Word Count: 6,017
Summary of Events:
Borden was woken by a nightmare and went outside to clear his head; as he stood outside he heard an argument in the next apartment over followed by sounds of a struggle that seemed to end in the demise of one of the two arguers. He was unable to see who either of the arguers were — in part because the sliding door onto his deck didn't work nicely — but snuck into the apartment next door and found evidence of a killing, although killer and victim were gone . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
Cautiously he made his way about the apartment, which had little in the way of personal effects and touches, looking for something that might tell him who he’d lived next door to — as he’d honestly not known.
After all, one of his parole conditions was to stay away from women, which he had been doing as diligently as possible. In fact, he’d pretty much just been staying away from everyone he didn’t have to be near, which left his only acquaintances as his parole officers and his fellow employees at the butcher shop.
A glance at the stove clock early on in his searching informed him that it was past one in the morning, and by the time he found the book the clock on the nightstand told him it was ten minutes after two.
The book was spiral bound, about three centimetres thick, fifteen centimetres across, and twenty five to thirty centimetres long. It was a generic five-subject notebook such as could be found at any office-supply store, or such a department of a larger store.
As most books of its ilk did, it had a line for the owner to put their name across, but inscribed there instead was Life of Honour Fedoruk in fine-tipped black marker.
Carefully lifting open the thick card cover, he found blue ink in the same print — which was distinctly neat and feminine — spelling out something of a journal entry:
Sunday, February 26
So apparently your little girl is going to be getting a religious education. She was dedicated to god during the church service this morning, with the whole crowd standing up and agreeing that they would help her to grow up to be a godly young woman.
I stood up so as to not stick out, but I don’t think I’m going to go to one of those services again unless something important happens relating to Honour. I saved my pamphlet in case you wanted the memento, but I must warn you, they don’t appear to be abiding by your wish for your last name to be kept on her, as every time she was mentioned by name, and every time it was written up, even in the pamphlet, it was with the foster family’s name.
Turning the page, he found a church bulletin — he knew it was called a bulletin from having been to a church service once and having seen one held up and called a bulletin from the pulpit during the announcements that’d opened up the service — dated from that same day seven years ago.
It listed the order of service, including the titles of the songs sung, and one of the items in the list was Dedication of Honour Vera Schreiber. Schreiber. Why did he know that name?
He flipped on through the book, finding that it was a chronicle of a very real child, complete with other mementoes, such as church and school Christmas pageant programs — all of which listed the child as Honour Fedoruk.
Pronunciation:
Fedoruk: fehdohruhk
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