by Amy Cross
"I don't think you understand," he says. "We have no interest in maintaining Crestview as an ongoing operation. Our strategy with these types of asset restructuring programs is to sell the various asset groups off to different parties. We don't keep the operations running in any form. We're not a management company."
"I know," I say, starting to feel as if he's not listening to me properly, "but I'm proposing something new. I'm proposing that you try to actually keep Crestview open and make a profit from its activities as a retirement home. All the day-to-day aspects of its operations can be left to me. All you really have to do is count the money, and I'm certain I can make Crestview profitable again within two or three months -"
"Juliet," he continues, "we've already sold the land. Crestview's going to be knocked down in the next couple of days. A developer from over in Langston has already got planning permission to build a set of apartments. It's actually a really good deal. It's going to bring some new, high quality, affordable housing into the area. Crestview had, what, twelve residents? These apartments are going to be able to cater for up to forty people, of all ages. I've seen the plans. Hang on, I can show you." He starts going through his desk drawers, eventually pulling out a brochure and passing it to me. "You see? That's the future of Crestview."
Staring at the front of the brochure, I see a smart-looking apartment building. It takes me a moment to realize that this is what they're going to build after they've knocked Crestview down.
"I'm sorry you've had a wasted trip today," Mr. Fox adds. "I can see you've done a lot of work on this proposal, but unfortunately it's just not something that Elstion and Mainhew would ever be interested in pursuing. Even if we still owned the land, we're just not into asset management. It's too complicated. It gets messy. We like nice, clean transactions. You catch my drift? We buy the place, we cut it up neatly, we sell the pieces. There. Everyone's happy."
I put the brochure down and stare at him. I was sure I had at least a chance to get Crestview up and running today, but now I can see that I've failed. There's no way I can change this guy's mind.
"Juliet?" he asks after a moment. "Are you okay?" He grabs a box of tissues and slides them toward me. "I keep these for all those messy divorce cases I usually handle, but..."
Suddenly I realize that there are tears in my eyes. I stand up, filled with a sudden urge to get the hell out of here. Grabbing all the documents and files I brought with me, I start stuffing them roughly into my briefcase. I want to stay calm and collected, but I can feel the tears running down my face; in my hurry to finish up, I start scrunching the papers down into the bottom of the briefcase, while Mr. Fox just sits and stares at me. I'm starting to sweat, and I feel as if I've just made a complete fool of myself.
"There's no hurry," he says after a moment. "If you'd like to sit and compose yourself -"
"No," I say, my voice wavering as I fight back the tears. As soon as I've got the briefcase closed, I turn and hurry out of the office, almost walking into the door on my way out. The receptionists look over at me, shocked as I march across toward the main door. Tears are running down my face, but I can't stop and wipe them away; I just have to get as far away from this place as possible.
"Juliet!" Mr. Fox calls after me, but I push the door open and emerge into the bright morning sunshine. An old woman glances at me as she walks past, and I can see the look of shock in her eyes. It's almost as if she knows what a stupid thing I just did. How the hell could I ever have thought I'd be able to walk into Elstion and Mainhew and just persuade them to re-open Crestview? Am I fucking delusional? Or am I just, deep down, a total moron? Taking a deep breath, I walk quickly along the street, wiping my eyes in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that I'm crying. When I get to my car, I take a moment to calm down before I realize that I know exactly what I have to do.
It takes me almost an hour to find Charles Taylor's house. I park just around the corner and take the final hundred meters on foot. Glancing at the nearby houses, I'm relieved that this seems to be a fairly quiet, leafy suburban street, so I'm fairly certain that no-one is going to notice me arrive. I walk quickly up the driveway, passing his car, and eventually I stop at the door and ring the bell. A plan is already forming in my mind; all I have to do is stay calm and get the job done. I look down at my hands and see that they're shaking; after a moment, however, the shaking stops, and I realize that I've managed to get my emotions under control again. That's always been one of my special skills: I can keep myself calm and focused when I really need to concentrate on the task ahead.
"Who is it?" calls out a voice from the other side of the door. I recognize him immediately, although he sounds a little more timid and concerned than usual.
"It's Juliet," I reply.
"Who?"
"Juliet, from Crestview."
There's a pause. "What do you want?"
"I just want to talk to you," I say. "I want to ask you a few questions."
"I don't have anything to say. You need to speak to someone at Elstion and Mainhew about your paycheck for the final -"
"It's not about my paycheck," I say, interrupting him. "I just want to talk to you about Crestview."
"I'm sorry," he replies, "I really don't have anything to say to you."
"Please?" I pause for a moment, waiting for him to open the door. "Just one minute of your time?"
After a couple of seconds, I hear him slide the lock across, and the door opens. It's kind of shocking to see how he's deteriorated: he always looked so smart and well-groomed at work, but it looks as if he's spend the past few days just sitting around, not washing and not even stepping outside his house. He squints a little, clearly unused to sunlight. "What do you want?" he asks. "I really don't want to talk about any of this."
"I just want to know what happened," I reply.
"You know what happened. I got set up."
"Set up?"
"Someone cooked the books and framed me. They made it look as if I'd been stealing from the company's accounts, which is obviously a ridiculous claim."
"Is it?"
"Thanks for stopping by, Juliet, but like I said, I've got nothing to tell you. I hope you find another job soon. You were a good worker. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm in a position to give you a letter of recommendation right now."
"I don't want a letter of recommendation," I say, stepping forward and pushing past him.
"Okay, enough's enough," he replies, turning to me. "Juliet, you have to get out of my house."
"It's a nice place," I say, stepping through into the lounge. "Did you pay for it with stolen money from Crestview?" I ask, picking up what appears to be a small marble statue of two naked men wrestling.
"Juliet -" he starts to say, as he shuts the front door.
Before he can get another word out, I turn and smash the statue into the side of his head, sending him reeling across the room. He steadies himself against the wall, but I hit him again and this time he drops to the floor. There's blood coming from a wound on the side of his forehead, but he's already struggling to get back to his feet. I watch as he crawls over to the coffee table and reaches up for his mobile phone; at the last moment, I step over him and push the phone away.
"I bet you wish you hadn't made bail now," I mutter, walking over to the curtains and ripping them down from the railing.
"Help!" he shouts. "Somebody help me!"
Stepping quickly over to him, I wrap the curtains around his neck, and then I twist the ends and start to garotte him. He reaches up and tries to get free, but he's too weak.
"This is for everything you did," I say firmly, pulling his head back so I can look directly into his eyes. "This is for fucking everything up. Why couldn't you just leave it all alone? Why did you have to make them close it down?"
Gasping, he tries desperately to push me away. As I pull the curtains tighter and tighter, I see his face starting to turn red.
"If you hadn't done this," I say, leaning closer to him, "everything woul
d have been okay. I could have just stayed working the night shift for the rest of my life, and I'd have been fine. I'd have been happy. But you had to ruin it all with your greed and stupidity." I pull the curtains even tighter around his neck; his face is really red now, and his eyes are almost popping out of the sockets. I want to taunt him, to tell him how much I hate him and why he has to die, but the words won't come out, so I just move my face closer and closer to his until we're almost touching, and I stare into his eyes and watch as his life fades away. After a few more seconds, he stops struggling, and I realize the only movement comes from the force with which I'm still holding the curtains. Still, I'm worried he might be faking it, so I keep hold of him for a few more minutes before finally letting go. His body slumps to the ground, and I see a dark red line around his neck.
I should feel bad, or sorry, or scared, but I don't. I just feel good. He deserved to die.
Chapter Two
Eleven years ago
I do this every morning now. Every single morning, without fail. It's a strange routine, but it's one that works.
Tilting the bottle, I watch as bleach pours out and into the gap behind the woodshed. I've very carefully positioned myself so that I don't have to actually look down at the corpse that's wedged in the narrow gap; having previously enjoyed seeing rotting bodies, I've lately decided that perhaps I've seen enough. All that matters is that I keep the smell down and prevent too many flies from congregating in the area. There are a couple of meaty bugs on a nearby wall, but overall it seems that I've managed to successfully contain the problem. After emptying the bottle out, I turn and head back to the house. Job done.
Once I'm inside, I carefully put the bleach bottle in the bin before washing my hands. I'm having to very, very carefully avoid thinking about what's being the woodshed; the subject is still somewhat raw, and I'd rather not have to deal with the truth. For now, I'm fairly certain I just need to keep on bleaching the area while I think of some other strategy. One thing's for sure: this arrangement can't last forever. I have to think of something else.
"How you doing there?" my father asks as he comes through to the kitchen.
"I'm okay."
"Been out in the garden, huh?"
I nod.
"What you got behind that woodshed? Something fun?"
Drying my hands, I carefully avoid answering his question.
"I might have to work late again tonight," he continues, grabbing a bowl and filling it with cereal. "Do you think you can do me a favor, Juliet? I've left some bills on the table. Can you go into my online bank and pay them? Just use some of the boat money."
I nod.
"Good girl," he adds, ruffling my hair before taking his cereal over to the table. "I'm really glad I can rely on you for more of these things. It's good to have some help around the place."
Pouring myself a glass of water, I go and join him at the table. It's weird, but although I don't want to spend time with him, I feel as if I should sit here in case he tells me anything useful. I need to learn how to do things around the house, and the internet can only teach me so much.
"Don't forget to mow the lawn," he says as he eats his cereal. "You also need to clean the windows once a month. Bring in the mail every day. Take the trash out regularly. Little things like that, you know? If in doubt, look at other houses in the street and copy what they're doing. Don't worry about things like sprinklers or any of that crap. Just keep it nice and simple. The last thing we want is people noticing the house, right?" He pauses for a moment. "You not having any cereal?"
I shake my head.
"Keep doing what you're doing with the bleach. It won't be forever. Whatever's behind there, it'll just be bones soon. Make sure you don't put anything big down the garbage disposal. The last thing you need is to get a blockage. In fact, don't use that thing at all, okay? It just introduces unnecessary complications. And make sure you go to school every weekday. If you start missing school, that's when they'll start asking questions. You sure you don't want some cereal?"
I shake my head.
"Okay." He finishes his bowl. "I guess that's everything. There's probably a million things I've forgotten, but for now let's just stick to the basics. I should be home at around six or seven tonight. You think you can manage dinner? There's burgers in the fridge, or at least there should be. If not, just get some money out and go to the shop." He pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry there's all this responsibility on your shoulders, Juliet, but I need help keeping the house in order." Grabbing his briefcase, he heads to the door. "Oh, and vacuum the floors. Don't forget to vacuum. Got it?"
I nod. Waiting for a moment, I hear him head out the front. His bowl of cereal is still sitting on the other side of the table, and it looks as if he didn't eat much; the bowl is still full, and the spoon looks clean. I move around and sit in his chair, and I start eating from the bowl. He was right: there's definitely a lot to get done today, so I need to -
The doorbell rings.
Sitting completely still, I try to work out what to do.
It rings again.
"Mr. Collier!" calls a voice. "You in there? It's Arthur Harriman from next door! I need a word."
Figuring I can handle Mr. Harriman, and that it's better to get on the case sooner rather than later, I head through to the hallway and open the door.
"Hello, Juliet," he says, staring down at me. "Is your father in?"
I glance out and see my father's car in the driveway. I guess he must have walked or taken the bus to work today. "No," I say after a moment's pause. "He's out at work."
"I don't seem to be having much luck catching him, do I?" he continues. "Well, did you give him my message the other day?"
I nod.
"I'm not one to nag, Juliet, but there's still a problem with those flies. There's less of them, but they're still around the place. Now, I don't want to call in the authorities, but I'm gonna be left with no choice if something isn't done soon. All I want is to be able to sit in my garden without being hassled by insects. Can you tell your father that?"
I nod.
"You home alone again?" he asks, seeming a little suspicious.
I nod.
"You're home alone quite a lot, aren't you?" He pauses. "Well, I guess your father has to work," he continues. "Still, it must be quite strange for you."
I shrug.
"Tell your father I'd like to speak to him," he says. "Face to face. Can you ask him to drop by tonight?"
I think about this for a moment. "I think he's going to be home late today, but I can get him to come and see you tomorrow. Would that be okay?"
"That'd be acceptable," he replies. "But make sure he gets the yard sorted out, or I'm gonna have to go poking about in there myself. Either that, or I'll call someone to do it. You understand?"
I nod.
"Okay." He stares at me for a moment. "Well, I look forward to speaking to your father tonight or tomorrow."
I nod, before swinging the door shut. Waiting in the hallway, I listen to the sound of Mr. Harriman walking back over to his own house. He's becoming a nuisance, and I need to find a way to get him off my back. There's only so long I can have him sticking his nose into my business. Sure, I could ask my father to go and talk to him, but I feel as if I want to prove that I can handle this situation by myself. Fortunately, I already have a plan; I always have a plan.
Chapter Three
Today
Because it's daylight, and because I still haven't quite come up with a plan yet, I have to sit around in Charles Taylor's house for the rest of the day. I can't move his body yet, since someone would be bound to notice, so I just leave him on the floor of the lounge while I go and take a look around the rest of the house. Having found a pair of gloves in one of his coat pockets, I've put them on in an attempt to make sure I don't leave any fingerprints, and finally a plan forms in my mind: I'll just hide his body away, and everyone'll assume he's skipped bail. They'll look for him, sure, but it'll never occur to th
em that someone would have killed him. With a little extra help from Jennifer Mathis, I should have absolutely no problem making sure that his death is never uncovered. Now that I've got a plan worked out, I can relax a little; a plan always makes me feel better.
As soon as it's dark outside, I go and fetch my car, backing it carefully into the driveway. It doesn't take long to get Charles Taylor's body into the trunk, and finally I'm able to do one final sweep for fingerprint traces before pulling the door shut and driving home. I feel strangely powerful as I make my way through the streets; I look like just a normal girl, and no-one knows that I've got a dead body with me. As I drive past a parked police car, I can't help but smile at the thought that I'm managing to keep everything so well hidden. It's as if I've waited my whole life to start playing some kind of elaborate game, and now I've got off to a great start. I just need to keep focused, stick to the plan, and - above all - remember to have a little fun.
When I get home, I head straight through to the back garden. Earlier today, before I headed off to Elstion and Mainhew, I retrieved my father's bones from behind the woodshed and packed them carefully into an old cloth sack. It feels so good to finally know the truth: after imagining my father still being in the house for so many years, I'm suddenly free from all that baggage. I'm at the beginning of a whole new phase of my life, and I just have a few more hours' work ahead of me before I can slip these bonds completely. As soon as my father's body is packed in the trunk next to Mr. Taylor's corpse, I drive to Crestview. I've made this journey so many times, but never with so much confidence. In fact, I'm even starting to think that it might be a good thing that the place has closed down; instead of being stuck in a rut and facing a lifetime of skulking about those dark corridors, I'm now going to be free to pursue some other path in life. Driving through the deserted late-night streets, I can't help but smile as I realize I'm happy Matthew Fox turned down my proposal. Life is better this way.
Pulling up close to Crestview, I stare out the window and see that there's a temporary fence around the site. A couple of bulldozers are parked nearby, presumably ready to flatten the entire building tomorrow. It's strange, but I feel as if the timing of this whole situation has worked out perfectly. I get out of the car and hurry over to the fence; it's no problem at all to slide one of the panels aside, and soon I'm backing my car right up to the building. I still have my old key for the front door, so I'm quickly able to start dragging Mr. Taylor's body out of the trunk and into the building. The lights are off, and it seems the power has been cut completely, but that's okay: moonlight is streaming in through the windows, and I know my way around this place. It doesn't take long before I've managed to drag Mr. Taylor all the way to the abandoned ward and then, finally, through to the rec room.
