‘You know I am. But don’t you trust that I’m keeping you safe? Haven’t I been keeping a closer eye on the house? And the knife in the bedroom? I’ve barely slept a wink since all of these horrendous murders have been happening.’ A fist slams on the table or the counter, and I jump even though I’m far away from the action, curled up on the hallway floor at the top of the stairs.
‘But you can’t be here all the time, Andrew. You’re working. And when you’re working, how are Addy and I supposed to stay safe? There’s a lunatic on the prowl, and no one can catch him. Who’s to say we’re not next? Who’s to say our only daughter, the girl we tried so hard to have, isn’t going to be slain by some maniac? I couldn’t take it, not after everything. I’ve lost five children, Andrew. Five. I won’t lose another.’
‘You think I don’t realise that? They were my children, too. I was there through every single miscarriage. Through every single apology from the doctor. Through every heartbreak. How dare you claim I don’t want to keep you safe.’ Dad stomps across the room. I picture him staring out the window as he often does, deep in thought and rubbing his chin.
‘Aren’t we more important than some house, some neighbourhood then? Do something, Andrew. I won’t lose another child. I won’t.’
I pull my knees to my chest at the top of the stairs, my back against the wall in the corridor outside my room. It’s late, much later than my parents usually stay up. Their hushed whispers in the kitchen, however, have quickly turned to a booming argument that’s been going on for a half hour. It’s never a good sign when Mum starts talking about the miscarriages. All those graves, all those flowers she leaves year after year.
Five miscarriages. Five reminders that she might never have a baby. I was their miracle child. I’ve heard it so many times, how I was a gift. A true gift. How babies are gifts to be worshipped, to be thankful for. I close my eyes, leaning my head against the wall, willing myself not to cry again.
How has it come to this?
When we moved to West Green, Mum was certain this would be a place to start over, to find that charming, suburban life we were missing. She insisted that it would be a fresh start for all of us, that we’d be able to reinvent ourselves, grow closer, and find that life we all wanted. And, I know in her mind, we’d be able to move past the not-so-glowing reputation I’d built in our last neighbourhood, the scarlet, stained reputation of being a girl with questionable morals. We’d move past that pregnancy scare from our last town, the one that incited tears and tirades of how to get pregnant before marriage was a mortal sin – and that to give a baby up or, the unmentionable, terminate its life, would damn me straight to hell. Moving to West Green and away from the boy who had stained my ‘perfect’ reputation, in Mum’s eyes, was a way to save my soul. And, in truth, it was a way to save what she saw as our family’s chance at a higher social status. Once news of my escapades with the Taylor boy spread to her inner circle of friends, Mum was certain a move was necessary, especially once we received affirmation that I was not pregnant. She convinced my father that picking up the family and moving us hours away to a place where I could start over, where I could regain my holy reputation, was a way to ensure I would find a suitable man and, in turn, an honourable life. Crawley, to Mum, was a sanctuary where she could put her daughter back on the path to a sanctimonious, domestic life with a man who could elevate the family’s social standing.
If only she knew that moving here would only permanently damage all of her hopes and dreams.
Nonetheless, here we are, three years later, and things aren’t better. It’s not the life we’d imagined with charming flower boxes, sunshine and sweet get-togethers with the neighbours.
I hate to admit it, but Mum’s correct. It’s dangerous here, and with every girl who turns up missing and then dead, I can’t help shake the feeling that any of us could be next. I could be next. My heart races in fear at the prospect.
Mum’s idea to pick up and leave this town is certainly unsettling to Dad, who wants things to just be back to normal. He wants to believe that the detectives will do their job, that all of this will go away. I suspect the prospect of picking up and leaving again isn’t at the top of his to-do list.
Leaving would make a lot of these ugly truths disappear. I must admit I’d sleep better being out of reach of the West Green Killer. It would be refreshing not to have to sleep lightly, every noise a potential red flag that I’m next. It would be nice to be able to venture out again without Mum having a coronary that I’m going to be murdered. More than that, though, it would be nice not to have to tiptoe around West Green wondering when Oliver is going to show back up in my room, to spill my secret, and to ruin everything. To be away from Oliver would mean I could let go of the decision I made. I could move on.
However, leaving West Green with Mum and Dad would also mean leaving Charles. It would mean saying goodbye to a relationship that has stolen my heart in every way. That won’t do either. Would we survive a long-distance relationship? More aptly, would we survive the possibility of Oliver being in Crawley with Charles, able to spill the secret whenever he chooses? Would Oliver keep the secret quiet, or, with me gone, would he be more than happy to spread around the vicious truths? Mulling it all over, only one question rises to the surface. When did life get so complicated?
‘Nora, look. I know we’re all on edge. I get it. But let the investigators do the job. I’m sure they’re close to cracking the case. There’s no sense in turning our lives upside down hastily when they could be moments away from solving the murders. The murderer is getting more brazen. Look, he’s left the body of Gloria out in plain sight. He’s going to make a mistake if he hasn’t already. He’s going to get caught. And then life will go back to normal.’
‘And until then? What shall we do until then, Andrew?’
Silence and then footsteps across the kitchen floor. ‘Until then? I look out for you, like I always do. No one’s going to hurt us, Nora. I promise.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Mum replies.
‘I never do.’
I scurry back to my room, careful to avoid the creaky parts of the floor. I tiptoe to my bed, tucking myself under the covers. I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about the killer on the loose, about my ex on the loose, and about my life on the loose. Opening my eyes, I stare into the darkness. My weary mind flutters back to the winter, when life completely changed for me and sealed in my fate.
***
I paced back and forth behind the church, wearing a path in the freshly fallen snow. The scarf Mum had knitted practically strangled me, but I didn’t dare loosen it. I was too nervous, too terrified. Would this really make everything better? Or would it only solidify my soul’s place in hell? I couldn’t think about it. It was too late to think about it. This was what needed to be done. It was what was best. Wasn’t it?
Life with Oliver had started out like a dream. That cold winter day when I’d seen him at the church festival, I’d been dazzled by his eyes, by his smile, by the way he nodded hello. It had been a whirlwind, one that Mum had highly approved of. After all, Oliver has been on the fast track to success his whole life. Top of his class, a well-positioned family. He’s the boy that mothers dream of for their middle-class daughters. He was the boy I’d dreamt of over and over once he’d taken me to our secret meeting spot in the woods behind the church. He was the boy I dreamt of when I’d given myself to him completely after we started courting. After all, I was no stranger to intimacy, despite my mother’s warnings against staining my reputation. It was why we had moved to West Green, after all – the town we had lived in knew I wasn’t one to guard my heart, or my reputation.
In the past few months, though, things had changed. I’d seen a different side to Oliver that was hidden behind that charming smile. It started with a few rough moments during an escapade at his house when his parents were out for the night. Choking, a few slaps, a glint of something dark in his eyes.
At first, I convince
d myself it was nothing. He was being playful. He was taking charge. A woman should like a man who takes charge. It was just part of his persona, of the strong man he was. I assured myself he was still the same Oliver I knew and that a future with him would be one of happiness. I imagined our life with an adorable house, cheery afternoon teas, and posh parties with the up-and-comers of London. I could see our family, our children, our beautiful, safe lives together.
Until it all took a darker turn. Until I saw the true side of Oliver emerging, the side he’d kept hidden long enough for me to grow smitten. The squeezing of wrists, the threats, the questions about my every move. There had been the bruises up and down my body and the horrific, threatening comments about my family. There had been the violent sexual acts too unspeakable to mention. He was power-hungry, and he wasn’t afraid to assert himself in every way. His lust was for control, but also for blood. He wasn’t afraid to hurt those he loved, and his temper often flared in violently dangerous ways.
The bruises, the tears and the fear had all helped me understand one thing: Oliver Parsons was a dangerous man. And someday, he would go too far if I let him. It was easy to see that life with Oliver, that the ring he promised was coming soon, would be a life sentence of powerlessness, of a lack of freedom. It would be a life of frigidness, one I wasn’t ready to commit to. Suddenly, the visions I had of our life together, of the life Mum pictured for us, exploded in my face. I became terrified that I would be the victim of a horrific, terrifying detonation.
I’d made up my mind that things were going to change, that Oliver wasn’t the one for me. I was afraid of saying goodbye, but it seemed like the appropriate thing. I couldn’t be with him anymore. I couldn’t commit to that life. I wanted something much different. I had to escape him while I still could. It wasn’t safe with Oliver, not like I’d imagined.
I’d planned on telling him the truth, on breaking it to him gently. I would walk away from our love story that had blackened into a harrowing tale. I would let him go, would move on, would find a new dream for my life. I was prepared to tell him, to shatter the final link between us.
Then the morning sickness had come. The tender chest, the missed period. The universe had other plans. Oliver and I would be linked forever. Forever connected by a baby I wasn’t ready for. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let Oliver get his hooks into me for good. I couldn’t live that life, no matter the cost.
I also knew what Mum and Dad would say if they found out the truth. Babies were gifts. I would be locked into a life with Oliver if they found out – they’d make sure of it. I would have no choice, no freedom and no escape.
I paced some more. It was the time we had agreed on. I knew she would be there any second. As if on cue, footsteps in the snow alerted me to the presence of someone. I turned to see her.
‘Hey,’ she whispered, grabbing my hand. Phyllis was dressed in a black coat and a red scarf. Her scarf hung loosely about her neck, the ends flapping with every step. ‘Are you ready?’
I exhaled. ‘I don’t know,’ I murmured for the first time, doubts plaguing me.
It was what I had to do. I’d convinced myself of it. A life stuck with Oliver would be no life. But still – this was no small choice. This was the thing of hellfire and damnation, according to our pastor. This was the thing that Mum and Dad would never forgive me for.
This, according to them, would be one of the gravest of all my sins. My heart churned with trepidation over what I was about to do. Could I really kill my baby? Could I take a life just so I could be free of Oliver? Was it the right thing to do?
It settled heavily in my heart. The thoughts, the choice I had to make, kept me up night after night. Visions of my baby dying, screaming, crying swirled in my head. Tears fell as I pondered over the choice, over the consequences: could I truly go through with it?
‘I don’t know,’ I said again. Phyllis stepped closer.
‘I know you’re scared. But you haven’t got a choice. It has to be done. Otherwise, you’ll be with him the rest of your life. And who knows what he’s capable of. Addy, he’s dangerous. Someday, he might not stop at bruises. Do you want to take that chance?’
Tears fell, and I wiped at them. ‘But how can I do this? It’s illegal, Phyllis. It’s dangerous. And according to the church, it’s wrong.’
‘Don’t think that way. Do what is necessary and move on. It’ll be all right. You’ll see. And someday, you’ll find a good man. You’ll start over with him. This will all just be a forgotten thing of the past. You mustn’t think of it as anything but the past.’
My stomach dropped, and deep inside, I knew the truth. It wouldn’t be something that would simply go away.
All those nights in our old town, all those nights with Oliver, I’d never thought it would come to this. I never thought it would be me, standing in the icy air, waiting to go and kill a baby inside of me. Why had I been so reckless? I shook my head. Mum had been right. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve been a better girl. A smarter girl. A more pious girl.
Why did I always take it too far?
‘Addy, come on. I’ll be there for you. Now we must go. Do you have the address?’
‘I do. But I don’t know, perhaps there are other options I’m not considering.’ My hands trembled as the moment of reality struck. Even in the icy blackness, it felt as if it were a pivotal point in life, a precipice I was glancing over. I felt vomit rise in my throat. There would be no turning back. What I was about to do was a crime, in the eyes of the church, in the eyes of my parents, and in the eyes of the law. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, placing a hand on my stomach. This was no small thing, and the momentousness of the choice threatened to shatter me, even if I knew my reasoning for making the choice was rational.
Phyllis shook her head. ‘Be strong, Addy. You must do this. Now come on, we should be going.’ She grabbed my hand and pulled me on the path through the woods. We walked in silence, my feet aching as we trudged forward.
‘Are you certain he’s coming?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I gave him the half payment he requested. He’ll be there. Do you have the rest of the money?’
I patted my coat pocket, feeling the envelope of cash that I’d managed to pilfer from Mum and Dad. Phyllis had also helped contribute. I was fortunate to have such a good friend on my side. Tears collected in my eyes as we stood underneath a tree by the side of the road, the selected street corner where Phyllis’ older brother’s friend was going to collect us to take us to the spot. I was terrified, my hands shaking. So much could go wrong. The truth was, I could die. Or I could be caught, everyone in town knowing what sort of girl I truly was. What would Mum and Dad think?
But perhaps Phyllis was right. Perhaps it was worth the risk. I couldn’t be connected to him. I couldn’t bring a child into the world knowing what Oliver was, knowing the life we would have. I wasn’t ready for that.
On the way to the meeting point, I reassured myself, convinced myself over and over that I was doing what was necessary. I would worry about the consequences later. It had to be done. When the driver screeched to a stop in front of us and we climbed into the car, Phyllis still holding my hand, I squeezed my eyes shut.
God, please forgive me. I can’t do this. I can’t. You must understand. I chanted the demented prayer over and over in my mind, knowing it was a weak substitute for my actions. We sped off into the night, four silent souls about to become three – or maybe even two.
***
Tears fall down my cheek as I snap back to the present.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mouth into the blackness, a lacklustre confession to a child who never got to breathe the air. I am sorry for so many things.
I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on Oliver.
I’m sorry he turned out to be nothing like the man I thought he was.
I’m sorry for all those nights I climbed into bed, into his arms.
I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to forge my own path for us without
him.
I’m sorry that I murdered your life that grew inside of me.
I’m sorry that I felt like I had no other choice.
Most of all, I’m sorry that he knows the truth, and that it could completely ruin my entire life, my entire future, and any sense of happiness I thought I could claim.
Perhaps I don’t deserve to find happiness in the world. All along, I’ve felt like Oliver is the monster – but perhaps I’m beastly in my own right. I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know if I made the right decision. The world is an evil place, and we’re all pawns in the hellish game. No one gets out of here alive – but some of us leave with more regrets, questions and guilt than others.
I fall asleep that night dreaming about a nondescript alley, medical tools and a baby that never came to be. A baby I killed so I could escape to a new life.
What kind of selfish monster takes an innocent life to preserve an already tarnished one?
***
I’m staring into my tea the next morning at Molly’s Café, a tiny place Mum insists on dragging me to from time to time – usually on days she’s thinking about the miscarriages. ‘Nothing a spot of tea can’t fix,’ she insists. But staring into my cup as I think about the nightmarish memories that kept me up half the night, I know there are many, many things in life too big for tea and biscuits.
‘So, yes, after we’re done here, we must be off to get that fabric. Adeline, are you listening? Hello?’ Mum yammers from across the table, her voice grating. I don’t want to talk about fabric and tea. I don’t want to pretend everything’s okay.
There’s a murderer on the loose, Mum and Dad are talking about leaving the town, and I can’t get over the horrific choice I made. Life’s, in short, a disaster.
‘Mrs Walker? Is that you?’ a voice echoes from across the café. I turn around, and my stomach drops. As if things can’t get any worse.
‘Iris, good to see you. How are you?’ Mum asks, smiling chipperly as Oliver’s mother meanders towards our table, her bright outfit blinding against the neutral decor of the café.
The One Who Got Away Page 22
