by Amy Cross
"That's not what happened," I reply, starting to panic. "She was driving, and she opened her glove compartment and a jack-in-the-box sprang out and made her crash."
"A what?"
"A jack-in-the-box."
He smiles. "Where the hell did you get that idea from?"
"That's what happened," I say.
Smiling, he shakes his head. "It was a drunk driver. There were more than a dozen witnesses. Martina was just minding her own business and that asshole slammed into her."
"No," I say. "She... She was driving, and she reached into her glove compartment, and this jack-in-the-box leaped out at her and caused her to lose control, and she hit a wall and... That's what happened, I mean, it's just what happened. I remember -"
"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "You've got your wires twisted. I've even got the death certificate somewhere, and some old newspapers reporting the case. She didn't lose control of anything. It was drunk old Gareth Lockley and his truck."
"No," I say firmly, trying to stay calm. "She was driving along, and she opened her glove compartment and -"
"I'm sorry, Juliet," he says, interrupting me, "but you've been misinformed. No matter how many times you keep saying it, it's not true. Juliet was killed by a drunk driver. He admitted it in court. It wasn't even the first time he totaled someone else's car, either, and sadly it wasn't the last. Hell, if you really don't believe me, go to the jail on Cedar Street and see if you can visit him. Hurry up, though, 'cause the last I heard, he was dying of liver cancer."
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate on the truth. I don't know why Robert's making up this story about a drunk driver, but I know what happened. I put that jack-in-the-box in Martina's glove compartment, and just a few minutes later she was dead. It was a childish plan, but it worked, and it showed me that my actions could have consequences. Martina was the first person I killed, but she was in many ways the most important since she was the gateway. Her death showed me what I could do; if I hadn't succeeded in killing her, I wouldn't have been able to go through with the others.
"It's in the past," Robert continues. "It all happened eleven years ago. I could have done more to confront the guy, but I'd have gone crazy if I'd -"
"I've got to go," I say, standing up so fast that I bang the table. My cup of tea falls off the edge and hits the ground, spilling across the carpet. "Sorry," I mutter as I hurry over to the door.
"Juliet?" Robert calls out, but it's too late. I'm already outside, hurrying to my car. "Juliet!" he calls again, as I fumble for my keys and unlock the door.
"Fuck," I say as I drop the keys into the foot-well. I lean down and reach around for them; eventually I manage to pull them back up and start the car, by which point Robert has run out of his house and is leaning down to tap on my window.
"Juliet," he says, "what's wrong? Why don't you -"
Ignoring him, I start the engine and slam my foot on the pedal. The car lurches forward and the tires screech as I head down the road. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I see Robert standing and watching as I drive away. I don't know where I'm going, but I feel like I need to work out what's really happening. I know for a fact that Martina was killed by the jack-in-the-box I put in her glove compartment, because if she wasn't... I swing the car left, barely taking my foot off the pedal as I take a hard turn and race through the night. I'm well over the speed limit, but I don't care; I just have to keep driving, no matter where I end up. As I stare at the road ahead, suddenly there's a brief flash, like one of the shifts of perception I used to get when I was younger, and I find myself on a completely different road, halfway across town. I slam my foot onto the brake pedal and come to a halt, staring at my hands on the wheel. How the hell did I just forget my journey? Taking a deep breath, I glance out the window to see where I am, hoping that maybe I've managed to get home already. But I'm not home. Not yet.
Instead, I'm parked outside Crestview.
Chapter Six
Eleven years ago
Walking across the grass, I eventually reach my mother's grave. It looks as if the area has been recently mowed, so everything's kind of neat. Leaning down, I place a single tulip on the spot where my mother's little wooden box is buried. I know a tulip's not much, but I can't really afford to buy her a big bunch of flowers, so she'll just have to make do with something I was able to pick from a garden while I was on my way here. I know my mother was a nice person, and I'm sure she'll understand that I can't bring a load of roses every time.
"I know it was you," I say, staring down at the patch of grass. "I felt you with me last night, in the house." I pause for a moment. "I don't think I could have done it without you. Everything seemed too easy, so I could tell you were there to help me. Thank you."
Hearing a noise in the distance, I look over and see an old man coming out of the maintenance shed on the other side of the cemetery. He glances over at me as he locks the door, but he doesn't wave or even smile; he just turns and heads across the grass and out the main gate, with a sour look on his face. I guess some people don't like to say hello.
"I kept wondering why everything was going so well," I continue, looking back down at the ground. "When I killed Martina, it seemed so easy, and I was kinda surprised that it worked at all. But then last night, while I was in Mr. Harriman's house, I realized that someone must be watching over me and helping me, and there's only one person I could think might be doing that. You didn't have to say anything. I knew it was you."
I wait for some sign that she can hear me, but there's nothing. I don't really know what I was expecting today. I have no idea how ghosts work, but if my mother is helping me, surely she can give me some kind of signal? All I want is an indication that I'm not alone.
"I'm sorry I ran away from you," I say, thinking back to that moment in the hospital when I ran screaming after my mother bled all over me. "I shouldn't have done that, but I don't like blood. It was the blood I was running from, though. Not you. I would have come back the next day and told you, but you died."
I leave another pause, hoping that she'll take the opportunity to reply.
"I don't think I'm going to need your help all the time," I tell her, figuring that I don't want her to think that I'm begging for constant attention. "Not for things like last night, anyway. I don't want to do that kind of thing again. But I'm having to do a lot more stuff around the house at the moment, now that..." I pause, realizing that I'm not quite sure how to explain the situation with my father. "It's complicated," I say eventually, "but I have to learn how to do things. It's kind of fun, but if you could keep watching over me, that'd be useful. I use websites to check information, but sometimes it's difficult translating instructions into actions, if you see what I mean."
I stand in silence for a few minutes, giving her another chance to say something. Just as I open my mouth to keep talking, however, I suddenly realize that there's someone standing right behind me. My first instinct is to turn around, or to panic, but I force myself to keep staring at the grave. After all, if I look at my mother's ghost, she might vanish, and I prefer the feeling of having her around. I can feel her just inches from me, almost as if she's about to give me a hug. Standing completely still, barely even breathing, I try to make the moment last for as long as possible. Eventually, though, I realize I want to see her face. I know it's a mistake, and I know I'll probably ruin everything, but I just want to see her one more time. I take a deep breath, trying to fight the urge, but I'm too weak to resist for much longer. Turning around as quickly as I can, I hope that even if she fades away, I might at least get a glimpse of her before she goes.
But there's nothing there, and the feeling of her presence has gone, and I'm all alone.
Still, I know she was here for a few seconds, and that's enough of a sign. I'd hoped she might say something, but the sensation of her closeness will just have to be enough. After all, I can't be greedy. Making sure that my backpack is securely in place, I turn and walk quickly back across
the cemetery. I need to get home and see what's happening; I'm sure there'll still be people picking through the rubble of the Harrimans' house, and I'll need to be a little careful. Still, it's better than having Mr. Harriman poking around behind the woodshed or - worse - calling in the authorities about the smell. As I reach the gate, I turn back and look over at my mother's grave. I'd give anything to see her face again, but I'll just have to make do with the feeling that she's watching over me. I've got a feeling that everything's going to be okay.
Chapter Seven
Today
"What are you doing back here?" asks a familiar voice as I stand in the rec room of the abandoned ward. It's almost dawn, and I've been standing here for hours and hours, waiting for Jennifer to arrive. To be honest, I'd almost given up hope, but I figure I've got nowhere else to go. I need her. Finally she's here, and I turn to find her standing over by the door. In my whole life, I've never been so relieved to see someone.
"Where have you been?" I reply.
"Around," she says, smiling. It's as if she's being purposefully evasive. "Do you think I've got nothing else to do? Should I just sit around and wait for you to need me?"
"You've got to help me."
"Why?"
"It's all gone wrong."
She frowns. "What has?" Walking into the room, she circles me, as if she's studying every inch of my face. "It looks to me as if everything's gone very, very well. All the bodies are safely hidden, and the workmen have already started to arrive, ready to knock the place down."
"What if they find the evidence?" I ask, looking over at the cupboards that contain the five corpses I've stashed here. It's hard not to imagine them tumbling out into view. "What if the workmen come through before they knock the place down, and they look in the cupboards?"
"They've already been through to take a look," Jennifer replies. "They were here yesterday, making sure there was nothing they should remove. Section 15, paragraph 9 of the local construction code mandates that they have to look everywhere, including in all the cupboards, but of course they didn't bother. You know what people are like. Over-worked and under-paid; they just popped their heads around the door for a quick look, and then they ticked the boxes on their forms to say that they'd carried out a full inspection. There's only one job left for them to do now, and they're getting ready as we speak. I can hear the engines starting up. They're going to knock the whole place down."
"They can't."
"They're going to."
"They can't."
"Of course they can, and you can't stop them."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"If they destroy Crestview, where are you going to go?"
"Go?" She pauses for a moment. "Well, that's a good question. I suppose a lot depends on what, exactly, you think I am. You've shown a surprising lack of curiosity so far, Juliet. It's almost as if you're scared to ask, in case I disappear in front of your eyes. If I'm a ghost, I suppose I'll just have to hang around and haunt the new apartments when they're actually built. If I'm a figment of your imagination, on the other hand, I guess I can just follow you to wherever you go next." She smiles. "What do you think, Juliet? What am I? You must have an idea. You're not an idiot; deep down in your gut, what do you think I am?"
"Tell me," I reply.
"I want to know what you think."
"Tell me," I say again, trying to stay calm.
"Why does it matter so much?"
"Because I need to know if you'll still be around after they knock this place down."
"Then guess. Come on, surely you know. Or are you just scared of the truth?"
I take a deep breath, determined to stay calm. "Just tell me," I say eventually. "Don't play games." Suddenly I hear a noise in the distance, and I turn to look along the corridor. It sounds as if wood and metal and glass are being crushed.
I close my eyes.
"What's wrong, Juliet? Is there something you want to tell me?"
"I didn't kill Martina," I say suddenly.
"Who's Martina?"
"My father's girlfriend, years ago. The first person I ever killed. I found out tonight that I was wrong. It wasn't my fault."
"So what? If it's in the past -"
"You don't understand," I say, opening my eyes as I fight back the tears. "It was Martina's death that made me accept what I am. I knew from that moment that I'd always be evil. Pure, black-hearted evil. I knew I'd be a monster, so I embraced that side of my personality, but what if I was wrong? If I didn't kill Martina, if that was all just a childish misunderstanding, then none of this needed to have happened. I could have been normal after all. I could have had a normal life."
"You still killed your father," she points out.
"Because I thought I'd already killed someone else," I say, raising my voice. Why doesn't she understand? Tears are streaming down my face; I just want to curl up into a ball and wait for the building to collapse around me. "I thought I was a killer. I thought I was evil. But I wasn't. Not to begin with, anyway. Maybe I didn't -" I take a deep breath, and finally I start sobbing. It's been so many years since the last time I properly cried, and now it's happened twice in one day: first at the lawyers' office when I was trying to get my old job back, and now here; I'm losing control. "Why am I so stupid?" I say, my voice cracking as my lower lip trembles. "Why did I let myself believe all these things that weren't true?"
"Come and sit down," Jennifer says, taking my hand and leading me over to the sofa. The floor vibrates a little, and there's a distant crashing sound. "There," she says as we sit next to one another. "I certainly feel real, don't I?"
I nod.
"And warm? My skin feels warm, doesn't it?"
I nod again.
"You just have to move past all of this, Juliet. Anyway, are you really so sure that you didn't kill Martina? What made you suddenly decide this today?"
"Her brother told me," I say, burying my head in my hands. I feel the whole building shudder, and there's a sound of destruction getting closer and closer. I guess the workers have started knocking the place down, but I'm not ready to leave. Not now, and maybe not ever.
"Maybe he's wrong," Jennifer suggests. "After all, he didn't exactly seem like he was totally on the ball. Before you take anything to heart, maybe you should go and see this Gareth Lockley person in prison, and ask him for yourself."
I shake my head, and suddenly I realize the truth. Looking over at her, with tears still streaming down my face, I realize that Jennifer knows all about my visit to see Robert Hopkins already, which means she knows everything I know, which in turn means she's almost certainly just a product of my imagination. I don't need to tell her things, because she's already part of my mind. She's not real; as the realization sinks in, I feel this horrible, sick feeling in my heart.
I'm alone.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks.
"You're not real," I whisper.
"I need you," she whispers with a smile. "And you might not think that I'm real, but if I'm sitting here in front of you, and if you can feel my touch, and if I can make you feel better, then surely I must be real? Can't I be part of your imagination and still be real?"
I stare at her, still not knowing what to believe. The building shakes again, and this time it feels as if the source of the vibration is getting closer.
"How can I prove it to you?" she asks. "How can anyone prove that they're real? You spent the last eleven years living with your father, but you didn't notice that he was dead for most of that time." She pauses. "You're hardly a reliable witness, Juliet."
Again, the building shakes, but this time the tremors don't stop. I can hear walls being smashed down in the distance; eventually they're going to get through to this part, and I'll have to decide whether I'm going to stay or not. To be honest, I don't see much point in going anywhere; I might as well just get mashed up with the rubble of Crestview, along with all my victims. I don't even know who I am, not really, not
now I've discovered that I didn't kill Martina Hopkins. That moment was everything; it was the act that made me see my true nature, and now I've found out that it didn't really happen. Some drunk driver took my kill. Then again, I still intended to kill her, so I still had a black little heart, even all the way back then.
"It's getting closer," Jennifer whispers, as the whole room starts to shake. "Any moment now, a bulldozer is going to come crashing through one of the walls. Are you really going to still be sitting here when that happens?"
"Why not?" I ask, still sobbing. "At least it'd be a quick way to die."
"It wouldn't," she says. "It really wouldn't. Think about it. The machine slowly crushing you, squeezing your body until you burst. It'd take at least a few seconds. There'd be pain, Juliet. Unbearable, unspeakable agony. You'd feel your bones being crushed; you'd feel your whole body exploding as it's mangled into the building. It might be an interesting metaphor. It might even be poetic. But it most certainly wouldn't be quick or painless."
"It'd be followed by nothing," I say quietly. "Nothing ever again." As the words leave my mouth, the ceiling starts to shake, and small amounts of dust start to fall. "Life would be over."
She smiles. "You really don't get it yet, do you? You don't remember."
"Remember what?" I wait for her to answer, but she seems determined to make me suffer. "Maybe it's better if I die," I continue eventually. "At least that way, no-one else has to become one of my victims. Do you have any idea how close I came to killing Robert Hopkins today? I wanted him to get angry at me. I wanted him to hate me. If I get out of here, I'll probably go back to his house, tell him the truth, and put myself in a position where I have no choice but to kill him. And then what? How much longer would I have to keep doing that?"
