by Amy Cross
"What's one more dead body on the pile?" she asks. The whole room is shaking now, as an ominous rumble gets closer and closer.
"I'm not a killer!"
"The bodies in those cupboards say otherwise, Juliet. They say you're a cold-hearted murderer who won't let anyone stand in her way. Think about it for a moment. Did those people really deserve to die? Some of them, maybe. But not all of them. Did Mr. Harriman deserve to die? Does Robert Hopkins deserve to die? Are you going to spend the rest of your life killing everyone you meet who doesn't live or to your high standards, or who causes you problems?" She smiles. "What about your father, Juliet? Did he deserve to die?"
"But if -" Suddenly there's a huge crashing sound; I look up and see a massive cloud of dust at the far end of a nearby corridor, as one of the walls is ripped down. "If this is how I see the world," I continue, finally managing to hold back the tears, "then maybe I don't belong here. Maybe I should just accept that I'm not right." As I stare along the corridor, I see parts of another wall start to come down; moments later, one of the bulldozers rolls past, flattening the rubble. "Maybe this should have happened long ago. I tried my best, but some people just aren't made to keep on living."
"You have to decide," Jennifer says, "but I promise you I'll be with you if you decide to keep trying. Whether or not you're sure I'm real, I'll be there. I'll help you."
"It's not enough," I say quietly, watching as the second bulldozer smashes through a closer wall.
"It's not?"
I shake my head. The man in the second bulldozer turns his steering wheel, and the huge machine starts lumbering toward me. There's so much dust in the air now, it's getting harder and harder to see. I figure I can just sit here and wait to be crushed. It's not like I actually have to do anything; I can just sit here and wait for the end to come. Maybe Jennifer's right, maybe it'll hurt; but at least it'll be over. I stare at the machine as it gets closer and closer. Just a few seconds of strength, and I'll never have to feel any pain ever again. It's the only thing that makes sense. No more pain. No more fear. No more -
"Hey!" shouts a voice, and the bulldozer slows down. Staring up, I see that the dust has cleared a little, and the driver is staring straight at me. "Who the fuck are you?" he shouts. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
I stare at him. My mind is blank and it's as if I'm rooted to the spot.
"We've got company," the man says as he grabs a radio from the dashboard. "Call the cops."
Panicking, I get to my feet and run along one of the remaining corridors. When I get to the end, I see that the section to the left has already been demolished, so I'm able to step straight out of the building. I turn to look back, but there's no sign of Jennifer. Hearing more shouts headed my way, I run toward the street and away along the sidewalk. If I look back, for even a moment, I'll probably see those men chasing me; I keep running, racing across intersection after intersection until finally I collapse on the sidewalk, desperately short of breath.
"Are you okay?" asks a woman nearby, reaching down to my shoulder. Brushing her away, I get back to my feet and run as fast as I can. I feel as if I have to get away from everything; if only that man hadn't seen me at the last moment, I'd be dead by now and I wouldn't have to worry about anything. No pain. No fear. No regrets. Stopping at the next street corner, I try to decide which way I should go. For some reason, I'm filled with the urge to go back and face Robert Hopkins again, but I tell myself it would be a mistake to confront him right now, so I head home instead. That's what a normal person would do, right? A normal person would go home.
As soon as I reach the house, I see three police cars in the driveway. Panicking, I slip down the side and through into the back garden. Hearing voices by the back door, I hide behind the woodshed, figuring I can just wait here until they've gone. My heart is racing, and I'm terrified that they'll find me at any moment. Closing my eyes as tight as possible, I try to work out what to do. I've got nowhere left to run, and nowhere left to hide; I'm almost out of money, and I have no friends. Looking down, I spot a piece of bone on the ground. It takes a moment before I realize that it must be from my father.
"Juliet?"
Opening my eyes, I look over to see Jennifer standing nearby.
"It's okay," she says. "You can come out."
I stare at her, unable to shake the feeling that she might be luring me into a trap. After all, I didn't hear those police cars driving away.
"Juliet," she continues, "you've been behind there for more than two days. You need to come out."
I stare at her. I don't hear any other voices nearby, but I didn't notice any kind of blackout. Have I really been hiding here for so two days? It's been so long since I used to suffer from regular blackouts, but perhaps they've come back with a vengeance.
"Come on," she says, holding out her hand. Cautiously, and still not entirely convinced that I can trust her, I step out and see that the police cars have gone. "After you ran from Crestview," she says, "they had to check to make sure there was no-one else inside. That's when they found the bodies. All of them."
"But they don't know it's my fault," I stammer, feeling as if my world is falling apart. The one thing I thought I could rely on was that no-one would ever, ever find those bodies. "They can't. There's no link to me. There's no way they can -"
"Your car was parked outside," she replies, interrupting me. "They also used dental records to identify your father's remains." Leaning forward, she gently kisses my forehead. "They know, Juliet. They know everything. They're looking for you."
"So what do I do?" I ask. "Tell me. I don't care, just tell me. Where do I go?" I wait for her to answer, but she just stares at me. "Tell me!" I shout, grabbing her arm. "Tell me where to go! Please! Fix this!"
"Stop shouting," she hisses, her voice almost a whisper. "You'll attract attention."
I stare at her. "I'll go to California," I say eventually. "I'll get a new identity, and I'll... I'll start a new life. I'll bury Juliet Collier and choose a new name. I'll never be me again. I'll be normal. I won't kill anyone. I'll find someone to marry, I'll have children, I'll be like everyone else. I'll just live out the rest of my life as a quiet, normal person. No-one ever has to know the truth about me. They'll just think I'm a totally normal, nice person, with no -"
"California?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "Where did that idea come from?"
"What's wrong with California?" I ask. "We can... we can..." I pause for a moment, trying to make sense of the thoughts that are flooding my mind. Reaching into my pocket, I feel the fragments of bone that I took from my mother's ashes.
"You're babbling," she says, placing a finger against my lips. "Do you really think you can get out of this with some crazy scheme? Just like when you thought you could run Crestview single-handedly, or when you thought you could keep all your emotions under control? You're manic, Juliet. Crestview's gone. If you thought you could lock everything away where no-one would ever find the truth, you were wrong. You're not going to California. You're not going to hide away and be a normal person. You can't. They won't let you."
"Who won't?" I ask, desperate for her to help me. "Why would they bother looking for me?"
"You're a serial killer, Juliet."
I stare at her, as those stone-cold words sink into my heart. "No," I say. "No, I'm not!"
She nods. "My poor, sweet darling. You are. I tried to help you. I did everything in my power. If you'd just stayed away, Crestview would have been demolished and those bodies would have been missed forever. But you had to come rushing back, didn't you?"
"I'm not a serial killer!" I shout. "Why are you saying that?"
Before she can answer, however, I hear a noise nearby, and I spot a police car pulling up at the front of the house.
"You've got to help me," I hiss at Jennifer. "Stall them. Do something. Give me time to get away go to California. I can handle the rest, but just help me! Meet me there! Go, and I'll catch up! It might take me a while, but I'll get ther
e eventually, and I'll find you! Promise me you'll go!"
"You wouldn't ever have killed yourself, would you?" she asks, grinning. "You want to live. You'll never give up. You didn't give up when your father died, and you won't give up now, even when it's so obvious that you haven't got a chance."
"Stall them!" I shout, before turning and running across the garden. Reaching the fence, I start hauling myself up; seconds later, however, I feel someone grab me from behind, pulling me down and slamming me into the ground. I try to get up, but a police officer holds me down while his colleague aims a gun straight at my face. I struggle, but there's no way to get free.
"Juliet Collier!" the first officer shouts. "You're under arrest on suspicion of multiple counts of murder. Full charges will be read to you at the station. You have the right to remain silent, and the right to consult an attorney. If you don't have an attorney, one will be provided for you."
Still trying to get free, I look up at the top of the fence. If I can just get up there, I'll be able to escape and go to California, or maybe even abroad. I'm so close...
"Is the other one with you?" the second officer shouts.
I stop struggling and stare blankly at him.
"Is the other one with you?" he shouts a second time, still holding the gun out toward me.
"What other one?" I ask.
"Just now," he says, glancing across the garden. "There was another woman with you. Where did she go?"
"Another -" I pause for a moment, and then I realize he meant Jennifer. Relaxing, I let my head fall back against the grass and I start laughing. I'll still make it to California. I don't know how, but I'll make it some day. Jennifer will help me. There's no way she'd abandon me completely. I just have to wait, and she'll help me. She'll meet me out there in the sun. As the police officers handcuff me and start dragging me across the lawn, and past the woodshed, I can't stop laughing.
Chapter Eight
Eleven years ago
Walking home from the cemetery, I find myself just a few blocks from Dr. Larson's office. It's been a couple of weeks since the last time I saw him, and I hate the thought of ever speaking to him again. Still, I can't help taking a slight detour so that I can at least see his front door. Stopping off at a convenience store, I buy an ice cream and then go sit on a nearby wall. I figure I should try to see Dr. Larson one final time, even at a distance, so I can prove to myself that I'm not scared. Besides, I doubt he'll notice me; I'll just sit and eat my ice cream and hopefully I'll spot him leaving work.
After an hour, I'm still sitting on the wall, and there's no sign of Dr. Larson. Part of me thinks that this whole thing is silly, and that I should just go home. However, there's another part of me that's determined to see his face one final time. My stomach is rumbling a little, but I can't go home and eat yet; I have to see him.
Eventually I start trying to pass the time by practicing how to laugh. There's no-one nearby, so I figure I won't attract any attention. I try laughing, but it sounds completely fake, so I try again, and again, but each time I just sound weird. I try tickling myself, but that doesn't work, and I try thinking of something funny, but that's no use either. It's been so long since I properly laughed, and I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever be able to do it again. If not, I need to get better at faking it, otherwise people are going to think I'm weird. Pausing for a moment, I try to remember what it's like when other people laugh. Finally, I give it one more try, but once again I just end up sounding like an idiot.
Suddenly I see the door to Dr. Larson's office swing open, and he steps out. My heart starts to race as I watch him heading to his car, where he quickly throws his briefcase onto the back seat before climbing into the front and driving away. It was just a small glimpse, but I'm glad I saw his face. For a moment, I imagine what it would have been like if I'd actually gone over and spoken to him. He'd probably have tried to get me to go back inside so he could mess with my head again, but I'd have run away. Sometimes I wish I could sneak into his house and turn on his gas taps, and then sneak out and watch the explosion. Then again, I think the best thing to do would be to just ignore Dr. Larson's existence. He's part of the past, not part of the future, and I can't let myself get bogged down in things that aren't important.
Deciding it's time to go home, I realize that I've been holding my ice cream for hours, and the chocolate has melted all over my hand. I guess I was so pre-occupied with watching for Dr. Larson, I didn't notice what was happening. It takes a few minutes to wipe everything away, but eventually I start walking home. As I pass the front of Dr. Larson's office, however, I glance over at his door and fail to notice a small step at the edge of the car park; I try to stay upright, but I quickly fall to the ground, gashing my knee against the gravel. The pain is intense, and I look down to see that I've ripped a piece of skin from my knee. I start brushing dirt from the wound, but tears are soon running down my cheeks as I start to cry.
"Hey!" calls out a voice, and I hear someone rushing over to me.
Looking up, I see a familiar face. As she kneels down and takes a look at my injury, I realize where I've seen her before: it's Dr. Larson's secretary.
"That looks nasty," she says, smiling kindly. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a tissue and uses it to wipe my tears away. "Come on," she adds, taking my hand, "let's go and sort this out."
I get to my feet and allow her to lead me into Dr. Larson's office. Although I hate the idea of being in here again, there's something nice about the feeling of having her hand touching mine. I sit on the sofa and watch as the secretary grabs a small First Aid box, from which she quickly produces a swab and some cream.
"I bet that must have hurt," she says as she dips the swab into the cream. "This is going to sting, but it's important to clean the wound, okay?"
I nod. Seconds later, she gently applies the swab and I force myself to keep quiet and calm as she teases out the pieces of dirt and gravel that have got wedged into the wound. Although she was right when she said that it would sting, I can't help enjoying the sensation of having her help me.
"You're Juliet, right?" she asks, as she continues to clean the injury. "I remember you from when you used to come to see Dr. Larson."
I nod.
"You haven't been for a few weeks. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," I say. "I don't have to come anymore."
"I see." She takes a piece of gauze from the First Aid box. "Today's my last day here too. I'm leaving to go and study out of state for a few years. I'm going to be a nurse, so this is good practice for me." She smiles as she cuts the gauze and carefully wraps it around my knee. "I think you're going to be okay, Juliet. Just make sure to show your father, so he can take care of it after you get home. If it gets left too long, it could become infected. You don't want that, do you?"
I shake my head.
"There," she says, after slipping a bandage over the gauze. "All done. See? Not so bad after all, was it?"
"No."
"If you like, I can drive you home. You don't want to be walking on that nasty wound, do you?"
I pause for a moment, and then finally I nod. The secretary makes me wait by the door while she finishes closing up, and then she leads me to her car. It's strange, but although I usually hate spending time with other people, something about this woman makes me feel really comfortable. It's almost as if she has some kind of calming effect on me, and as she starts driving me home, I start to feel a little sad at the thought that I'll probably never see her again after today.
"So how did I do?" she asks, glancing over at me. "As a nurse, I mean. How many marks would you give me out of ten?"
"Ten," I say.
"Come on," she replies with a laugh, "you don't have to be nice. Don't be scared of hurting my feelings. Honestly, how many out of ten?"
"Ten," I say again, smiling a little.
"Well, that's very nice of you," she says. "I'm not sure I believe you completely, but I'll take a compliment when it's offered."
&
nbsp; "Are you going to be doing things like this when you're a nurse?" I ask.
"I don't think so," she replies, keeping her eyes on the road. "I think I'm going to be specializing in care for elderly patients. Is this your street?"
Looking out the window, I realize we're approaching my house. "Over there," I say reluctantly, not wanting the journey to end.
"Wow," she says, staring out at the rubble where Mr. Harriman's house once stood. "What happened there?"
"There was an explosion last night," I say. "Something to do with gas. My next-door neighbor and his wife got killed."
"Oh God," she continues, turning to me with a sad look in her eyes. "That's so awful!"
I nod. "I don't think they suffered," I point out. "It must have been really quick. They just got, like, blown up while they were asleep."
"I guess so." She sighs. "Well, Juliet. I guess this is goodbye. I hope your knee heels soon. Don't forget to have your father take a look at it, okay?"
I nod.
"Great," she says, leaning across me and opening the door on my side. "I've got to get home and finish packing," she continues. "You wouldn't believe how many things you have to do when you're moving house."
I sit and stare at her. For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe I could ask her to help me. I could tell her that something seems to be wrong with my father, and that there's something nasty behind the woodshed; I could ask her to come into the house, and I could tell her everything. I could even tell her about Martina. There's just something about this woman that makes me feel that she'd be nice to me, and that she'd understand me. Eventually, however, I realize that I'm being stupid. Turning to get out of the car, I spot her name badge sitting on the dashboard.
"Is that your name?" I ask.
"Yep," she says. "Jennifer Mathis."
"It's a nice name," I say, getting out of the car and pushing the door shut, before standing back and staring at her. She smiles and waves before pulling away, and I watch as her car heads down the street and eventually disappears from view. I wish she'd stayed, but I suppose I shouldn't be trying to rely on other people. Only a weak and feeble person would cling to something that amounted to little more than a brief moment of kindness from a stranger. Forcing myself to forget about Jennifer Mathis, I cross the road. I'm on my own now. I can't rely on my father; for some reason, he seems vague and distant these days. I'm alone, but that's okay. I don't need anyone else. Taking care to step around all the debris on the lawn, I head into the house.
