by Amy Cross
"Sounds good," my father replies. "How many corpses have you got now, anyway?"
"Four," I say. "There's the cat, and the seagull, and the hedgehog, and..." I pause for a moment, trying to remember the fourth; I'm sure there's a fourth, but now I can't remember properly. The cat. The seagull. The hedgehog. And the... I try my hardest to remember the fourth, but I guess I was wrong. "No, sorry, just three. I miscounted."
"They kind of smell a bit," he points out.
"They're supposed to smell," I reply, feeling a little irritated by his stupid comments. "Death isn't safe and clean. If that's what you want, you can just burn the bodies like..." I take a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. Even after all these months, I'm still kind of annoyed at the way my mother's body got burned. It's as if my father wanted to deny the natural process; it's as if he wanted to prevent any maggots from using her meat. "I'm not doing this because it's pretty," I say eventually. "I'm doing it because it's interesting and because I want to know what happens to a body after it's died. I can put up with the smell. It's a hazard of the job."
"I've got to go off to work in a few minutes," he continues, "but you'll be okay at home by yourself, right?"
I nod, peering more closely at the dead seagull. Doesn't my father understand yet? I want to be home alone; I need to be home alone.
"I should be back at around five," he says, "but there's a chance I'll have to stay behind for a couple of extra sessions. There's a new case coming in, so I think maybe I'm gonna have to deal with a load of extra paperwork. If that's the case, you might as well just eat without me. There are some burgers in the fridge, and some fries in the freezer, but you could always try the chicken salad if you -"
"That's fine," I say, keen for him to just shut up and leave me alone.
"Okay," he replies. I hear him walking away across the grass, and then I hear him heading into the house. Finally I'm alone again, with the dead animals; this is how things should be, and I wish my father wouldn't keep interrupting me when I'm out here. My train of thought gets derailed, and it's always difficult to get back in the mood. For several minutes, I try to re-focus on the tasks at hand, but eventually I realize it's useless: my father's intrusion has done something to my ability to concentrate. Feeling annoyed, I start packing the dead animals back into their boxes, and finally I stuff them next to the woodshed.
Just as I'm about to go back into the house, I notice a couple of flies sitting on a nearby wall. Stepping cautiously over to them, I watch as they scurry along the surface: they're so big and fat, it's hard not to be impressed by the way they're managing to feed off the dead bodies. It seems like such a waste to just burn a corpse, when it can be recycled by other creatures. I mean, I might find the bodies disgusting, but these flies see them as a banquet. Why should I do something that would deprive other creatures of something they'd enjoy so much? It seems much more fair to just let nature get on with things, rather than trying to live in some kind of sanitized, death-proof human environment.
"Hey!" calls out a voice. "Kid!"
Turning and looking over at the fence, I see our neighbor, Mr. Harriman, staring at me. He's the kind of old busy-body who often seems to be sticking his nose into other peoples' business, and there's something kind of creepy about his eyes, as if they're too small for his head. As far back as I can remember, I've always disliked him.
"Your father around?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Well, when he gets home, can you ask him to sort out your yard?" he continues. "I'm starting to get a weird smell coming over the fence. I don't know what you've got going on in there, but it's making things real unpleasant around my back door."
I stare at him.
"Tell him I don't want to have to get the authorities involved, but he has to keep the yard clean. Whatever's going on over there, it's whipping up a stench that'd turn a demon's guts inside out. I'm having to keep my back door shut just so as my house doesn't smell bad. Can you tell him that for me?"
I nod.
He sniffs the air. "What the hell is that, anyway? It stinks like hell around here, like something died."
I stare at him.
"There's a lot of flies, too," he continues. "Big fat, juicy little sons of bitches, crawling all over my back window. It's not nice, and I know for certain that they're coming from your side of the fence. If I leave the door open, or even a window, they're gonna come flying into my place. You understand why this is a problem for me?"
I nod.
"Tell him he just needs to get some bleach and clean up whatever's causing the stink," he says. "Just move it, burn it or bury it, and then cover the area in bleach. That oughta do it. If bleach doesn't work, he can try some other kind of disinfectant, but make sure he knows not to mix anything dangerous. I'm sure he knows what he's doing. If he can get the job done, I think the problem should be sorted. Can you tell him that for me?"
I nod.
"Okay," he says with a sigh. "Just make sure and pass that message on to him." With that, he turns and disappears back into his house, leaving me standing alone in the yard. I guess I can understand, in a way, why Mr. Harriman doesn't like the smell; after all, it's pretty foul, and it must be harder for him since he doesn't know where it's coming from. At least I know what's causing it, and I'm in control of when it stops. Still, I don't think I'm going to get my father to clean everything up. I've waited too long to have all my specimens in place, so there's no way I want to just get rid of them to make Mr. Harriman happy. He can put up with the smell and the flies for a little while longer; after all, it's not like he has any right to get me to stop.
I head down the side of the house and through to the front garden. I don't like coming out here, because I'm certain the neighbors will start to notice me; as I make my way to the mailbox, I think of all the curtains twitching as people look out and see me. I grab the mail, before glancing along the street. I don't see anyone, but I know they're all around, watching me and wondering if I'm okay. Sometimes, I feel as if the whole world has got its attention focused on me.
Turning and heading into the house, I sort through the mail, keeping what needs to be kept and binning the rest. Once I'm done, I stand alone in the kitchen and listen to the silence. I like it when my father's out on a day when I don't have to go to school. I guess some people would get lonely, but not me: I like the peace and quiet, and I prefer to be undisturbed. I can relax and not worry about being watched all the time; I can just stand here, in the middle of the room, and wait until it's time to go outside at lunchtime to take another look at the dead animals.
Chapter Three
Today
A knife.
I'm going to use a knife.
Even better: I'm going to use one of his knives. Two years ago, I bought my father a set of new steak knives for his birthday. They were just some cheap crap from the local store, and they've sat more or less un-used ever since. From time to time, I've glanced at them and thought they were a bad gift, but now I see that they're perfect: they're a symbol of his complete lack of appreciation, and of our pathetic, ritualistic relationship. I didn't care about him when I bought the knives; I just wanted to give him a gift so that he wouldn't complain that I'd ignored his birthday. Now, finally, those knives are going to be useful. I wonder if he'll notice the irony?
As usual, my father is cooking dinner. It's 6pm, and I've been sleeping for most of the day in preparation for my next night shift at Crestview. I've come up with this elaborate plan to get hold of a steak knife and keep it hidden until after we've eaten. However, by some bizarre coincidence, my father has chosen to cook steaks for dinner, which seems particularly appropriate. It's weird to think that once we've eaten, I'm going to take the very same knife I used to cut up the steak, and use it to end my father's life; the blade'll probably still have meat juices and bits of food stuck to it as I slide it into his body. I suppose I could give it a quick wipe, but that seems kind of pointless. What matters is the end result: h
is death.
"I just realized," he says, as he starts serving the food. "This time in a month, you'll be off at college. Are you excited?"
"Yeah," I say, figuring I might as well play up to his expectations one more time. I keep my eye on his hands as he dishes up the food; I want to see the moment when he adds the powdered pill to my serving. "I'm super-excited. I just can't wait to get there and meet everyone and get started with my studies."
He smiles as he brings the food over to the table and we sit down. I guess he must have added the pill while he was cooking, probably with the seasoning. After all these years, he must be pretty adept at getting the job done without letting me notice.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"Nothing," he replies, with a big, stupid grin on his face. "It's just good to hear you being so enthusiastic, Juliet. I never thought I'd see the day when you're actually looking forward to making new friends. To be honest, I was thinking that maybe I'd have to drag you kicking and screaming to your first day, though obviously I knew that you'd be fine once you got there." He stares at his steak for a moment, then at mine, and then he swaps the plates. "Whoops," he says nervously.
"Why did you do that?" I ask.
"I wanted you to have the bigger one," he says, blatantly lying. It's pretty obvious that he almost gave me the 'wrong' steak, and now he's trying to cover the error. I bet this kind of thing has been happening for years; I can't believe how stupid I must have been to never have noticed before.
"Can't I have the smaller one?" I say, hoping to put him on the spot. After all, it's pretty obvious that he's added the crushed pill to the bigger steak.
"No," he says, "have the bigger one. You need a good meal inside you before you go off to work." He slices into his steak and takes a mouthful. "Are you going to miss that place when you're done?" he asks, speaking with his mouth full. "You certainly seem to have settled in pretty well. It's hard to believe there was ever a time when you weren't working down at Crestview." He stares at me, clearly waiting for me to say something. "Aren't you going to miss it at all?"
"I guess."
"You made any friends there?"
"Yeah. One." I cut a piece off my steak and eat it; I still haven't decided whether I'm going to stop taking the pills after tonight, but I figure one more dose won't kill me. "Her name's Jennifer."
"Jennifer?" He smiles. "You've never mentioned her before."
"We get on really well," I reply. "She's a little older than me, but she helps me with stuff. She knows more about the medical side of things. In fact, she's really helped me to understand a lot of things that I maybe wouldn't have worked out on my own. I feel like I've actually learned quite a lot about how to look after the residents."
"Sounds great," he says. "Maybe you should try to stay in touch with her after you go to college?"
"Maybe."
"I'm serious, Juliet. Friends aren't so easy to pick up. If you like her, you should make an effort to stay in touch."
I smile awkwardly.
"Then again," he continues, "you'll probably meet a load of new people once you're studying. You'll forget all about the people at Crestview. Hell, you'll probably forget all about me, too. Won't you feel a little sad at the thought of me sitting around this empty old house, all alone?" He smiles. "I'm joking. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to bring up the subject of the pills, but I know one thing for certain: before he dies, my father is going to know that I've caught him out. I want him to understand all the pain and anguish I've suffered thanks to him, and I want him to die with tears in his eyes.
"Are you finding it easier to make friends?" he asks after a while.
"Much easier."
"And you enjoy it?"
I nod.
"I knew you'd pull through eventually."
I can't help but smile, thinking about what's going to happen soon. "Are you proud of me?"
"Am I proud of you?"
"Yeah. Are you proud of me?"
He smiles. "Well, that's a question I never thought you'd ask." He pauses for a moment, as if he's actually giving the matter some serious thought. "Yes, Juliet. I am proud of you. There, I've said it. In fact, I've always been proud of you. I know we've had some difficulties, and I know there have been times when you've probably thought I was being too harsh, but I only ever had your best interests at heart. You're my daughter. Of course I'm proud of you, not only for the way you've overcome your difficulties, but also for the way you've finally managed to find a purpose in life. I'm proud of you and I love you."
I look down at my food. I hadn't expected him to say anything like that. Taking a deep breath, I cut off a large piece of steak and chew it slowly. In a strange way, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
"In fact," he continues, "I'm going to be getting you a little gift when you head off to college. Nothing too fancy, but something I think you'll like very much."
"What is it?" I ask, looking over at him.
"You'll have to wait and see," he says, barely able to contain a big, goofy grin. "I ordered it today, but I'm not letting you see it until it arrives, which should be some time next week. I shouldn't have told you at all, but I guess it's fun to look forward to something, right?"
I stare at him; it's as if right now, in this moment, he's totally happy about how I've turned out. I guess he's pretty pleased with himself. "I know about the pills," I say suddenly, surprising myself.
"The what?"
I take a deep breath. My heart is racing as I realize the time has come. There's no turning back now, no chickening out or showing mercy. "The pills. The ones you've been putting in my food. The ones that are probably in this steak right now." I wait for him to say something, but he just stares at me with a puzzled look in his eyes. "You don't need to lie anymore," I continue. "In fact, I'd be pretty offended if you did. I know about them, and I know why you did it, and I know what the effect has been. I know everything. I only found out yesterday, so your little deception worked for a long time, but now I know."
"I'm sorry, Juliet," he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The pills," I say, feeling a knot of anger in my chest. How dare he keep this charade going? "I know all about them."
"What pills?"
"The ones you've been giving me."
"I haven't given you any pills."
"Yes, you have."
"No, Juliet. I haven't." He stares at me. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You've been slipping pills into my food," I say, taking care to keep my voice firm and blank. I don't want to show my anger; not yet, anyway. "You've been doing it since I first went to see Dr. Larson all those years ago. You've been doing it because you want to change the way my brain works. You've been very successful. I didn't notice it happening at the time, but now it all makes sense. You and Dr. Larson worked together, and you tricked me for a long time. I wish I'd known this before..." I pause for a moment, before I realize that I might as well go all the way. "I killed Dr. Larson the other day," I say eventually. "He came to Crestview as a resident, and I killed him."
I wait for my father to say something, but he just stares at me.
"I know everything," I continue. "I know how you two conspired to slip drugs into my food, to change me, to force me to be someone else. I don't know if it worked. I don't know what I'd be like if you hadn't done it, but I'm sure it had some kind of effect. Maybe I'd have been a worse person without the drugs, or maybe I'd have been better. The point is, you didn't let me find that out. You made me change. You did this to me, and whatever you're thinking right now, you have to accept that it's your fault." I take a deep breath. "So are you proud of me now?"
He continues to state at me for a moment. "The things you're saying," he replies eventually, "are very, very serious, Juliet."
"I know. I'm not an idiot." I look down at my hands and realize t
hey're still trembling slightly; I've always dreamed of confronting my father, of telling him the truth about the things I do, and now the day is finally here. I just need my hands to stop shaking for a moment, so I can use the knife on him. "I killed Martina too," I say.
We sit in silence for a moment. "You did what?"
"I killed Martina. I put a jack-in-the-box in her car to make her crash. I didn't really think it was going to work, but it did. That was the first time I killed anyone, apart from her cat. I didn't even hate her that much." I pause, thinking back to that day. To be honest, if I hadn't killed Martina, I think things would have turned out very differently: for one thing, I wouldn't have assumed from such an early age that I was evil; for another, I probably would've been much less willing to kill again. I guess something changes once you've stepped over that line.
He smiles nervously. "Is this some kind of joke?"
I stare at him.
"You killed her?" my father says, clearly in shock. "You... put that thing in her car with the specific intention of making her die in a wreck?"
I nod.
He stares at me. "What the hell kind of a monster are you, Juliet?"
"I don't know," I say, feeling my resolve start to weaken a little. I take a deep breath, determined not to become emotional.
"You just admitted, to my face, that you killed two people. You murdered them." His eyes are fixed on me, and I can tell he's struggling with this news. "Is that it? Or are there more? Did you -"
"Three others," I say, interrupting him. "One of my co-workers... a woman named Lizzie McGuigan. A guy at the home, Piotr Cymbalista. And..." I pause. "No, sorry, just two others. I was wrong. I miscounted."
"I see," he says. It's weird, but earlier my hands were trembling, and suddenly they're completely still, almost like stone; his hands, meanwhile, have begun to tremble vigorously. It's as if he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown: I can see that he's about to crack. "Oh God, Juliet," he says quietly, with tears in his eyes. "I never thought... I never thought you could be like that. I knew you were odd, and a little different, but a multiple..." He pauses. "You're a serial killer!"
