Macabre Monday: Post card horror story

I stared at the post card sitting on my desk.

Hello, from beautiful Reno, Nevada.

Four letters were hand written on the back side of the card.

BCNU.

“Do you know anybody from Reno?” Richard said.

“No. It must have been a mistake. Maybe they mixed up the mail or something.”

Richard nodded, accepting the answer as fact.

But it was a lie. I was born in Reno, Nevada in the year 1989, to Sue and Lyle Holcombe.

Sue was a sweetheart, with poor taste in men.

Lyle was real son of a bitch.

When I was six, my loving father strangled my grandpa to death, after he said he was taking us back to Texas.

Lighter fluid in hand, he doused the curtains, the baseboards and himself.

The fire was magnificent, reaching towards the heavens to greet God himself, with its cruelty.

He was never found.

My mother was taken to the ICU and died from inhalation burns a few weeks later.

With nobody left to claim me, I found myself a ward of the state.

When I aged out, I found a job as a gas station attendant and moved in with a coworker.

Ms. Brenda  was one of the few lights in my life,  before Richard.

When I had enough in my savings, I moved to Texas fulfilling my grandfather’s wish.

I found love.

BCNU.

“Be seeing you,” I said aloud.

I looked out of the window of my apartment, searching for a scarred, but familiar face.