Dear Edmund,
I saw something fantastical that changed my whole worldview of what is possible and what exists in this world. Then I was threatened with death if I ever spoke of it. Also, I was told that those I shared what I saw with would also die. Yet, I need to reveal this to someone, to unburden myself of these visions and haunting nightmares. If you want no part of this, destroy this letter immediately.
If you graciously decide to help me, possibly risking your own life, flip this letter over and I will share what I have witnessed.
Raith flipped the letter over and his expression could not hide his dismay. Raith looked up, catching the knowing glance of the raven, and took an exasperated breath.
Spring, Ontario, 1953.
“Here we are. You showed me a copy of the original, but what you will see will not likely be as impressive unfortunately,” Raith said. “The trees block the view, and of course, it is past the season when the ice breaks.”
“Still, it is a thrill to be here, where Rob Robson sat and painted his finest work. Actually, he sketched it here and finished it in a studio. However, this is definitely the place.”
Raith let the man, who he found out was named Gareth, appreciate the destination of his journey. They already went over how he could safely take another route back, and he will be able to leave the park without incident.
“What about mental illness or compulsiveness or stubbornness? Did Robert have any signs of that?” Raith asked out of the blue.
“I am not sure I know what you mean.”
“Could he be obsessive with activities?”
“Perhaps slightly as he was prolific in the year of his death and he was painting a lot of the provincial park.”
“Was he one to break promises, saying one thing but not doing it,” Raith wondered out loud.
“No, though there are some incidents where he pursued women that were not available, and a more moral man might stay away.”
“How about fear? Was he a brave man? He enlisted a lot, so it did not look like he feared dying in war.”
“We do know he very much feared how others though about his art,” Gareth explained. “I do not get the impression he was brave to any exceptional degree. Why all the sudden questions?”
“Well, we are parting soon, and I’d like a better picture of who the man was.”
“He wasn’t perfect. Who is? But he’s a great artist, and he left us too early.”
Raith nodded at that and told the man he must be going. That evening, after he flew home, he tried to gather his thoughts. Looks like the perfect murder is not that difficult. Luckily, there were no reports of Robert talking to a dark-haired man or that might have turned out to be one of the theories. He recalled what happened over thirty years ago. He didn’t want to do it, but he felt it was almost like Robert was testing him, acting so defiantly. Perhaps, it is some temporary madness from what he saw or from lack of sleep. After he did what he had to, Raith left for home and did not know the aftermath of his actions. The next trip to his friend’s reserve was months later and when he flew over Kayak River, it looked the same, until one fly by later on when he noticed they put up a commemorative cairn. Even after reading it, he did not know fully Robert Robson’s reach, influence, and inspiration. He never regretted it and never felt guilty. Robert was fairly warned. If there was some flaw within him that could not make him adhere to the terms agreed, that is unfortunate, but there was no choice in the matter. One alternative was to let him speak. This did not sound like a good idea at the time and a poorer option in retrospect. He would have many people that would listen to him and start an idea that no one had in their heads up to then. He did not want the same notoriety of creatures that did not exist to be associated with him. Better one man dies than the idea giving birth. It was the only thing to do. I am sorry it turned out that way, Robert Robson.
