help for my imaginary friend. She doesn’t understand, but that’s okay. In time, in Solitary, she will grow to understand.
Heidi—if you’re reading this letter now—if for some awful reason you managed to get hold of this, let me tell you something.
Dr. Barlow is real.
He is very real, just as real as you and me.
And just wait. He will slip into your bed like he’s slipped into mine. He will cover your body like he’s covered mine. He will take even when there’s nothing left to take. And he will disappear, leaving you empty and afraid. Afraid of when he’s going to come back.
This is your life from here on out, Heidi. A snapshot of what you are going to forever be.
You cannot—you will not—escape.
If I can’t, you can’t either.
Maybe hope is something I can never have, then so be it.
It will be something you can never have as well.
Sincerely,
Jeremiah
January 1, 1998
Dear Dr. Barlow:
I dreamt last night I was a teenager again. I dreamt it all over again.
I remember that final night and final time when I decided I didn’t and couldn’t and wouldn’t take it anymore.
The man who claimed to want my mother but only wanted me.
The woman who claimed to love her only child, but feared the man she thought she needed.
The couple blinded and deluded and living every single day the same, letting these lies sink in and sink deeper and sink lower and seep into the veins slower and deeper and darker.
The family that claimed me but never really included me.
I never was a part of you and you will know it when I show my bloody teeth and make you both pay over and over and over and over.
I remember it when I knocked him out with a baseball bat and tied him up.
I remember it when I forced Mom by gunpoint—his gun, the same one he liked to use on me—and tied her up too.
And then I told them that the lies and the screams and the hate were over. I was setting myself free and making them pay.
Then I set the room on fire.
And I watched and heard their screams and all I did was laugh and laugh.
I knew then it was broken and beyond repair and nothing would ever be the same.
Turner or Marsh or whatever, I was the same person, the same kid beaten and bruised.
With the flames reaching to the heavens and crackling and the smell of death in the air, I remember first seeing you. That is when you first showed up.
You put your hand on my shoulder and you smiled and you called me son.
I know you are real, whatever your name is.
I know you are there, regardless of what others say.
I called you Dr. Barlow, but maybe the name isn’t the important thing. You taught me that. A name is just something you attach to yourself. It’s not important and doesn’t define you.
You said you would help me and take care of me. That there was a place for me.
I know where that place is now. It is back home in Solitary, where I will continue to do your good work.
The rest of the world can convince themselves that evil is just caricature or a costume. But I know the truth and I know the reality.
You are real, and you have always been around, and you reach out to those in need.
That is why I will reach out as well.
I will reach out and continue to reach until the need is met and the flames die down.
Until the night no longer ends with a sunrise and until the darkness is eternal.
Jeremiah
Books By Travis Thrasher
The Promise Remains
The Watermark
The Second Thief
Three Roads Home
Gun Lake
Admission
Blinded
Sky Blue
Out of the Devil’s Mouth
Isolation
Ghostwriter
Every Breath You Take
Broken
Solitary
(Solitary Tales #1)
40
Gravestone
(Solitary Tales #2)
Letters From War
(with Mark Schultz)
101 Writing Tips
Paper Angels
(with Jimmy Wayne)
Temptation
(Solitary Tales #3—releasing April 1, 2012)
Hurt
(Solitary Tales #4—releasing September, 2012)
Copyright © 2011 by Travis Thrasher. All rights reserved. Screen Writers Guild no. VQEA3E380432.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
Heidi—if you’re reading this letter now—if for some awful reason you managed to get hold of this, let me tell you something.
Dr. Barlow is real.
He is very real, just as real as you and me.
And just wait. He will slip into your bed like he’s slipped into mine. He will cover your body like he’s covered mine. He will take even when there’s nothing left to take. And he will disappear, leaving you empty and afraid. Afraid of when he’s going to come back.
This is your life from here on out, Heidi. A snapshot of what you are going to forever be.
You cannot—you will not—escape.
If I can’t, you can’t either.
Maybe hope is something I can never have, then so be it.
It will be something you can never have as well.
Sincerely,
Jeremiah
January 1, 1998
Dear Dr. Barlow:
I dreamt last night I was a teenager again. I dreamt it all over again.
I remember that final night and final time when I decided I didn’t and couldn’t and wouldn’t take it anymore.
The man who claimed to want my mother but only wanted me.
The woman who claimed to love her only child, but feared the man she thought she needed.
The couple blinded and deluded and living every single day the same, letting these lies sink in and sink deeper and sink lower and seep into the veins slower and deeper and darker.
The family that claimed me but never really included me.
I never was a part of you and you will know it when I show my bloody teeth and make you both pay over and over and over and over.
I remember it when I knocked him out with a baseball bat and tied him up.
I remember it when I forced Mom by gunpoint—his gun, the same one he liked to use on me—and tied her up too.
And then I told them that the lies and the screams and the hate were over. I was setting myself free and making them pay.
Then I set the room on fire.
And I watched and heard their screams and all I did was laugh and laugh.
I knew then it was broken and beyond repair and nothing would ever be the same.
Turner or Marsh or whatever, I was the same person, the same kid beaten and bruised.
With the flames reaching to the heavens and crackling and the smell of death in the air, I remember first seeing you. That is when you first showed up.
You put your hand on my shoulder and you smiled and you called me son.
I know you are real, whatever your name is.
I know you are there, regardless of what others say.
I called you Dr. Barlow, but maybe the name isn’t the important thing. You taught me that. A name is just something you attach to yourself. It’s not important and doesn’t define you.
You said you would help me and take care of me. That there was a place for me.
I know where that place is now. It is back home in Solitary, where I will continue to do your good work.
The rest of the world can convince themselves that evil is just caricature or a costume. But I know the truth and I know the reality.
You are real, and you have always been around, and you reach out to those in need.
That is why I will reach out as well.
I will reach out and continue to reach until the need is met and the flames die down.
Until the night no longer ends with a sunrise and until the darkness is eternal.
Jeremiah
Books By Travis Thrasher
The Promise Remains
The Watermark
The Second Thief
Three Roads Home
Gun Lake
Admission
Blinded
Sky Blue
Out of the Devil’s Mouth
Isolation
Ghostwriter
Every Breath You Take
Broken
Solitary
(Solitary Tales #1)
40
Gravestone
(Solitary Tales #2)
Letters From War
(with Mark Schultz)
101 Writing Tips
Paper Angels
(with Jimmy Wayne)
Temptation
(Solitary Tales #3—releasing April 1, 2012)
Hurt
(Solitary Tales #4—releasing September, 2012)
Copyright © 2011 by Travis Thrasher. All rights reserved. Screen Writers Guild no. VQEA3E380432.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
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