum, steel cupboard and opens its drawer. It takes her over five minutes to search and I am very tempted to help her, except that I have no idea what she is looking for.

After a while, she finally finds what she was looking for as she exclaims, “Oh, here it is! Nineteen ninety-five.” She hugs the huge album and puts it on the table.

We flip through page after page of pictures until we find a photo of all the children standing in front of a house. I immediately realized it wasn’t the same house as the one I am in right now. “This photo.” I point at the photo on the left page. “This was not taken here, was it?”

“No,” Sister Cecilia shakes her head slightly. “It was an old building. We only moved here ten years ago, right after Sister Margareth stepped down, and I took over her responsibilities.”

I scribble this information down in my journal, mentally noting to do more research about the old building and possibly pay a visit if need be. “May I?”

“Of course. Go ahead, my child.” Sister Cecilia lifts the album and hands it to me. “Be careful, it is quite heavy, though.”

I carefully put it down on my lap. I take a photo of the original picture of young Toby. As I go through the pages, looking for other photos of him, I stumble upon one photo that nearly takes all my breath away. It’s the exact same photo I found a year ago: a photo of me and my sister, Stella. Why was this here? 

“Sister,” I grab the album and show it to her. “What is this?”

Sister Cecilia takes a closer look and narrows her eyes to help her see it better. “The girl on the left? That is Juliet Matthias.”