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Autumn Whimper 4

October 25, 2013

October 25th
10:44 P.M.

He was a good friend. Never did I think I’d be breaking into his home. S’too bad.
I give another quick glance around just to make sure no one was around before I smack the bottom of my flashlight into the window atop Ron’s back door, breaking it.

“I don’t know if you heard or not, Samson.” Terry’s words from this morning echo in my head as I produce a towel from my back pocket and place it over the glass remaining in the small window.
“It’s bad news. I figured I’d tell you before you found out on the news or whatever but… it’s Ron. He jumped off of his balcony last night. He’s dead.”
“He’s dead.” I keep repeating that line to myself.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I reach through the window and unfasten the lock on the other side of the door.
It’s impossible. Not Ron. He isn’t that kind of person.

The apartment appears relatively untouched from what I would think should have been a relatively thorough combing over by the police; but then again I wouldn’t assume to know anything about their procedures for such a thing.
He wasn’t a loud guy by any means, but this place always seemed full of life when I was here.
In fact, the only time I can recall it being this quiet would be back when Gem passed.
Gem, and now Ron.
It’s difficult to regard as truth.

Stepping through the kitchen in which the back door resides, I reach the living room. I suspect the landlord had already gotten around to shutting off the electricity. The clocks aren’t displaying the time.
He has a number of pictures of he and Gem lying around. One on the television stand, one on the mantle. I remember taking that one. Just a handful of months ago…
I’m glad he was able to put them back up. I know it was rough on him. It was rough on me. I can’t even imagine..
A few things seemed out of place here or there, but Ron always liked to keep his place sparkling clean. A discarded throw-pillow here or a cabinet left ajar aside, this remained true even now.
I want to think that if someone were in the sort of rut in which they were considering taking their own life, they’d let things like apartment tidiness slide away from them. Doesn’t seem to be the case here at all.

I step into his bedroom, from which the balcony can be accessed, and my opinion turns somewhat.
This room is in disarray.
The bedclothes are strewn about the floor, along with what must have been a week’s worth of clothing. His normally pristine desk has a number of journals laid out, and as opposed to the rest of the apartment, this room smells… I can’t place it. Off.
I walk over to the desk. Ron wasn’t the kind of guy who believed in keeping any sort of diary.
I thumb through the first journal I can reach. Tax information. Expense records.
I figured as such. No scribblings of a mad mind; just the same sort of tidiness of personal business that I’d expect from Ron.
The police might have left this stuff out, I guess.
I thumb through another journal. I can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He has the next year and a half’s income and expenditures all organized and planned out here, right down to small details like weekly grocery visits, complete with projected shopping lists.
Way to think ahead, man. I wish I were more like you.

I notice that his pc monitor was on, but in standby mode. I tap the mouse. Nothing.
I open the small cabinet on his desk which houses his pc’s tower.
Used to, anyway. Did the police take that?

I return the second journal to the top of the desk and turn to peer out onto the balcony.
Regardless of whether or not it actually happened, I simply cannot image in my head someone, especially Ron, jumping off of that balcony with the intent of killing themselves.
You didn’t do that. You had some bad memories and your fair share of mental anguish, but you were a happy guy, Ron.
I’m not sure where to start, but I’ll figure out what happened, man.
You just rest easy.

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