The One Who Got Away

by L. A. Detwiler

  Anyone with information is asked to contact the West Green Constabulary. Residents are encouraged to lock their doors, to travel in groups, and to remain on high alert until the case is solved.

  Sloppy?

  Laughable, I think, shaking my head. Six women, and they have no leads. Sloppy isn’t the word I would use.

  No, I’m not sloppy. I am, if I do say so myself, quite brilliant. Brilliant indeed.

  Brilliant boy. Wise boy. Careful boy. Finally, finally, I am something to admire.

  Despite the jolly mood I’m in from my success six times over, it’s not easy. In fact, it’s getting harder for me to be patient now. I feel the weight of the ticking clock hammering into my head. The rush of watching them die, of claiming them – I’m getting more insatiable for that feeling. Especially now that Muriel’s been finished. What a rush she was, truly. She had been particularly delightful. I am thankful I made her number six.

  Catching her on the way home from work had been a breeze. So easy to learn their routines, all of them. People don’t realise how accessible they are to me. To the people of West Green, I’m often overlooked. I’m just a face in the crowd who stops by. When they see me, they still see that weak, sickly boy they once knew. The one with dirt on his face. The one who just never quite became much, even when he tried. The boy in the corner while all the other kids played. The boy with the odd eyes and weird tics. The boy with the clicking teeth.

  But I’m different now. Still, they’re too bloody self-centred to see it. I’m a face they know to see but don’t know enough to enquire about. I slip about my business, carrying on in the world without a second glance. No one would give me a second glance because why would they? I’m solid and trustworthy. Quite dull to the outsider, probably. Maybe even some of them look at me with pity, thinking about what a sad, pathetic life it’s been. I’m capable at my job. Respectable even. They look at me and think, oh thank goodness, he’s done quite well. Settled in quite nicely, despite it all. Thus, who would question me? I’m nothing to worry about.

  But I am. Oh, I am. They are all talking about me now, in fact. I’ve got the whole town in an uproar, yet they don’t even realise it’s me.

  I’m brazen. I’m terrifying. I’m brilliant. God, am I brilliant.

  It felt good to put Muriel on a bit of display, to leave her in the open in a public place to be found. I was bubbling with excitement when I’d left the train station. I’d wanted to stick around, to watch the moment of discovery. But I’m not a fool. I’m patient. I knew I could wait to hear about it later.

  The town fears me, and I bask in that feeling of power. I relish in this newfound, glorious feeling. It’s good to be strong, to be a formidable force.

  I hold Muriel’s undelivered post now, running my fingers over the edges like I’ve done with the others. I count the sides over before holding it up to my face, the smell of paper and ink faint but engaging. Like I’ve done over and over with all the letters, I place Muriel’s post between my teeth. Just a taste. Just a bite. Just once more before I stow it away. My teeth sink into the paper, my mind flashing back to the feel of something else of Muriel’s between my lips and teeth.

  Her flesh.

  I inhale, intoxicated by the thought. And then, just like the others, I tuck the final piece of Muriel’s life into my wooden box, the newspaper article on top.

  Six trophies now.

  Just one more to go.

  One more and I’ll be the best; I’ll have earned the title of the West Green Killer. John Haigh had six definite kills to his name – although he claimed nine. But the bloody fool didn’t kill nine. He didn’t. He’d been caught, and he had only killed six.

  I’m better, though. I’m smarter. I will achieve my goal.

  I wonder sometimes if I’ll be sad once the glow of the final kill wears off. It’s been such a thrill to pursue the women in this vicious game they aren’t quite privy to. It’s been exhilarating. Will I want to stop after Adeline? Will I really be able to stop?

  I sigh. Yes. Yes, indeed. She will be the last one. Her death will be perfect, breathtaking. I’ve always wanted her to be the last. The last one, the special one. It needs to be her. There won’t be another Adeline Walker. She will be my greatest kill yet. There simply will be no topping her. She must be the last.

  My hands tremble. Muriel had been a satisfying kill, but not satisfying. Not completely. My thirst is wilder now, more volatile. I nod, knowing what I must do tonight. I need to prepare. Hers must be a spectacle. An unbeatable spectacle. A grand finish I will relish in for years. It will be a fine script, elegant and dazzling. She is my sign-off before the victory lap.

  Adeline Walker will be perfect. She was always perfect, even before I realised it.

  She is an enigma. I’ve heard about her reputation in the last town. She is no innocent. She is not one to be tamed.

  She is, though, the perfect, beautiful disaster to conquer last.

  Chapter 33

  West Green, Crawley, West Sussex

  14 August 1959

  I groggily slink down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing as my eyes blink away sleep. It’s been a long week, the town in a frenzied craze since Muriel’s body was uncovered at the train station. The killer is growing more bold, and a brazen killer is the thing of nightmares.

  I’ve been edgier this past week, too. Every noise, every rustle, every movement sends me into a tailspin of fear. I could be next. I could be next at any moment. It’s a fact that’s usurped all possibility of sleep.

  Rustling and jostling about in the kitchen impels me to walk in and see what’s happening. When I do, I find Mum with a box on the worktop, carefully wrapping items and placing them inside. Her hair is pulled back, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I ask, approaching her.

  She looks up, holding one of her prized vases and rolling it in newspaper. ‘We’re leaving, Adeline. Now, help me get these things wrapped.’

  I look at her, waiting to hear more, but she just stares back as if she’s said all she needed to say.

  ‘What?’ I ask, stupefied.

  ‘We’re leaving. I’ve finally convinced your father. This town isn’t safe, and I’m tired of tiptoeing about fearing the worst. Muriel’s death was on a whole new level, and the detectives aren’t any closer to solving the case. It’s time we pack up and get far away from West Green.’

  ‘Mum, no. We can’t.’ I shake my head, dumbfounded at this revelation.

  I’d heard Mum and Dad arguing throughout the past few weeks about Mum’s desire to get far away from here. Muriel’s murder added more fuel to that fire, and I’d heard them in heated debates more than once this week. But I’d thought it was just fear talking. Certainly, just like with the other five, Mum would calm down after a time, and things would return to normal – or as normal as they could. Dad would never agree to uproot the family again, would he?

  ‘We can, and we shall. Why risk your life, Addy? We can move away, find a new town to start over. And who knows, perhaps a change of scenery would be good for you.’ She places the vase carefully into the box, delicately cradling it as she lowers it down.

  ‘I’m not going. I’m not leaving Charles,’ I spew, the words fiery and steadfast. I mean them. I’m not leaving Charles. To move away now could spell disaster for us. I don’t want to leave him.

  ‘You are leaving, like it or not. Dad’s already scouted out some housing in a few other locations. Until then, we’re going to move into a flat near Bracknell.’

  ‘I’m not going.’ I shake my head, this new development enraging me. I am not a child. I cannot just be controlled by the whims of my mother. My life is not theirs to own anymore. I won’t leave Charles, no matter the risk.

  ‘It’s not your choice.’

  ‘It is my choice, Mum. I’m not leaving Charles.’

  ‘So you’d rather risk life and limb for that impoverished man who can offer you nothing? You’d risk ge
tting murdered to be near a man who isn’t even worth your time?’ she barks at me, stomping closer. Anger wells deep inside. I clench my fists, glaring at her and seeing her for who she really is.

  ‘I’d rather risk it all to live a life with Charles than to stay with you,’ I spit back, the words engulfing the gap between us in a conflagration too large to stop.

  ‘I won’t let you throw your life away,’ she replies after a long, silent moment. ‘You’re moving with us. If Charles is truly the man you think he is, then he’ll save up his money and make an honest woman out of you when the time is right. And if he really does love you, he’ll understand the reason you need to leave. He’ll want you to leave, to be safe.’

  I shake my head, knowing it’s no use. She doesn’t understand. She could never understand. I stomp towards the stairs, heading back up them.

  ‘You know your father agrees with me. He’s come to his senses. And so will you, Adeline Walker. So will you. We’re doing what’s best for you,’ she yells from the kitchen as she continues her packing.

  I know what’s best for me. And she is right about one thing – I’ve come to my senses. I can’t play this game anymore.

  I spend the morning fuming in my room, pacing, considering the news. I think about all that’s transpired here in West Green, how much life has changed. I think about all the complications and the traumas and how getting away would perhaps be a relief.

  After a long while, I emerge from my room, jaunting outside to claim the post at its regular time. The postman wanders up, whistling as always. I stare at the jovial man, recalling his interaction with Oliver with a shudder. He digs through the stack in his hand, pulling out a letter for me. He hands it to me, and his fingers brush mine as he stares right at me.

  And then, his rocky voice barely a hushed whisper, he murmurs, ‘If that bloke is still upsetting you, I can take care of it. Just let me know.’

  I stare back, thinking about his words. ‘Cheers,’ I reply, surprised by his words. I take the letter and head back towards the house as the postman walks away. I turn to look at him, and when I do, I realise he’s done the same. Shaking my head, I wander back inside and up to my room, studying the writing on the front of the envelope.

  I want to sit in solitude and escape the realities of my life for a little while longer. I look back down at the envelope and glance at the front, my name in an elegant scrawl that sends a jolt of fear right through me. Once I’m at my desk, my hands flip it over and over as I wonder what it could hold.

  I flip it to the back, the envelope already opened. Nothing unusual there. Our mail arrives in all varieties of wear and tear these days. I pull out the carefully creased page inside, my eyes dancing over the page.

  My stomach clenches, my blood running cold. I study the thinly veiled threats, the angry words. I study the raging phrases about retribution and how it’s time for me to pay. I look at the words over and over and then the signature.

  Oliver Parsons.

  He’s not going away, and he’s not calming down. In fact, it seems his anger is increasing tenfold. The supermarket, and now the letter. He’s losing it. He’s truly losing it – and only I know why. What will he do to unleash that anger? I shake my head, thinking back to those moments when he showed his true colours.

  My fingers grip the paper as another thought slips into my mind. Has he already done something – or six somethings – to assuage his anger? Have I underestimated his temper, his craziness, his unstoppable thirst for power? I shake my head. The thought is too horrific. He’s a monster, but he’s not a killer. He’s not. He wouldn’t go that far.

  But as I read the letter over and over, thinking about the secrets he houses, the anger he still obviously battles, and the danger lurking in every corner of West Green, I know without a doubt Mum’s right. I need to get away. I need to be safe and happy – and I can’t be either in Crawley.

  I need to act fast. I need to make a choice. And I need to escape from Oliver’s clutches.

  ***

  Adeline,

  It’s time for people to know who you really are. I’m sick of the mockery you’ve made of me, of us. I’m not enduring it any longer.

  I’ll be watching, Addy. I’m always, always, always watching, waiting for the moment to remind you that I make the choices. I am the one in charge, not you.

  Consider this a gentlemanly warning. I’m a good man, after all. I am a patient man. I will have my time, and then you’ll remember who I am.

  Oliver Parsons

  Chapter 34

  West Green, Crawley, West Sussex

  14 August 1959

  ‘Addy, you need to tell the constables about this. Now,’ Charles demands as his shaking hand grasps the letter. It’s later that night, and Charles has stopped over to visit – Mother rarely lets me out of the house these days. We’ve managed to sneak outside for some privacy, the letter tucked away until this moment.

  ‘Keep your voice down. I didn’t tell Mum and Dad,’ I whisper, looking hastily behind us to see if they’ve heard. Mercifully, they’re listening to the radio with some tea. I readjust my yellow skirt, Charles still clutching the letter.

  ‘Addy, this is serious. You need to turn this in. I won’t have him threatening you. I knew he was barmy. I should just go and take care of it myself.’

  I grab for Charles’ free hand. ‘Charles, you can’t do that. Oliver comes from money. His family is revered in this town, in all of West Sussex. If you do anything, you’ll just end up in jail.’

  ‘Addy, he’s threatening you. Why is he so angry? What is it that has him so livid?’ Charles asks, holding the letter out.

  I twirl a piece of hair as I try to hide my nerves. I’d debated showing Charles the letter. I’d debated showing it to anyone. If anyone knew about it, they’d go straight to Oliver – who clearly wouldn’t be afraid to tell everything. And I can’t have Charles knowing the whole truth, not when I’ve made my decision.

  I’d thought about it hard all day, deciding Charles needed to see the letter. He needed to understand why moving away was the best choice for both of us. I knew that practical, rational Charles would want to wait, would tell me that being away from here would be a good thing. He’d try to convince me that we could make this work even long-distance. But I’m not willing to take that chance.

  ‘Charles, I’m afraid of what he might do. He’s power-hungry. He’s clearly mad with jealousy.’

  Charles clenches his fists. ‘What does this line mean here? Where he says he wants people to know who you really are?’

  I bite my lip, averting my eyes. It’s the only comment pointing towards the truth.

  I look at him, shrugging. ‘He thinks I’m a bad person for leaving him,’ I lie. The words hurt as they escape my lips. I despise lying to Charles, but I know it’s the only way to protect him, to protect me from the whole truth. I can’t let him know the whole truth.

  ‘I’m going to mess him up. He can’t get away with this. He’s a lunatic.’ Charles’ jaw clenches with anger. I lean on his arm. ‘And with everything going on in this town, how do we know it isn’t Oliver? He clearly has anger issues. Maybe he’s the one behind all of the murders here.’

  I shake my head. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘How do you know, Addy? You clearly don’t know him like you think you do.’

  My head flashes back to those moments in my room, to that silver glinting in his hand and the terror in my chest. ‘I know him. He’s a terrible person. He is. But he isn’t a killer. He’s not that mad.’ I say the words with a certainty that isn’t quite real.

  ‘He can’t get away with this,’ Charles argues.

  ‘I know. I know. But I don’t want to tell anyone about this. It’ll just make things worse. And it doesn’t matter anyway.’

  Charles pulls back from me. ‘Of course, it matters. I won’t have him harassing you, Addy. And besides—’

  I cut him off. ‘Charles, listen. West Green isn’t what I thought it
was. It isn’t safe. With the murders and with Oliver, it’s not the place I want to be anymore. And neither do my parents.’ I look up into Charles’ eyes before I continue. ‘My parents are moving. They’re leaving West Green.’

  Charles runs his free hand through his hair. ‘Maybe that’s good. I don’t want to worry about you being safe.’

  ‘But I don’t want to leave you, to leave this,’ I protest, squeezing his arm. ‘I can’t leave you,’ I whisper, leaning on his shoulder. I feel his muscles soften, his lips finding their way to my forehead. ‘I love you, Charles. I don’t want to be apart.’

  ‘Me neither, Addy. But your safety is more important. We’ll make it work until I can get out of here, come to where you are.’

  I pull back, looking into his eyes now. ‘I love you. I don’t want to spend a minute without you. Charles, marry me. Take me away from here. We can escape all this madness, all this danger. We can be away from my parents and be together. I want to start a life with you.’ I smile at the words because they’re true. They’re completely true.

  I love him. He’s the one for me, and I don’t want to be away from him for a single moment. Nothing can tear us apart. But it’s more than just my heart speaking. I also don’t want him here without me. I don’t want Oliver to have the chance to tell him the words I can’t.

  ‘Addy, I love you, too. And I want to marry you. I want to give you the life you deserve. But I need time. I need to save money, to work out the details. And in the interim, it’s not safe here for you. You need to get away. We can tell your parents. Tell them the plan.’

  ‘No,’ I reply, firmly. ‘They won’t understand. And Charles, they don’t understand this between us. They’ll never give their approval for us to be wed.’

  Charles sighs, looking away. I can tell I’ve hurt him, and I feel terribly about that. It’s never a good feeling to believe you’re not good enough.

  ‘Maybe they’re right, Addy,’ he says, turning back to me. ‘I’m no perfect man. Not at all. Maybe this isn’t the life you want.’