The Diary of a Serial Killer's Daughter

by L. A. Detwiler

  Heading back to the shed, I scattered some dirt and leaves on the pools of blood in the field. It looked like rain, so if I was lucky, the pools of water falling would wash away the red that stained the grass. Daddy wouldn’t notice, would he? He’d assume an animal had been attacked. He’d never suspect his sweet, innocent Ruby had anything to do with it.

  I smiled at the thought.

  The perfect cover. The perfect smile. The perfect protection.

  Different Ruby.

  Retarded Ruby.

  Quiet Ruby.

  Weird Ruby.

  But when you were different and retarded and quiet and weird, you couldn’t kill, could you?

  They’d never expect the greatness I’d achieved.

  They’d never, ever expect it.

  I went back to the shed to get the nails. Ruby red nails. Red like my hair. Ruby red like my name. What a fitting end to the story.

  I knew exactly where I’d tuck them, exactly where I’d put them so I could remind myself of the power I have at my fingertips.

  I’m not weak or stupid or quiet or different.

  I’m brilliant.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 31, 2018

  9:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  The thoughts of what I’ve done swirl in my head, making me feel crazed with excitement, with anticipation, and with a hint of fear. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was afraid.

  Afraid the secret will come out.

  Afraid Daddy will get caught.

  Afraid it will all come crashing down.

  Tonight, on the news, there was another plea for a missing girl. Not Clarissa, though. A lady. A familiar lady that Daddy couldn’t stop staring at.

  The news mentioned that she was last seen in a tavern, Tavern 7 to be exact. They also noted that with the rising number of missing women, the police are certain there’s something dark going on in our sleepy town. Rumors of a serial killer are resurfacing with more certainty.

  My blood turned cold. Daddy. The serial killer they’re all looking for. And me, the serial killer’s daughter who has just committed her first murder, too.

  Daddy didn’t even flinch when they mentioned it. I think he even grinned a little bit. Maybe this is part of the game for him, the part that’s been missing for so long. Does he want them to piece things together, to figure out how brilliant he’s been? I understand that sentiment now. I know we’d never want to get caught, but there’s also this tiny piece that hates keeping it all silent. It’s like I want to shout to the kids at school: remember me? The girl you see as weak? Well, look what I’ve actually done. Fear me.

  Grandma swung by this evening. Barf. She was going on and on about how it chills her blood that so many are going missing, especially that girl my age—her friend from Bingo is neighbors with Clarissa and heard that they were looking for her. I felt my stomach churn a little bit as I thought about those fingernails tucked away with you. Grandma eyed me cautiously. I didn’t say a word.

  “Aren’t you concerned, Ruby? She was your classmate.” Grandma clucked her tongue like an crazed chicken. I giggled, remembering a video on the funny videos show that had a chicken.

  “Honestly, what’s wrong with you?”

  At that, my neck snapped to the left, my head turning to face her. I glared at her, imagining her neck squeezed by the noose in the garage, in the shed. It didn’t matter.

  “Mother, stop it,” Daddy said, standing up from his chair.

  “A girl’s missing and she has no empathy. My God, what would people think?”

  Let them think what they want, Grandma. Because they’d be right.

  If only she knew.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  November 2, 2018

  7:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  It’s so, so hard to hold back the trembling, the urge to scream. I force myself to steady my shaking hands at school, and to paint on a sad face when they mention her name. In reality, I want to just forget, to feel nothing.

  I want to forget about the fact that I killed Clarissa, that I threw her in the field, and that any moment, it could all crumble down around me. I was supposed to protect him. I thought killing her would protect him. What if it did the exact opposite?

  The town knows now—Clarissa’s missing. But they are under the false impression that she might come back. That she’s just an aggravated runaway who has had enough of the town. They don’t know. How could they?

  It’s fine, I reassure myself. Daddy’s never been caught. They’ll never tie me to Clarissa, will they? There’s no way. I’m Daddy’s daughter. Smart and sneaky. Capable. They’ll never know what I’m truly capable of.

  The police have been to the school. At first, the sight of them in the office stabbed into my gut. But I reminded myself to stay calm. Marlowes didn’t get caught. I’d been clever. No one would ever suspect a thing. They questioned and searched the school, asking everyone who had talked to Clarissa for information. Clarissa’s parents even were on the news, begging for information and asking Clarissa to come home. The tears looked real to me. That sank in a little bit. I thought of Daddy and what he would feel like if I was missing.

  But the thought didn’t last long. Because there’s another feeling besides guilt that has taken over my body if I’m being completely honest. And I’m always honest with you, Diary. Even more than I am with myself.

  Behind the pangs of guilt and the fear, something else is bubbling within.

  Hunger. Thirst. Appreciation for what I’ve done.

  My hands are shaky, my body giddy with the relief I felt when that knife plunged in. I can’t deny that although I did what I felt I had to do—I liked it. I really, truly liked it.

  I revisit the shed often, in my mind. It wouldn’t do for Daddy to get suspicious after all. I think about that night, all those cuts, the red on the floor. I think about how exhausting yet exhilarating the work was. I think about the power I felt wielding that knife and watching her go down for the final time. I think about what it was like to take a life, to harness the life spirit of her and to let it slip away. The thing is, Diary—I don’t feel as guilty as I thought I would. Not really. I feel empowered. I feel accomplished. I feel like I’m just beginning.

  No, stop. Stop it, Ruby. One was it. One was enough. You did it for Daddy. You killed Clarissa to protect Daddy and now you’re finished. Leave the work to the master.

  In English class, we’re studying Crime and Punishment—again. What a coincidence, right? The thing is, the book is all about guilt and how it gets to you. How it gets you caught. I keep telling myself, though, that you can’t get caught from guilt if you don’t feel it in the first place. I need to keep things in perspective. Maybe the lack of empathy all those therapists tried to work out of me is actually a gift.

  It’s weird how anticlimactic it’s all been, really. For me, the world feels like it’s shifted and changed. However, things are very much the same. The same schedule, the same people. The same foods for dinner, and Daddy’s same routine of going out late at night.

  The same things keep going. I’ve kept my secret well.

  Daddy’s secrets are easy to keep because they’re not mine. But this secret—it’s aching to be told. I want so badly to tell Daddy what an amazing thing I’ve done, how brilliant I’ve been. I want him to be proud of how much he’s taught me. I want him to see me following in his magnificent footsteps.

  I know I can’t, though. It will complicate things. I protect him. I don’t want him feeling like he has to protect me. Still, a piece of me wonders if it would be so bad if he found Clarissa, if he put it together. Maybe then we could really be the father and daughter team I’ve always dreamed of.

  My pencil box is sitting on my desk, Diary. I keep it close by. It’s like I can still feel that day breathing through the box. There’s a cloth bag inside, a tiny cloth bag that a pair of sunglasses came in. It’s cinched shut. I’m careful with the box.
I know it’s a risk to carry it. I know I should tuck it safely in my hiding spot. But I can’t. Maybe it’s just that I like having a piece of her there, reminding me of how strong I am. Maybe I like carrying it into gym class and remembering all the hell she put me through.

  Maybe it just helps me feel like I’ve won.

  I think, Diary, I have.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  November 5, 2018

  7:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  It started with the phrase I didn’t want to hear, not from him.

  “You’re different.”

  The words that have plagued me my whole life. They are practically scratched underneath the surface of my skin, an indelible black mar. I feel the scar burn in my stomach and fill the space between us.

  In fairness, I know what Aaron meant at lunch today when he coldly spewed the phrase. Because, it’s true. I am different now. I’m not the same girl I was a few weeks ago. It’s crazy how one choice, one stroke of the knife, can change it all. My hands shake now, and my heart trembles with the knowledge of my purpose. Gone are the days I thought there was another option. Stupid girl. This was the life destined for you. How didn’t you see it?

  I still sit with Aaron at lunch. In truth, he still sits with me. I’d be okay without him now. I still love his dimpled cheeks and his red hair and the passion he speaks with. But things are different. He’s right. I’m different. I know where my priorities are. I know I’m strong enough to be alone, that I don’t need him.

  Nevertheless, hearing the words pissed me off. I thought about the knife in my boot, the pieces of Clarissa in the box that sat inches from Aaron. Stupid boy. So naïve. He had no idea how powerful I was.

  In fairness, I hadn’t either.

  But I am different. It’s hard for me to pretend to care about things I used to pretend to care about. Aaron talks about cars and presidents like he always has, but my mind is somewhere else. Dancing over the moments of that day, thinking about Clarissa’s final breaths. Thinking about how skilled I was—because I’ve decided I was brilliant. After all, the police have no idea. They never will. I’m sure of it now. I’m as sure as Daddy is. The field is our refuge, a sanctuary never to be found. Clarissa will never be found. And even though sometimes the worry and the tiny twinges of guilt pang a little bit, mostly I’ve been able to shove them away.

  I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t. I can’t. I did what I needed to do, what I was always trained to do. I followed in Daddy’s beautiful footsteps. Last night, though, when Daddy and I were watching the news again, her parents were on the television. Her dad was crying. My stomach wrenched with the sight. I looked at Daddy through my peripherals.

  “Tough break for her parents. The girl was a bitch, but I can’t imagine what they’re going through,” Daddy murmured.

  I was floored. I told myself to stay calm and stoic, but it was so hard. I hadn’t thought of it that way. I had only thought about myself and Clarissa and Daddy. But what about them?

  I felt the Crime and Punishment style guilt threatening to usurp my relative calm and collectedness. I drowned it in my brain but excused myself to my room, my hands visibly shaking. Would Daddy think what I did was wrong? How could he, when he’s taught me so well? But it sounded like even Daddy had moral lines he didn’t cross. Did I go too far?

  I’m up here now, Diary, the pencil box and you and the picture of Mama surrounding me. How dare Daddy say that? How can he kill all those women and yet throw these judgements at me? Anger builds.

  But maybe it’s not anger at Daddy. Maybe it’s anger at myself. How did I think I could be so strong to not care? How did I think I could be as masterful as Daddy?

  I stare at the relics around me, the symbols of a life I’m now committed to. Suddenly, I wonder if it was all worth it. I wonder if maybe I did make a mistake. Aaron thinks I’m different and what would Daddy think? And how about Clarissa’s Dad? Did he deserve this?

  Round and round the thoughts swirl. I can barely think. I scratch my neck until it burns, sticky and oozing with blood. Tears fall.

  I’m not okay, Diary.

  I’m different.

  I’ve always been different—but this kind of different, well, it might be too different indeed.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  A nail pounds into my brain,

  Stabbing into the gooey, pink surface.

  Blood surges from somewhere within,

  A spraying cacophony of sadness

  And fear.

  We all end up as dust in the field,

  In the street,

  In the forest,

  In the ground.

  It all ends.

  But when the reaper comes,

  Will you run? Or will you

  Face him with the majestic

  Pride you know?

  I saw a cardinal once,

  Fly from the tree.

  Its wing was broken,

  And it crashed to the ground,

  Its neck twisting at an

  Unnatural angle.

  We are all cardinals,

  Falling down, down, down

  From the tree and succumbing

  To nothingness.

  When will it all fall down?

  November 6, 2018

  1:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  We have a big problem. I’m not a masterpiece or a prodigy or anything of the sort. I’m not brilliant like Daddy. I’m a fucking disaster. A disaster! And now everyone is going to pay, everyone I love.

  How could I be such an idiot?

  The police found it. Well, Clarissa’s parents found it. The note from Aaron—the note from me. They must have found it—because at school today, the police came and they took Aaron away.

  It’s over. It’s done. How did I overlook it? I guess I just thought about my privacy, how my Diary and all of my treasures stay hidden. I didn’t think about how Clarissa’s room might not be so private. I was so desperate to get rid of the problem, the risk to Daddy, that I didn’t think it through. Dammit, why didn’t I think it through? Why didn’t I ask Daddy for help? He wouldn’t have been this stupid.

  And now it’s all going to come crashing down. This whole world I tried to protect is doomed—and worse than that? Aaron is wrapped up in it, too, because now the police think he might be involved in her disappearance. It seems like he was the last person to see Clarissa alive.

  He wasn’t back the rest of the day. I was confused at first and thought it must have been something else. When the rumors starting dancing around the school, I almost didn’t believe it. But when I heard about a note that was found and how Aaron was called in for questioning, had been there all day, my stomach sank.

  I knew it was true. It was all true. How could I be so dumb? I’d tied up Aaron in my plan. How would he get out of it? And even if he had an alibi that would protect him, the police would certainly end up here, wouldn’t they? To investigate, since I’m mentioned in the note.

  Tears whirled. I ran out of the school, ignoring the hall monitors and the principal who eventually found me by the tree, rocking and crying and banging my head.

  Daddy came to get me. He assumed I was upset over Aaron—the town is small, and no one can keep a secret. Plus, the guys at Daddy’s work all knew about it since Aaron’s dad works with him.

  “Ruby, I’m sorry.” That was all he said. But what was he sorry for, Diary? That my best friend had been questioned for a murder I committed? That he hadn’t taught his daughter well enough? That his daughter was an idiotic failure?

  In truth, Daddy was probably sorry because he thought I was just sad over Aaron. But he doesn’t know the half of it.

  I thought about telling him then. I did. I thought that he might know how to fix it. But the truth is, admitting to him what I’ve done would be admitting that it’s all going to crumble around him. If the police come searching, will they find Daddy’s secrets, too? I don’t want to think about what
Daddy will do if he finds out the jeopardy we’re in. Then again, maybe I deserve anything he dishes out. Maybe I deserve the noose, the saw, the deep hole in the overgrown field.

  I deserve so much worse, in truth.

  I scratch and scratch and scratch my neck. I can’t stop. Over and over, my fingers carve into my neck.

  I’m stupid. It’s going to crash down.

  Any moment it’s going to be decimated like a bomb raging in the middle of a populated city. The police will be here any minute and then it all becomes a barren wasteland with no relics to remind everyone we were here.

  Should I confess?

  If I confess, though, it’s not just me that will pay. Daddy’s secret will be revealed. They’ll find the women in the field, won’t they?

  Should I tell Daddy?

  Could he help?

  Should I let Aaron take the heat?

  The thought makes me sick, but it’s better than Daddy getting caught, isn’t it?

  Daddy and Aaron. I always knew I couldn’t have both. I always knew it would become a choice.

  What choice will I make?

  Do I have to make one?

  Can I keep the secret hidden? Is there another way out of this?

  I’m clinging to the bloody rag, the one from so long ago. It’s comforting to see the swatches of red staining the worn fabric. So many years, the rag has stayed hidden, a comfort object like a baby’s blanket or favorite stuffed animal. It reminds me of the majestic quality of Daddy’s work. It reminds me that secrets can, in fact, stay hidden. And now, as I cling to it, rocking back and forth, it reminds me of all there is to lose. I wish I would have watched better, learned better. I wish Daddy would have taught me better. But there’s no time for regrets.

  I have to make a decision. I have to figure this out.

  Mama, please, please, please help me. Help me figure this out.

  We’re Not Safe.

  And I’m fucked up. I’m so fucked up.

  Ruby

  November 8, 2018

  5:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  I haven’t slept at all, and neither has Daddy. Things are bad. He’s storming around the house. He’s stomping around and terrified. I think he might kill me. I think Daddy’s going to kill me or himself or both of us and it’s all going to end. And for what?