The Four Before Me

by E H Night

Detective Darrow visited as often as he could. Compared to any other faces that Alice had been seeing, he seemed to be as present as the seemingly permanent friction burns on her skin. They didn’t look like they would be going away anytime soon, and neither did he. He treated Alice with care, as if they’d known each other for many years. When she’d fall asleep throughout the day, which was actually fairly often, he would grab her hand in his, and let her squeeze the life out of it during the nightmares. He’d assist the nurses when her bandages needed to be changed, unwrapping her wrists like two fragile gifts. When she’d wince in pain as the infection was being cleaned out of them, he felt it too. Alice’s wounds became his scars, and his burden to bear. Guilt wrapped itself around his neck, much like a rope, and he hung his head.

  “If I had only kept a close eye on her, none of this would have happened,” he kept thinking. “If I had only been able to piece everything together sooner, she wouldn’t have to be in this place right now.”

  He had already taken initiative, and left a key behind for Edna. Together, they had intended on making sure that the refrigerator would be nicely stocked, and that everything would be clean and ready for Alice for when she was discharged from the hospital. They had wanted to make sure that all she needed to focus on was feeling better. Edna made her an assortment of soups and side dishes, and stacked them orderly in plastic containers. Between those, and the various juices, Alice’s fridge had been filled quickly.

  Detective Darrow still had to work though. It was more important that ever, actually. Even though he typically had weekends off, he worked through them to make sure every loose end was tied, finally with the help of the Sheriff. He didn’t want to give Will time to fabricate stories while Betty was healing, so he refused to sit at home or accept much down time other than to visit Alice. He visited her often, but during the hours that he was gone from the hospital, she was left alone to squirm uncomfortably while her brain took her back to the shed over and over again.

  One of the rope burns on Alice’s ankles had gotten badly infected and caused her to have a sudden and high fever on her second night in the hospital. During these sweat-covered hours, she slept even more than before. In her waking moments, she watched the scrubs and white jackets go in and out of the room. Her mind was too foggy to be able to tell if it was a single nurse or doctor visiting frequently, or if it was multiple caretakers. In one instance, she even thought that one of the women had been her grandmother stopping by to console her.

  “Alice,” the older woman had said with a softness in her tone, “You need to get better soon, okay? We’re all rooting for you.”

  “Grandma,” she replied. “Please don’t leave me again.”

  The nurse smiled and wiped a few damp strands away from Alice’s forehead. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll be right here if you need anything. Now, let’s get this fever lowered, okay?”

  Alice nodded, and drifted off into more peaceful dreams than before.

  ◆

  After a few more days, Alice was prepared to go back home. Her fever had gone away completely, and her wounds seemed to be on their way to healing properly. Once she’d been given the go-ahead from one of the hospital’s physicians, she was free to resume life as it had been prior to any of this happening. There was something strange about being let loose like that, especially after such trauma — both physical, as well as emotional.

  As she signed herself out, she wondered what she was even supposed to do next. Was she just supposed to go back home, and start working right away again? Was she supposed to take time off? Was this the reason that people spent their days and nights alone at the bars? She considered that maybe the bottles of liquor were a decent replacement for the IV fluids that she’d become accustomed to receiving through her bruised veins. She had no intentions of taking that bottomless route, though.

  Detective Darrow showed up to take her home. He helped her into his car, and drove her back into town, unable to think of much to say during the drive. Each time he looked down at her bandages, or looked up to see the large stab marks on her purple cheek, his heart ached. It hurt to see her in that condition. Through it all, though, he was just relieved that she was still alive. Compared to the other women, she’d been extremely lucky.

  During the time that he had spent piecing the case together, he had discovered some really disturbing things. Will, while not intending on becoming a murderer, had kept a very large collection of trophies from his crimes. Seeing that his main motive for killing the women had been solely to retrieve the items, this came as no surprise to Detective Darrow. Still, it was an incredibly disturbing thing to sort through.

  Will had kept a shoe box in the basement, hidden inside of his mother’s old dresser. Betty had placed all of their mother’s old items down there for safe keeping, but moreso to keep herself from thinking about the loss as often. She figured that she and Will would have been able to move on more easily if the constant reminders were out of sight, but her plan hadn’t exactly worked. Instead, she had unintentionally created a mausoleum, and her brother crept through its corridors, searching for signs of life among the moth-eaten quilts and scraps of death.

  Inside of the shoe box, Will had kept piles of poorly chopped hair. Blood had dried on the ends of some, and the varying shades of brunette cuddled together for warmth inside of their unified cardboard grave. They had been a gift for his mother, but she no longer had the hands to receive it, or the scalp to wear it anymore. Many nights were spent with him rubbing handfuls of the Prell and hairspray scented strands to his face, inhaling deeply.

  He had kept a smaller ponytail tied together on the very top of the pile. It was Sarah’s, and it resembled his mother’s hair color and texture the most closely. Some nights, he would take it up to his bedroom. While there, he would pull out his mother’s hairbrush to comb through the bundle, all while Elvis songs would play over the stereo in the background.

  Aside from the hair, Will had kept a drawer full of shoes. While Detective Darrow hadn’t noticed the importance at first, Jessica’s body had been barefoot when found. Her shoes, Ashley’s, and Tammy’s were found among the collection, along with several pairs of Sarah’s. Will had tried to wear a few of them, but judging from the stretching and tearing on some of the pairs, it was apparent that he had favored the bright colored high heels the most.

  When Detective Darrow had taken him in for questioning, he had sat a few of the pairs on the table between himself and Will. He watched as Will shifted around uncomfortably in the chair, trying to look away.

  Will’s eyes would peek back over to the pile though, no matter how far or in what direction he turned his head. He just couldn’t resist. Something drew him in, and it was beyond just the memories of his mother.

  “Will,” Detective Darrow said with seriousness in his voice. “Tell me about the shoes. Why did you keep them?”

  “They’re pretty.” He was calm, and his words were blunt at first.

  “Yes, they are, but a lot of things are pretty, some things are even prettier than these.” He picked up one of Alice’s pink high heels and flipped it around in his hand. He leaned forward across the table, and sat it down, only inches away from Will. “I saw you wearing this pair. Do you remember?”

  Will nodded. “I remember.”

  “Why were you wearing them? They don’t seem to be your size.” He picked up the matching pink shoe and moved it along the table. It made little knocking sounds as he mimicked the movements of footsteps. “Is it the noise that they make when you walk in them? Is this what you like?” he asked.

  “No,” Will said, maintaining his calmness. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it? You can tell me. I’m not here to judge you, you know. I just want to know what was so special about them. I mean, I hear ya. They do look really nice. Actually, I might even want to try one on myself.” He removed one of his own shoes and stood next to Will. He slipped the pink pump on, with only part of his foot able to fit inside, and he
walked back and forth across the floor. “Oh wow. They feel nice too. I think I’m going to have to keep this pair for myself.”

  Will trembled and his face turned red. “Take them off,” he said through clenched teeth. “Give them back. They’re mine, not yours.”

  Detective Darrow took a mental note of Will’s sudden switch in moods. He was finally getting under his skin. “Fine. You’re right,” he said, trying to look defeated. “I’ll let you wear them for a minute, but you can’t tell anyone about it. Promise?”

  Will’s anger settled down, and he looked surprised. “Really? I can do that?”

  Detective Darrow nodded. “You have to be fast though, alright? I could get in trouble for letting you.”

  “Okay. I’ll be quick.”

  Detective Darrow took Will’s shoes off for him, and slid each of the pink high-heels onto his large feet.

  Will felt like Cinderella for a moment, as if he were receiving his missing glass slipper. The only difference was that the shoes were torn and covered in mud, and Will’s feet didn’t fit inside of them at all. He crammed his toes in as far as they would go, and then he sighed loudly, like someone lowering themselves into a hot bath on a cold day. He went silent after that for several seconds, and then smacked his feet together.

  “There’s no place like home,” he said. “I used to love watching that movie when I was your age. Have you seen the Wizard of Oz?”

  “I have, but Will,” Detective Darrow said. “You are my age. You have maybe five years on me, tops.”

  “Will? What do you mean?” Will replied in a high pitched voice. He looked extremely confused all of a sudden. “That’s my son’s name.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Could you tell me your name then? I seem to have forgotten it somehow.”

  Will smiled largely, something that was uncommon for him to do — even more uncommon than these bursts of talkativeness. “I’m Judy, silly. Judy Noe.”

  That was Will’s mother’s name. Detective Darrow realized what was happening and asked him more questions, hoping to see inside of his mind a little better. “Oh, you’re right,” he said, smacking himself lightly in the forehead. “Mrs. Noe. I can’t believe I forgot that. Could you tell me where you came upon such beautiful pink shoes, Judy?”

  Will’s smile grew even larger. “My youngest son bought them for me.”

  Detective Darrow decided to see just how deep this wound was. He stepped back from Will and gasped. “But Judy! You look different. Where did all of your hair go?”

  Will looked terrified in that a moment. He lifted his cuffed hands to his head, and rubbed one of his forearms across his balding fine hair. His mother’s exposed scalp came to mind, and he completely imploded.

  “My hair!” he screamed, falling out of the seat and onto the floor. The high heels flew off of his feet upon impact. “What did you do with my hair?”

  Detective Darrow crouched down beside Will to stabilize him, mostly to keep him from thrashing too hard and injuring himself. “Will, I need you to calm down and tell me why you kept a box of hair in the basement.”

  “My hair!” he screamed again. “I need to give it to Mama!” Will sobbed for several minutes, until a wave of calmness settled over him.

  Detective Darrow patted him on the back and lifted him back into his chair. “Did you cut it from those women?” he asked.

  Will nodded and stared at the table.

  “Did you mean to hurt them, or did you just want to help your mom?” he asked, trying to figure out the motive.

  “I didn’t want to hurt them, but they screamed.”

  “So, you didn’t like the sound?”

  Will shook his head again. “I hated it.”

  Detective Darrow saw the situation with a little more understanding and clarity. Perhaps Will wasn’t as evil as he had initially thought. It seemed like he genuinely thought that he was aiding his dead mother.

  Will had escaped into the shoes that he knew his mother would have loved, and he brought her back to life in the only way he knew how. During his moments when he’d pretend to be his mother, he was able to accept the gifts, and give himself words of approval. While some monsters are born, others are created. But, the worst monsters are those who believe themselves to be heroes. Will hadn’t meant to be the villain. He just happened to become one along the way.

  “Detective,” Will said, suddenly. “There’s something else.”

  “What is it? I’m all ears.”

  “That boy didn’t kill the redhead.”

  Shock spread over Detective Darrow’s face. “Then who did? Was it you?”

  Will nodded. “I didn’t want to. I followed them home, but the other girl was gone when I knocked.”

  “So, Tiffany let you in?” he asked.

  “She opened the door, and I walked in. She told me to get out, but I wanted her shoes.”

  Detective Darrow remembered Tiffany’s decorated red heels from the crime scene. “You didn’t take them though. What happened?”

  “She screamed like the others,” he said, while staring off into a corner. “I was scared.”

  “So you killed her too?”

  “She was too loud. I followed her into a bedroom, but she kept screaming. Then I heard someone at the door.”

  Detective Darrow leaned forward. “So you left before you could take them?”

  “I went out the window.”

  While all of this made sense, a confused feeling washed over him as he thought about Alice’s encounter with Benji. While Benji was apparently innocent of Tiffany’s death and of the other murders, he was still guilty of attempting a different one. Solving the case should have eased Detective Darrow’s mind, but he still felt very uneasy, as if something else was still looming nearby.

  It didn’t feel like it was over yet.

  Chapter 21

  “Family Ties”

  June 14th, 1986

  The cemetery welcomed Will through its creaking iron gates. He was a familiar face among the dead — possibly even more familiar than their own still-living friends and family members. People didn’t typically enjoy walking past all of the tombstones, especially not on a regular basis. Death became too much of a reality during those times. Unfortunately, many graves were left untended and in shambles due to avoidance. Others, even less lucky, had their names eroded away and sun-bleached from their stones. Because of this, their caskets were left to become nothing more than occupied spaces. Their stories would never be told again. Their secrets were going to stay hidden in the grooves of their bones.

  Judy Noe’s grave was properly maintained and even beautifully decorated. Unfortunately, her body had been removed long before, while her flesh was still very much in tact. This was before the mound of disturbed dirt could settle in place upon her casket. Will stopped by only to treat her grave site as something that needed to be kept attractive. It was more of a bush that he enjoyed pruning and showing off than anything else. His mother’s little plot of grass needed to be the most beautiful of them all. He wanted the other women, the ones who were once her peers, and the ones who would one day become neighbors to her tombstone, to be impressed by the sight of her — or just simply, to be impressed by her site.

  This Saturday was different though. Will had noticed a young woman jogging through the narrow blacktop pathways. She had a friend with her, but that friend left after only a short while. The woman stopped to slump against the base of a tree. Will watched from behind a tall memorial statue as she drank speedily from a dripping water bottle. Sweat glistened across her skin, basting her in salt and oils like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  Will’s mouth salivated while he imagined the scent of her hair. Drool stretched down his lips and chin, and onto his shirt. He didn’t bother to wipe it away as he approached her. He scrunched his face up to appear as if he was crying, and added a few loud snorts and sniffling sounds to appear more convincing.

  The woman climbed to her feet when she saw him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay
?” she asked, showing him sympathy.

  Will cried even louder, adding in a few long and drawn out whines.

  She patted his back. “Let me sit and talk with you. My name’s Ashley. Can you tell me what yours is?”

  He lowered his hands from his soaked face and looked up at her. Without needing to say anything, she knew his identity once she’d seen his eyes.

  “Oh, I know you — you’re Betty’s brother. Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “That would be nice,” he said, no longer crying.

  “We can talk along the way, if you’d like,” she suggested.

  Will nodded.

  The cemetery wasn’t far from the lake house. By foot, it was less than a five minute walk. The people of Wintersburg had preferred to have that reminder of mortality on the edge of town, somewhere that they wouldn’t have to see it all the time. They had abandoned their dead, and blamed the bodies for no longer being alive.