Letters: Sometimes it's the Hero that Needs Saving the Most

By Brandon Wolfe

Sometimes, it is the hero that needs saving the most.

Chace, a teenage orphan with the power to see the future, saves people anonymously by leaving them a letter to find in their moment of crisis. When his friends are in danger, he is there. He saves them but cannot predict the consequences. He can see their future, but he cannot see his o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Apr 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647460730

Brandon Wolfe

Brandon Wolfe is a graduate of Columbia University's creative writing program, and a starting writer out of New York City (temporarily relocated to California). In recent years, he has seen so much hate and fear, all around, that he felt he had to do something. His purpose with "Letters" was to show that through acceptance, kindness, love, and forgiveness, we can change the world. No stranger to pain and hardship, Brandon has endured 12 broken ankles, 5 knee surgeries, and injuries to the back, both shoulders, and both wrists. He was so dedicated to this project that he wrote 75% of "Letters" on a tablet, while wearing a wrist brace because he could not use a keyboard, and while standing because his injuries prevented him from sitting.

Book preview

An easy read and story that touches the soul.

—Kary Oberbrunner, author of

Your Secret Name and The Deeper Path

Letters

Sometimes It’s the Hero

That Needs Saving the Most

BRANDON WOLFE

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Letters © 2020 by Brandon Wolfe. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

Published by Author Academy Elite

PO Box 43, Powell, OH 43035

www.AuthorAcademyElite.com

All rights reserved. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written permission from the author.

Identifiers:

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019919995

ISBN: 978-1-64746-071-6 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-64746-072-3 (hardback)

ISBN: 978-1-64746-073-0 (ebook)

Available in paperback, hardback, e-book, and audiobook

Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Author Academy Elite, nor does Author Academy Elite vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

Book design by Jetlaunch. Cover design by Debbie O’Byrne.

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Discussion Questions

Special Thanks

About the Author

Additional Content

Preface

I am a writer out of New York, and during the 2016 U.S. presidential election, I saw so much hate, fear, and pain, from friends and family I knew from all areas of the political climate, that I felt I had to do something. I have written this story, Letters, in response to this problem. My purpose was to address issues of prejudice, hate, and fear, and to show that through acceptance, kindness, love, and forgiveness we can change the world.

If you enjoy this story, and especially if its message touches you, please pass it along. It is only by working together that we can make a difference, so I need your help. Please, share the love and change the world. The more attention that Letters receives, the more people will read it, and we can reach them together.

1

He wasn’t just the sort of hero you could believe was out there, he was the sort of hero you wanted, or maybe even needed, to believe in. He was the most intuitive person I ever met; he could change the way you saw the world with just a few words on a piece of paper. That is, after all, why we started calling him ‘Letters.’

While his story started years ago, for most of us it started with a simple news broadcast.

The video started with an image of a pleasant looking newscaster speaking into the camera:

It seems we have our very own guardian angel here in New York City. Ten days ago, we ran the following story: a young girl, who prefers to remain anonymous, sought to take her own life after a recent family tragedy. She left her suicide note and went to the Brooklyn Bridge intending to jump.

The video switched to an image of the bridge, on the platform around the first tower out from Manhattan.

"When she arrived, at the very spot she’d chosen, she found a letter addressed directly to her attached to the bridge. It said exactly what she needed to hear to change her mind. That letter saved her life. The question remains, however, who wrote the letter? It was signed simply, ‘A friend.’

She returned home to find her family and friends understandably frantic, having found her suicide note some time earlier. When her father saw the letter left on the bridge, he felt he needed to thank her rescuer. So, with no way to trace the sender, they sent the letter to us with this message: ‘Whoever you are and wherever you’ve gone, thank you. You are a hero.’

The video returned to the image of the newsroom.

"Within hours of airing the original story, our offices were flooded by walk-ins, call-ins, emails, and other forms of communication reporting other similar letters found throughout the city. Dozens of them have been discovered.

"The M.O. is always the same. They appear exactly where and when the person needs them, and they never come through the mail. They are all signed, ‘A Friend.’ And they say exactly what the person needs to hear.

"No one seems too great or too small. Again, thank you, whoever you are.

More on this story as it becomes available.

After everything that happened, though, we should have realized that sometimes it’s the hero that needs saving the most.

James

James was bored. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Chace was trying to get rid of him. Seriously, who hangs out at the library? Looking around though, there were a lot more people than he would have expected so late in the evening. He’d expected the library to be practically deserted by then, but it wasn’t. As he wandered the floor, he spotted several people dragging themselves around in the reference section and some desperate parents hunting around for kids’ books. He headed to the lower floor to look around, and even here there were a few people researching the neighborhood. This was the Chinatown library and it had an entire section on the local history. He wandered out from among books with Asian images and ambled back upstairs to the computers. This section, even an hour before closing, still hummed with activity.

Chace was right where he’d left him, in a corner of the crowded section, typing away furiously. Somehow, the computers around him were empty despite the demand. He stood out starkly, a scrawny, sixteen-year-old white boy in Chinatown. Of course, James didn’t blend in any better with his black skin. He walked over quietly and read over Chace’s shoulder for a second.

Your angel, huh? he clapped Chace on the back. Boy, have you seriously had me waiting here for the past hour while you wrote a love letter?

Chace glanced up at him, a faraway look in his eyes, like he wasn’t actually seeing James. Wha? He shook his head, his eyes coming into focus. It’s private man, do you mind?

Sorry, sorry. James stepped back with his hands up. The calming gesture was ruined by his mischievous grin. Who’s the lucky girl? I should go warn her.

Chace glared at him for a moment, but James’s grin was too infectious to hold out against for long, and soon Chace let slip a smile of his own. It’s just a thank you letter to Sarah.

James frowned. Should I know who that is?

Right, sorry. She comes by the home, plays with the kids. Normally, she visits a lot, but she was really upset last time and hasn’t been by since. I just thought I’d try to cheer her up.

Ohhh, so that’s why you always watch the little kids? Tryin’ to look good for the girl, I get it.

Chace snorted, She’s a friend, I’ve known her for years.

James put on a wolfish grin. Not denying it though, are you?

Chace gave him the I am not amused stare. Look, if you’re this bored just go back without me, or do you need me to hold your hand while you walk home?

James sat at the computer next to Chace and clasped his hands together over his heart. Oh, would you?

Chace scoffed, exasperated, and turned back to his computer. Suit yourself. Either way, I’m going to be a while yet.

His boredom satisfied, for now, James logged onto the computer next to Chace’s. He’d only recently been transferred to St. Mara’s Home for Children from his last foster family, but he could find his way home if he really wanted too. He was only killing time while he waited. It had nothing to do with being new to town and completely lost. After only a few minutes, though, the boredom returned with a vengeance. James glanced across at Chace and saw that his nose had begun to bleed.

Dude, your nose!

Chace dabbed at the blood and looked at his fingers, then got up with a muffled, Crap, and rushed to the bathroom, pinching his nose. When he came back, a wad of toilet paper to his nose, he shrugged and said, Well, I guess I’m done. The library closes soon, anyway. James must have looked concerned because Chace added, It’s no big deal, I get these all the time. Chace sat back down at the computer and typed a few lines before printing and logging off. Then he put on his gloves and went to retrieve the letter.

James signed off his own computer and followed Chace to the printer. As he approached, he saw Chace scribble something at the bottom and fold it up before putting it in his jacket.

Outside, it was already dark, and James’s breath misted in front of his face. It had snowed a few days before, but all that was left of the fluffy white powder was piles of ugly gray slush along the sides of the roads. He shivered from the sudden cold and hurriedly raised his hood and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets as he followed Chace down the street.

They walked down East Broadway toward Chatham Square; James could only trust that Chace knew where he was going. They were in Chinatown and every sign was in what he assumed was Chinese. He couldn’t read a thing.

Hey, why’d we go to that library? There had to be one closer to the home than that, right? James asked as they reached Chatham Square and turned down St. James.

Chace made a face like he had a headache and dodged a small group of people walking the other way before answering. It’s the closest one to the Brooklyn Bridge. Never been there, so thought I’d take a look while I was out today.

Wait, you’ve lived in Manhattan all these years and you’ve never seen the bridge? Not that James had ever seen it either, but at least he had the excuse that he’d only just moved back.

Chace shrugged. I don’t like all the crowds. But this time of night, in the cold? Should be pretty empty.

He was right. When they reached the walkway, there was only a small handful of people around, though the motor traffic was as busy as ever. Chace set a fast pace out onto the bridge, not slowing until they were well above the cars. Once they reached the platform surrounding the first tower, he turned and looked back toward Manhattan. James glanced back too, and his mouth fell open. The view was amazing! The buildings closest to the bridge were all enormous and it looked like every single window was lit. It was a city of glass and light.

A metallic click nearby startled James, and he looked back to see Chace attaching the letter to the guard rail with a refrigerator magnet. The name Sarah Crosse was clearly visible.

Wait, you just spent over an hour on that and you’re just leaving it here?

Eh, it’s no big deal. Come on, let’s head home. Chace turned and started walking back the way they came, but seeing James staring at him he added, It’s right where it needs to be. Last time she came by the home, I found out she was planning to come by here tonight. Thought I’d surprise her. Let’s go.

James scrutinized the letter, fluttering in the breeze, and then Chace as he walked away. There was more to it than that, he could feel it. But he couldn’t tell what, so he shrugged and followed his friend.

Two Weeks Later

It was late afternoon, and James had finally finished his homework. He got up from his desk and stretched, groaning after sitting still for so long. Then he grabbed his tablet and flopped down on his bed with a heavy sigh. He was one of the only guys at the home with something this expensive, so he guarded it with extreme prejudice and kept it well hidden whenever he wasn’t around.

Looking at the tablet brought back fond memories of his last family, Tom and Chrystal Jacobs. They’d been really good, even bought him the tablet for his birthday. He’d been with them a couple of years and they’d even offered to adopt him, but at the time he hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t been ready to let go of his real family, even though they were … gone. Now he wished he’d let them. In the end, they were only his foster parents, so he was still a ward of the state when Tom got a new job in California and it was too late when they’d suddenly had to move.

He pushed those thoughts away and logged onto Facebook. The first thing to pop up was a message from Tom — James, you have to see this! — along with a link. It led to a news video, and when he saw the headline he sat up, his heart jumping into his throat. Letter Saves Life. The headline image was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge, almost exactly where Chace had left his letter, and the word Update was superimposed in the corner.

He pushed PLAY, not even realizing he was holding his breath. The video started with an image of a pleasant looking newscaster speaking into the camera …

When the video ended, James stared dumbfounded at the screen. Then, with a strangled, No way! he dashed from the room to find Chace.

2

Sarah

Sarah rang the buzzer at St. Mara’s and glanced around while she waited. The home was in Washington Heights, near the 163rd Street C Subway Station but off the main streets, and the only thing to distinguish it from all the buildings around was the faded sign above the door. It was relatively close to New York Presbyterian and the Columbia Medical Center, and she knew Chace had been sent here for that reason. It made her both sad and angry when she thought about it — the people here always treated him like he wasn’t worth the time of day. But she’d seen his attacks often enough, so she knew how important it was for him to stay close to the hospital.

The buzzer rang, and she pushed the door open. Inside, she waved at Miss Janice, the director and head caseworker, whose office was near the door, before heading down the main hall. The space was dingy and cold, exactly how it had been the first time she came here. Of course, that time she’d been here with her sist … No! She snapped her thoughts back to the present and hurried out to the yard.

Chace was exactly where she expected him to be, sitting against the big tree in the middle of the yard, with his schoolbooks spread out around him, while a hurricane of eight- and ten-year-olds swirled around him. Sarah stepped through clouds rising from her own breath and hugged her arms against the cold. Spring was almost here, so there was no more snow, but it was still very cold. She couldn’t understand how Chace could just sit there in it.

He sat bent over his math book, a frown of concentration scrunching up his face and his messy black hair covering his eyes. Sitting like that she could almost see him as he’d been years ago, happy and healthy, with a mischievous spark in his eyes. But she hadn’t seen that grin since … well, it’d been years. He hid it well, someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t see it, but his smile had been replaced by the face of a somber stranger. That wasn’t all that was different.

He’d had another growth spurt recently and seemed all elbows and knees whenever he stood up. And he was thin. Too thin. He must have been slipping the little ones some of his lunches, again. She’d talked to him about that already. More than once. The only constant was his tan. Even the months spent bundled up against the cold had barely dented it. He’d always loved being outside, but now he spent almost every free moment out here with the little kids who lived at St. Mara’s with him. She wasn’t sure if he’d started coming out to watch the kids himself or if they’d followed him out on their own, but she knew from experience that they’d mutiny if anyone else was sent to watch them.

He had a really hard time at school, so she’d made him promise to study his lessons on his own, but the kids seemed to be doing their best to keep him from concentrating — darting over and grabbing his shoulder and then running off again. It took her a while to figure out what they were doing. It was hide-and-seek, and Chace was home, so whenever one of them was found, they had to tag Chace before they were caught, or they’d be It.

She was about to go rescue Chace, but before she could move, he looked up at the yard. Little Terry popped up from behind a bush so small she wouldn’t have thought a Chihuahua could have hidden behind it and had begun his dash for Chace, but tripped a split-second later and hit the ground with an audible thump. He let out an ear-splitting wail, like only a professional could, and rocked back and forth holding his knee.

Chace popped to his feet and knelt in front of Terry. Dude, you’re squealing louder than Miss Janice when you dropped snow down the back of her shirt last week! Sarah blinked at that and stifled a giggle.

I thought you were my ninja? Chace continued. All sneaky and fast. No one ever catches you. But ninjas gotta be quiet! Shh! You can’t sneak up on anyone like this.

Terry hiccup-sniffed with the absolute dignity of a six-year-old. It hurts.

Chace nodded solemnly, inspecting Terry’s knee. War wounds and battle scars; unavoidable. But we have to make sure you don’t get too many or they’ll give away your identity. Gotta keep that a secret if you’re gonna be a ninja. We’d better take care of this right away, huh? He held out his hands and Terry let himself be picked up.

Chace took him back to the tree where he’d been sitting, and rummaged among his textbooks until he unearthed the first aid kit he always kept handy. Sarah waved in greeting as she approached, and Chace nodded in response but kept most of his attention on Terry. He pulled out a disinfectant wipe and scrubbed at the knee. Terry sucked in a breath and scrunched up his eyes against the expected pain, but it apparently never came.

There, all done. Chace put the wipe away, wincing when he shifted around as though his own leg was sore. See, not even a scratch.

Terry looked down at himself, surprised, but recovered quickly, jumping up with a laugh and tagging Chace. And just like that, the hurricane reappeared, engulfing both of them this time.

Someday, you’re going to have to tell me how you do that. If I’d done that, he’d have punched me in my face. Sarah laughed. How much more do you have? She gestured at the pile of textbooks around them.

He looked back at the books with a shudder. I’m done once I finish with math.

Saving the worst for last again, huh? She smiled. I’ll see if I can’t buy you some time to finish. She stood up and had to yell over the noise. Come on everyone, let’s play over here. I’ll even be It, but only if we leave Chace alone for a while. The kids darted away squealing in delight while Sarah walked over to the wall and closed her eyes to start counting.

Half an hour later, Sarah staggered to a halt, wheezing to catch her breath. I give!

She’d finally spotted Terry after nearly twenty minutes of searching. The kid really could be a ninja; she’d never have spotted him if she hadn’t stolen a glance at Chace. He always knew where they were, somehow. He nodded her toward the crates piled alongside the building. Turned out there was a crawl space small enough for a little kid to squeeze into hidden alongside the building. She’d made the mistake of giggling when she spotted him, all wedged in there, and he’d been gone in the blink of an eye. The kid was fast. She chased after him, but it was hopeless.

The other kids came out of hiding and rushed her when she admitted defeat, and she found