Chapter Text
PART ONE
For those who have been left behind
"Nathan Wesninski was born in 1963 in one of the oldest cities of Poland, Sandomierz. In 1978, his parents promptly fled the country- Fuck that. If you’re reading a book about the Butcher in the year 2021, thus ten years after his death, and expecting a biography, you should have considered opening the umpteenth tab on your mobile browser and read his Wikipedia page instead.”
Neil snorted. Those words were undoubtedly written by Andrew Minyard.
“The promised theme mentioned in the title will be addressed in the second part of the book.”
Neil stopped his reading to check where the first part ended and where the second part began. He practically laughed when he saw the “Part Two” consisted of eighty pages out of the three hundred pages.
“I lied, as I rarely do, implying it would be the main theme of the book. No, most of the next pages you are about to read will raise a much more important subject. The ones who have been left behind; the ones the sensationalists never care about. The victims. The Butcher has committed fifty-three (53) murders, and is suspected of twice as many. In the end, the name that remains, the name that is remembered, is not one of the fifty-three victims, but Nathan Wesninski, alias The Butcher.”
Neil didn’t know the exact number of his father’s victims, although Lola had liked to recite their names like a poem, but one thing was for sure, fifty-three, and even a hundred and six wasn’t high enough.
“I’m here to help you remember those names, the names of the ones who have been left behind. The names that you are shamelessly forgetting as soon as they’re mentioned. With this book, I’ll force you remember, at least one or two names.
There are two victims that aren’t counted in Nathan’s murder’s list. Two that are the most forgotten, yet, are the biggest victims. They have officially been declared dead six years ago. I never wrote about them in my previous works because their whereabouts were uncertain and I refused to be the one to endanger them if they happened to be alive. I’m obviously talking about the wife and son of Nathan Wesninski. Mary and Nathaniel Wesninski.”
Neil stopped breathing at once, biting his lips in hope to stop the feeling that was bubbling in his stomach. Nathaniel and his mother had never been talked in such a way before. In the public eyes, they were either an unsolved mystery or cowards who ran away in lieu of turning in the Butcher. If Neil feared Andrew knew too much about Nathaniel, about him, he, for once in his entire life, felt understood.