Yours Truly—A Suspense Novella

Papers were scattered across a mahogany desk. A collection of red pens were everywhere. Jim McCarson stooped over his desk, grading his latest paper.

His best student, Amanda Gunderson, had written an essay in French about her family, and he’d found it particularly interesting. It was all about her deceased grandmother, the cookies she used to make, and the rest of the family’s immigration story from New York City to Paris.

This is a bit too interesting for my taste.

Jim McCarson thought to himself.

He loved teaching students French. Their first language was English. He was proud of his heritage and genuinely felt that more people should bother to learn this beautiful tongue of love, yet no one seemed to care. No one except for his students, at least.

It was almost the first of the month and he’d spent a bit too much on takeout, too distressed by the lessons plans he had to create to find the motivation to cook.

The bills were almost due, and he was breathless as a result.

Damn TESOL. You can’t make enough to pay the rent in this city. Can you believe it? I mean, honestly, I deserve more for what I do.

The first was just around the corner, and he would narrowly escape being evicted, once more. His whole body seized up with anticipation, his thoughts blurred, overcome with anxiety, as he desperately attempted to read Amanda’s essay.

By 10 p.m., Jim had finished grading papers. He went to his bedroom, looking at the beautiful women there, all dressed like strippers.

He’d stuffed them himself.

Their glassy eyes stared at him as he rubbed his dick underneath his sheets. Then he dozed off, his body relaxing from this tonic of sorts, visualizing his next victim.

The next morning, Jim woke up in a hurry.

It was Monday morning and he had to go to work.

Jim quickly washed his greasy brown hair in the shower and greeted his pupils. His beady eyes glared at his students as he taught them French grammatical structure. They all seemed attentive, more so than usual.

After an absurdly long lecture, he walked home—he liked being close to work.

His student was coming into his home office. Amanda wanted to know why she got an A instead of an A-…

She was popular. Everyone loved her. So popular everyone would know if she suddenly disappeared.

He locked the bedroom door right before she walked in. Close call.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Hello, Mr. McCarson. I was just wondering…why the A-?”

He sighed.

“Your grammar wasn’t quite right.”

He pointed out the one mistake she’d made, knowing she hadn’t missed it, and corrected her.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Not a problem. Anything else?”

“Oh no,” she replied. A chill ran down Amanda’s spine, and not because it was a cold day.

There was something in the air in this place.

Finally, his workday was done. He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a piece of parchment—Jim McCarson had a weakness for stationary, which was part of the reason he was having trouble paying next month’s rent. He would just barely scrap by though, as per usual.

Hmm. What to write?

Dear Tom Harris,

Greetings. I have found myself in Paris. I want to say that I love you, despite our differences. I want to say that you are a good man, and a good lawyer.

I hope this letter finds you well. I have decided to stay in the City of Lights for another month or two, maybe three. I’m addicted to the pleasantries of a place like this. Perhaps you will come over here and try the croissants some time.

Yours truly,

Lucille Harris

That should do it, he thought to himself before sealing the letter and writing the address on the envelope with the fountain pen.

He couldn’t help but grin, knowing how diabolic he was being. A jolt of adrenaline ran through his veins and, for a moment, he completely forgot about the upcoming rent payment, enjoying the moment.

Finally, I’m getting back that Harris guy for the trouble he caused me. Fucking bastard. I would never have done time if it weren’t for him. The greatest lawyer of all time, my ass.

He still remembered the case. He’d been in The Big Apple, smoking a doobie. Nothing too crazy. He was driving home from work. At that time, he was teaching English to kids in China over Zoom, which was a nightmare and a half—He struggled to learn the technology and he had to use all of these stupid cartoons, plus no one could understand him with his French accent.

He’d been arrested by a dumb police officer. White. American. The usual unfair piece of shit. Then he’d gotten a lawyer with the savings he’d been using for his rent, so it was a real stretch for him financially.

The trial had been stupid, to say the least. Anything but flawless. He had been smoking pot for years, but he’d finally gotten caught. He’d spent the money to avoid going to jail, even if he could have gotten a lawyer for free.

Tom Harris had taken one look at him, and, it seemed, made every effort to botch the case.

He still remembered him saying, “This man shouldn’t be on trial for smoking pot. I’m sure he’s done plenty of other things he should be punished for, but not this. You are, in a word, overreacting.”

Jim gave him a look to kill, and he smirked as he grimaced.

Jim lost the case and Tom Harris did too. It honestly didn’t make sense. He thought lawyers wanted to win, but it seemed that Tom Harris had it out for him, enough to compromise his career, which he cared deeply about.

He made $100,000 per year and continued to represent celebrity clients.

This dumb case was the only one he’d lost in thirty years.

As a result of this case, Jim has spent time behind bars. An entire week in fact. He’s been stuck for years in a rut. He’s been working for almost free, and it’d been tough to get a decent job because he’d been seen as a felon.