A girl named Claire came to my house today. She was Walter's sister apparently and wanted to know more about her brother's death. I don't see why she would. What little I know of it is enough to keep giving me nightmares. I shut the door in her face.
Life isn't perfect but I get by. I make do with what I have, which is actually plenty. I don't want to go back to such a dark place as that night. Perhaps I'm being selfish but it's a bit selfish of her to ask me. Even if I had answers, which I don't. I had only met Walter a few times. I was just a bystander to his death. There was nothing I could tell her that the cops couldn't.
Yet I'm staring at the number she left on my porch. For the first hour I was looking at it I pretended that I didn't know why I was so interested. But I do. Even though I didn't even meet him except in passing I knew what he was like. I sort of understood his hypochondria. Something was wrong on Halloween. Maybe it was just him snapping. but maybe it was more.
This is a terrible thing to be curious about. And it's certainly not going to be healthy for me to relive that night. But as much as I am saying this I already know that I'm going to call her.