The Time Esme Lost Control

This is a letter Esme wrote to the mother of the victum that she lost control with.

Chapter 1


You do not know me anymore than I know you.

I am the monster that you have been looking for. Please forgive me.

I see your son in every waking glance, in every peculiar moment.

While this letter may never reach your eyes, it is something that I feel I must do to in order to attempt to rectify a terrible mistake. I have no idea as to who you really are, nor what emotions have staked a claim within your heart. To say that I have struggled with this decision would be a grand understatement, but I have taken something of great importance from you which I can never fully remedy. It is with the deepest remorse that I write to you to inform you of my part in your son’s untimely death.

Though I knew nothing of his life, I could tell that he had something worth living for. But I am ashamed to admit that callously attacked your only son in a moment of weakness. You must understand that there are monsters in the world—real monsters that prey on innocent beings with or without the intent to murder. Some of these monsters appear as normal individuals, drawing in their victims with a brilliant smile. Others are sadistic creatures with no moral value, seeking only to inflict harm on anyone that is unfortunate enough to come across their path. In the case of your son, I am afraid that he encountered both of these monsters—me.

I am not like the other women that you have come across. Although I cannot divulge any more information in that regard other than what I already have, I feel that I must offer you a reason for my heinous deed, even if only to give you some peace of mind. I will not and cannot ask for your forgiveness. There can be no absolution for me now. I must live with the consequences of my actions. However, I want you to know that I went to great lengths to help your son before all was lost.

When I happened across an injured man in the forest, I almost turned around. It was his cries for mercy that piqued my interest. A simple whisper on the breeze was all it took for me to continue onwards, using his voice to guide my footfalls. I could tell from the amount of blood lingering in the air that his injuries must have been quite severe, and once I saw him sprawled out across the ground, I knew that I was already too late to save him.

Doing my best to beat down the flames rising in my throat, I attempted to soothe his anguished sobs. He told me that his name was Christian and that he lived in the town at the bottom of the ridge. It was the last thing that he said to me before I lost myself. Perhaps he would have survived had I not interfered. I have never been one to dismiss the truthfulness of fate; I am living proof that destiny exists in us all. Maybe if I had given your son that chance, he would be at home with you now rather than buried in a remote location that you will never discover. If I had retained more control over my urges, he may have lived to be an old man surrounded by his grandchildren as they begged for another bedtime story—one that only a man such Christian could have told.

Pondering the future of your son has caused nothing but agony to invade my mind. I am responsible for his death in ways that you cannot even imagine, and because of me you will never have closure. There is a good chance that I have subsequently endangered the lives of my own family as well. If that is the case, I openly welcome your swift punishment to spare them from the pain of paying for the damage I have inflicted on you and your loved ones. As one mother to another, I am sure that you would do anything to protect the ones that you love. I cannot express the deep sorrow that rests inside of me. It was never my intention to steal the life of someone with so much potential—someone who had everything to live for, and was only in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I am a monster, Mrs. Callwell; I deserve your judgment and revenge. Nothing I can say or do will ever bring your precious son back to life. I will always carry his memory with me, and I promise that I will never hurt another living soul as long as I shall live. On that, you have my word. Saying that I am sorry will not put your mind at ease, nor will it put this right. It would be a crime against Christian’s memory, and I owe you both better than that.

I just want you to know that if I could go back to the day that I met your son, I would have turned around.



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