I have thought long and hard about how and what to say. I think I got caught up in trying in some way to say something that would affect you … but then again, what could I possibly say that would affect a beast who slits his wife’s throat and leaves her for his children to find? And a beast who traps his victim in a corner, brutally stabbing him over and over, thirty times over? A beast who has no remorse for the pain, grief, and anguish he has left behind? How could I possibly affect a beast who beats “his” wife in “his” house and blames her? A beast who, while in jail, signs autographs and writes a “poor me” book during the trial of his murdered wife? A beast who walks around chatting and telling jokes while the victims’ families sit a few feet away? A beast who cares nothing about finding the true killer because he knows he wouldn’t have far to search?
What could I possibly say that would inflict as much pain on you as you have left with me? What could I do to you that would leave you feeling as empty as I am? The answer is nothing. There will never be anything that would reach my level of sadness, which will forever be a part of my life. All I can do is tell you that, while you were so enraged, wielding a six-inch blade, stabbing Ron in the heart and lungs, that while you were viciously and maliciously cutting Ron down, you single-handedly, in one minute’s time, destroyed all of our lives.
You took my best friend, my confidant, my only sibling. You took my hero. You stripped society of a gift: Ron. You took his dreams, his hopes, his future. You took a wife and a family that will never be. You took his entire life. A human life. What gave you the right to take all of that? Did you know that each time you sliced my brother you were cutting me, too? With each stab you were taking pieces of me. You have killed a huge part of me. So, while you may have thought that you were physically hurting only Ron, you were simultaneously taking away my life. What gave you the right to my life?
My life was to be shared with my only brother. We depended on each other completely. We knew each other better than anyone. We were to share our successes and our failures together. We were going to raise our children together. We were supposed to share our adulthood together. We were going to be together forever. We were inseparable. What gave you the right to destroy that?
I will never again see his smile, hear his voice, or listen to his laughter. I will never again hold his hand, touch his face, feel his arms around me, or give him a kiss. I will never again be able to tell Ron how much I love and adore him. I will never again be able to express my pride for his accomplishments. I will never be able to sit in Ron’s restaurant, the Ankh. I will never again have my big brother to comfort me in sadness and celebrate with me in good times. I will never play with his son or daughter. I will never have him to walk me down the aisle. I will never be able to see if my children look like their Uncle Ron. We will never again share memories. My photo album will be empty. I will never again have someone say how much we look alike and how similar we are. I will never again hear the words, “You are my best friend, Munchkin, and I love you.” I will never again be whole.
I will forever be asking myself the what-ifs, the what should have beens … the could have beens and the what will never bes. … I will forever be tormented with the desire to have Ron by my side. And what will you, a double butcher, be tormented with? I have a few wishes:
I wish that, for the rest of the days that you walk on this earth, you are shadowed with guilt, and that it slowly and quietly engulfs you until you wither up and disappear. And, until that happens, I wish that society ostracizes and harasses you and labels you the Butcher of Brentwood that we proved that you are. I wish you misery and a never-ending nightmare. I wish that Ron’s eyes, the same eyes that watched you slaughter Nicole and then watched as you plunged the knife deeper into his body, the same big brown eyes that watched as you left him to die … that they always follow you, wherever you go. I wish that Ron’s face is what you wake up to, in a cold sweat, in the middle of the night: the image of a beautiful young man, a bigger man than you will ever be.
Ron is a hero. You savagely butchered a hero.
I will never let you forget.