A Letter for the Inspector

She immediately looked puzzled. 'Daddy, what are you talking about? I'm giving you the juicy stuff here!'

He sighed and grabbed his hat from the table. 'I wanted evidence, Sabrina,' he told her cramming his hat on his balding head at the same time, 'not gossip,' he concluded standing up. He kissed his wife on the cheek.

She continued to drown her eyes inside her coffee mug.

'Bye, dear,' he said.

She did not respond.

He grabbed his jacket from his chair. 'You want a ride to school?' he asked Sabrina.

'Dad, seriously?'

He chuckled. 'That was a joke, baby girl. I thought you young people still knew a thing a two about those.'

As soon as inspector Charles left the kitchen he headed for the exit. When he opened the door to get outside he saw something at his doorstep. It was a small, brown ordinary sized envelope. There was a small mailbox just by the side of the driveway close to the sidewalk which obviously meant that the envelope had been hand delivered by someone other than the postman.

First glancing sideways, the inspector stooped down and picked up the envelope. On the exterior were the handwritten words: "To Inspector Charles". He carefully opened it. There was a small piece of paper with the words, also handwritten in ink:

To Inspector Charles:

I know who killed all those people (Justin Foyer, Brittany Bale and Doctor Darren Jacob). I know you're wondering who this is, inspector but please understand that for the safety of my family, I cannot meet with you face-to-face. Therefore, I shall mail you the evidence concerning the killer and the murders in two days. As a concerned citizen, I believe you will do the right thing.

The inspector smiled as he returned the letter back into the envelope. He put it inside one of his jacket pockets. He made his way towards the patrol car.

The time was now 2 P.M. Sineas had just finished attempting six push-ups. He had managed five-and-a-half and was grinning proudly to Clarissa's loud applause.

Clarissa had accomplished eighty-five and she still looked like she could do at least a hundred more. There was no sweat on her face, her breathing was normal and she did not look strained in the least.

Sineas however looked like a dying horse. He was trying hard to catch his breath, sweat dripping on and underneath his red t-shirt and the rest of his body. He placed his hands above his knees still trying to get his heartrate under control. 'I still don't know how you do it,' he said.

'Exercise isn't based on power, Sin. It's all about breath control.'

'Did you get that from a magazine?'

'Nope…' she sat on the floor, now advancing to sit-ups, '…experience.' She looked unstoppable, strong and relentless as she continued to pivot her upper body, not for once decreasing her speed.

He knelt on one knee at her feet. He looked around at the other students. Their eyes were beginning to wander towards Clarissa. They tried to imitate her posture, her movements, her speed. They failed dismally. He smiled down at her.

'What is it?' she asked him but continuing with her exercise.

'I think you'll make an exemplary soldier one day,' he said.

'Not a teacher?'

'I think you becoming a teacher could bring about consequential results.'

'How…so?' She was finally getting tired.

'I can already picture it,' he said. 'If your students fail your in-class tests you would order them to drop and give you twenty…or in your case; eighty-five.'

She snickered and brought her sit-up marathon to an end.

Sineas had stopped counting but he was sure she had scored forty sit-ups. She still looked like she had a few more in the tank though despite her panting. She sat up and looked at him, grinning. Sweat was dripping underneath her white t-shirt, painting a clear outline of her breasts. Sineas turned his eyes to her face.

'And what do you want to be, Sin?' she asked him panting softly.

He looked towards the other students.

Mr. Gwarini was fruitlessly trying to correct a small boy's sit-up posture.

Sineas shrugged. 'The thought has never crossed my mind,' he answered her. 'I guess I have this fear that if I do set my sights on something, something else better might come up and I might have to change.'

'But isn't change good?'

'It is, Claire but if you constantly change your mind because something else just keeps coming up then you'll just become a man of compromise…a man of anxiety and fear. You know the type: cowardly, spineless, indecisive, fickle…'

She took his hand into hers. She began stroking his knuckles with her thumb.