Words Have Power, They Are Magic, Epilogue

wordsRichard Bittner, Jr sat at his desk in his office on the 20th floor of the Bittner Building.  He had come from the funeral earlier that day and although his wife wanted him to come home, he came to the office instead. He wanted to be alone and he had encountered no one but Steve the guard, who grunted at him.  On the desk lay a manila envelope that held what was found on his father, in his numerous pockets.

He picked it up and using the sword shaped envelope opener his daughter had given him, this past father’s day he slit opened the envelope. He poured out the contents. On his desk, there was a small plastic toy skunk, a small bit of green crayon, a bit of chocolate that had pocket stuff on it, a folded piece of paper, and the voice recorder he had given his dad.

He picked the piece of paper and unfolded it. Written in green crayon was, “I wish I was with my Renee. I wish I could hold her and see her again.”  Richard started to tear up.

“Well dad, I guess you got that wish.”

If words had power as his dad always told him then this paper was as suicide note. He sighed, folded the note back up, and put it to the side. Richard picked up the voice recorder and pulled out the USB connector to plug into his computer. Might as well see what was on this week’s recording. Most likely, it was nothing more than the gibberish that was usually on there. The only time anything was clear was when his dad told his stories/ Richard suspected his dad of muffling the recording on purpose sometimes.

He pressed the play button; Sure enough, most 0f the recording was muffled and garbled.  Richard could pick out some words, some names but there was nothing of importance on the recording. After a minute or so of nothing recorded Richard was about to stop the playback when he heard his father’s voice.

“I love you Renee, I am sorry. It was the words Renee. I always loved you and I missed you.”

Richard wiped away a tear. In his dying breath, his father thought he saw Richard’s mom.
At least he died seeing her again Richard thought as he looked at the note. Words are magic.

A woman’s voice rang through the office, clear enough that Richard looked to see if someone had come in, but it came from the recorder.

“Yes. The words have power, they are magic”.


Blocks away from where Richard sat in disbelief at what he heard, the bums that lived in the park were in hiding. They had already gone through the questions the police had, those they did not mind, usually they got a cup of coffee or a sandwich out of it, but the others that still roamed the park. They were leftover reporters, hoping to get a scoop, mostly rookies. If they had been seasoned reporters, they would know to bring a gift or two if they wanted the park residents to talk to them.  There was also the small group of people looking for a certain gentleman who happened to have had words with their very own Gandalf, the story man that sat on the bench. The man who now dead, but had told them who had shot him. It was on the cardboard that the bums had removed before the police got there. It said

“The words, they are Ruthless.”

Well they knew what that meant so in a corner of the parkway in the back where no one went, no lovers, no walkers, not even kids chasing their runaway balls. No one went there but those who lived there. It was overgrown with weeds ivy and bushes. Unless you knew where to go, it looked impenetrable.  Back in there where only the bums and the creatures dared to go there was a large ancient oak tree. The kind with the gnarled thick branches and moss draping over most of the branches, from one of those branches, hung a man.

He was hanging by a rope tied to his wrists and his feet could almost touch the ground. It looked as if someone had used him as a piñata and on his face was a look of agony.  He had been hanging there for  a while and one would think he was dead already he was that still, but now and then a groan escaped his lips. He smelled as if a skunk had sprayed him with its perfume and there was something a bit familiar about him, Hanging by cord around his neck, was  a piece of cardboard that read.

“The words, they are Ruthless.

RIP Wordman

Words have power they are magic”