by Tilty Edin
A branch snapped from off. He assumed it must have been the coyote or bear, whichever it was, return to enjoy an easy meal.
He cringed. Reality seeped into his head despite being in his safe place. The numbers of kills were beginning to pile. He couldn't remember how many bodies he'd made this way. All he knew is that once it started the number was never high enough.
He knew he was an addict, and as far as addicts go, was the worst of it’s kind.
He always knew that if he would’ve been an alcoholic, he would’ve drowned in it before he could get to an early morning meeting. As a gambler, he wouldn't be able to hold a penny in his hands until the day he died, and if he were an addict for food, he’d be busy filling up an entire room of body mass.
Addiction made him feel half human. Only half a part of himself, and considering himself an addict for murder, he knew it was just a matter of time before he would kill enough to be caught and framed as one of the sickest human beings of all time.
He moved pieces of the body, sliding off skin to reveal an insect swarmed bone. The sight gave him a sort of power he couldn't explain. It was exciting and magical, and gave him the greatest sense of ease.
Another snap came from far off.
He lifted himself up, feeling no urge to wipe the dampening dirt off his knees. Although he wiped a rather satisfied smirk off his face and reluctantly put his jacket back on. He didn't feel cold in the least despite his icy skin nearly as cold as the corpse.
His dirty hands dug in his pockets. His dry mouth begged for the taste of a cigarette.
Another branch broke. Something was coming closer now, but he was unmoved. Whether the predator had wanted him or the last of the carcass, wouldn't matter. Walking miles into dark engulfing forests alone had become the least of his fears. How could it when he himself was the most brutal monster he had ever known?
His looked off into the blinding distance where the leaves rustle, lit a cigarette, and started walking back into the obscurity of the trees.
It was still so dark, reminding him of the way people always tend to think evil is too. Because it's the opposite of warm, comforting light. Dark. Obscure like a velvet black lake after sunset. Only the true evil know that in reality, evil has no color. There is nothing in evil. Evil is an everlasting void that never fills. You can try time and time again to get to color the heart of evil, but you can't and you never will. It has no final fufillment. Evil simply never ends.
When love can be felt so fully, even in such small doses, the wicked who cannot accept it will go on being the pioneers who look for evils non existant end.
He walked on straight to the right of him. Too far to the right and he'd run into his fire pit where he usually liked to burn clothing and victims.
The crunchy steps he made on the cold ground were noisier than they should have been. His shoes were two sizes too big, but once he came closer to the roadside, he took out the gloves buried in his pocket, slipped off the shoes in a hole and covered it up with dirt. It would be few more miles of walking alongside a dirt road until he got back to his green tinted car.
He unlocked the door and started it, placing his barefoot against the gas pedal and drove off.
Every so often he'd turn his headlights on, but this time he didn’t. He rolled down the window, letting the cool breeze blow against his muddy arms that rested on the car door.
He lit another cigarette, letting his mind lose itself. The dark roads ahead of him were like roads of pure obscurity.
If hell had a pathway when death arrived, he thought, that road was it.
If hell existed, it was certainly waiting for him somewhere, and if it wasn't, it was waiting for the God that allowed him to be born.
He laughed softly and narrowed his eyes that could almost see the light of dawn.
"Oh, let our love survive," he sang. "Or dry the tears from your eyes. Don't let a good thing die."
By the time the sun had partially risen, he parked into his driveway.
He thought of Leanne and how she never had a say in how she unknowingly rarely left a serial killer's thoughts. Not from the moment he woke up until the moment he went to bed. Not while scrubbing decks. Not as he packaged parts. Not as a typewriter cramped his fingers, and cleaning fluid stung his skin or as the hot sun burned his back. Not as he walked into the strangest of places at the strangest of times, and killed with his bare hands that she liked to hold often.
In the bathroom mirror he noticed redness clashing against his green irises settled in the whites of his eyes. Dried mud smeared on his forehead, and even then he appeared far from dangerous.
He showered until he no longer smelled of soil and rot.
When he went to shave, he accidentally pricked himself. He grabbed a tissue to hold against the cut, but it wouldn’t seem to stop the bleeding. The stinging pain evoked something; confusion. The lost parts in his mind he knew he'd never have.
The corners of his mouth twitched. His eyes watered. Although he accepted a part of himself as a cold blooded killer, another half was far from it. That concept about himself he couldn't seem to understand, and he supposed no one could. There are no good enough answers to explain the wicked.
As a boy, he always had a fascination with weapons and pain despite his peaceful, un-abusive family. A lot of boys do, but the fascination had only worsened as a teenager when he could find magazines anywhere of naked women in handcuffs, chained up to poles. That wasn't very normal, he supposed, but for sure these images existed, and weren’t at all hard to find. He knew that much he was not alone. Not alone at all.
It was always safe for him to say the violent images grew on him. He even had a good friend who started to supply him with the magazines and videos. He liked them just as much.
He walked into his room and leaned his bare back hard against the wall. His hands formed into fists. Even with all the corruption in his mind, he would never cry for self pity. Nor for his own helplessness, or for shame. He would kill again and again, despite the efforts in also trying to be a decent man to society. It's just who he was. It's just what he did. Just what made him tick.
21
3:30pm
Leanne stood up from her desk and turned in her final exam. The light shining inside her was almost as bright as the afternoon sun beaming in through the windows. She shook her professor’s hand.
"It's been a pleasure Miss. Robinson," he said. "Hope to see you at graduation. Good luck on your life’s journey."
Outside the classroom, a warm wind rushed through the trees as she strolled along the sidewalks. Big, fluffy clouds passed slowly overhead. Birds whistled into the breeze. She reveled in an afternoon that couldn't have felt any more perfect, almost too perfect to seem real. Maybe it was just all the excitement from the warmer weather, college at its end, opportunities on their way, and the thought of knowing the man she wanted the rest of her life.
She got to her car and drove to one of the coffee shops to meet Tracy, but when she arrived, she wasn't anywhere in sight.
The aroma of coffee urged her to order some without her. She brought it back to one of the tables, taking a few sips until it cooled.
Maybe she just missed the cab.
Someone familiar looking walked in shortly after. He had a dark green pullover and brown hair. His brow lifted.
"Leanne?" he asked, with a curious tone in his voice.
She waved. "Hey Tim.”
He took a seat next to her. "Tracy wanted me to tell you she's with her sister who just had a baby," he said. "It was on the down low."
Leanne's eyes widened a bit, looking at him in surprise. "Jeepers,” she said. “I hope that’s good news."
"She seemed a little worried, but I think she's excited," he replied. "They're going to break the news to their parents. It came as a complete surprise."
"Hard to believe she hid it all this time," Leanne said. "I'm glad for her though. I hope it's all okay."
"You wouldn't happen to be very busy, are y
ou?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I'm going to get a coffee," he said. "I was wondering if I could stick around?"
Her pony tail wisped with the winds coming in through the opening doors.
"No, go ahead," she said. "I'd be glad for some company."
He smiled. "Be right back."
She watched the crowds from the windows while he waited in line, dropping another sugar cube in her coffee and stirred.
Tim sat back down. "So, Tracy told me to congratulate you," he said, setting his coffee on the table.
She smiled smugly. "Just took my last final over at the university."
"Congrats!"
"Thanks,” she said. “And kind of you for helping Tracy. She might be a bit of a wild child, but I know she can't wait to get back. She really loves law, which is strange to me. It's so boring."
He took a sip of coffee. "And she really doesn't need much of my help either."
"Thinking about staying around here?"
"Yeah," he said. He shrugged. "It's hard to think how I would’ve been drafted if I wasn’t so far in my schooling. My cousin wasn’t so lucky. And I think we’ve had enough meddling in Vietnam. Thankfully that ordeal is near over...Anyway, doing any celebrating tonight?"
"Going to see my parents," she said. "Then my boyfriend. He said he has a special dinner for me tonight."
"Sounds romantic," he said. "Tracy told me you're dating her crush?"
She laughed. "I wouldn't say crush.”
"I feel like she's a little jealous about it," he said. "You know, her and I have been friends for some time. I always want to tell her how I really feel about her. I can't. She always seems to be all about someone else, yet she still gives these little annoying hints that she's onto me too. At least, I think they're hints."
She took a sip of coffee. "That's Tracy for you."
He ruffled his hair. "And that's romance for me," he said. "It's never been an easy thing. At least someone’s having some luck. She says you've been on cloud nine ever since."
She smirked. "It strikes in the oddest of times," she said.
"If it strikes at all."
"Hey," Leanne said. "Tracy might warm up one day. If not, you'll find someone. You’ll know it when you do."
"How would I know though?" he asked. "How do you know?"
"I don't know. You just know. You feel it."
"Like, instinctive?"
"Yeah." She laughed. "Something like that."
"I suppose it means finding someone who feels the same about you?”
"Well, it takes two people."
He laughed. "Sorry," he replied. "I might know a lot when it comes to books and tests, but when it comes to the important things, count me helpless."
"Oh, don't worry Tim. You'll find her."
He wiped away a smile. "I'll be looking forward to it, Leanne."
Later that day, outside on Leanne’s parents back porch she sat on a patio chair. Deep green ivy twisted and twirled all up the pillars, dangling from garden trellis. A large pitcher of homemade lemonade sat in the middle of the glass table, sweating in the last of the day’s heat.
The screen door swung open. Peter walked out, unusually not in a suit and tie but in some comfortable pants and a T shirt and poured himself some lemonade.
He grinned. "One minute you're our little petunia, the next you're dating and finishing college."
“Oh, how time flies."
“That it does,” he agreed. “I’m very proud of your accomplishments so far. We knew you could do it,” He laughed, “And not that Dad's opinion matters but I think you’d do great in business, just like me.”
“That is what I went for, after all.”
“What about dancing?” he asked.
“I still want to dance,” she said, almost cautiously.
“Where at?” he asked. "Know exactly yet?"
“Still in movies, concerts,” she said. “Plays.”
“But it’s hard to make a living out of it.”
"Looks like I'm having more luck with modeling," she said. "Still waiting for an agency to call me back, but they said they would.
“You could teach dance too you know," Peter suggested. "You know, if they don't call back."
Leanne rested her head on her hand. "Yeah. If they don't."
"I'm sure they will," he said. "A
He poured himself some lemonade. “I hope Alex comes out here soon,” he said with a sigh. “She’s been rummaging the house all day. Looking for something. I don't know what.”
She half smiled. “If she doesn’t join us, I understand.”
“You know, Leanne," he said. "There aren’t any good lines to draw when it comes to love. Especially when you have a kid involved. You just want to do everything you can to give them the best life.”
She looked up at him and smiled hopefully. “I think you’ve done a lot more for Mom than most people would even consider.”
He took a heaping breath. “Thank you,” he said.
She noticed something in his grey eyes shift. Something very distraught wondered in them.
"Dad," she said. "Is something wrong?"
He looked away.
She knew he was biting his tounge. "You can tell me, Dad."
"It's just," he said. "This is not the day to tell you, but, in a way, it might help you make more sense of it."
"What is it?"
"Well, Leanne. The doctors say she's showing the early signs of dementia."
“What can we do?” she asked.
He lowered his head and gave a somber look. “Leanne, I still think Alex thinks you’re Sophia,” he admitted softly.
She looked away, feeling a small knot form in her throat.
A dragged sigh came from behind them. They both looked back to Alex behind the screen, standing silently. Watching them.
She stepped outside when they noticed. A newly lit cigarette dangled in her shaky hands. “Talking about me, are you?” she asked. “I thought this was supposed to be a day for you, Leean. Not me.”
Peter smacked his hands on the table shaking the lemonade so much it almost fell over. “Alex!”
Her frail voice cracked. “So what, I’m not invited here?” she whimpered. "Was I ever?"
She turned away. The screen door slammed behind her.
Peter grunted. "So sorry," he said. “I’ll be right back."
"No, please." Leanne shrugged, “Don’t worry, Dad."
“No,” he said firmly before storming in the house after her. “She may be sick, but I won’t let her do this. Not anymore.”
Leanne, alone, took a slow sip of lemonade. “But she's already gone,” she said quietly to the windblown bushes.
22
8:25pm
As night fell, Leanne pulled up into Tod's driveway. Stepping out of the car, she felt something too still about the neighborhood, as if all the neatly lined houses and lawns were nothing more than a painted picture. She would have believed it, had the wind not stirred, flashing bits of the moonlight on the crisp wet leaves on the rustling trees.
She walked up to the door slowly, and pulled out a steady hand to knock. She waited, feeling the cool night air tangle around her like the ivy vines crawling up the steps and house. In her mind were memories, lasting no longer than the smallest second of the night she had first been there. She had barely remembered it, but felt it so strongly, as if it were real again.
Muffled noises came from behind the door. They sounded like a moving box. Maybe something heavier.
Her mouth felt dry. She curiously leaned in closer until her ear was up against the door. When it finally opened, a soft yellow light came pouring out to her.
"Hey," she smiled into it.
Tod welcomed her. "Come in."
She stepped inside anticipating the stiff frigid winter she had felt in the house before, but now, a sweet scent tangled with the warm hints in the white walls glowing with the brightness from the flickering fire in the living room.<
br />
A tea kettle screeched from the kitchen.
He rushed over to silence it. "Make yourself at home," he said. "Please."
She watched a glimpse of him from the rounded wall shutting off one of the burners and brought the kettle to bright red mugs as she wandered over to the sofa. Orange decorative pillows she hadn't seen before clashed against the hazel leather fabric. She made herself comfortable, watching the fire flicker brightly in the fireplace.
He came back over, holding the mugs by the handles and setting them gently on the coffee table. "It’s green tea with honey," he said.
She lifted the mug near her lips. The steam tickled her nose.
He rubbed her shoulder. "I hope you don't mind having dessert first."
She set the cup back on the coffee table. “I don’t.”
He sat beside her and smirked, "I making something special."
She snuggled up beside him. He rested his head on her shoulder and played with her hands.
The sweetest silence surrounded them, as if allowing their souls to wander off for a moment to forget they had bodies at all.
He moved a piece of hair away from her ear. He whispered, "Do you feel that?"
Her eyes burned into his. He was so drawn to them, almost painfully, like moths to patio lights.
She kissed him once, felling as if it had been ages since they'd been this intimate. “I do."
He moved away with her hands slowly sliding away from his as he stood back up. "I think it’s ready," he said.
She folded her knees up to her chest. Her narrow, bare legs spilled from her thin summer dress.
He returned setting a few bowls and two wine glasses on the coffee table and a bottle of sherry. In the bowls were different bits. Some were bananas, strawberries, cake and cookie bits. In the middle, a big bowl of carefully melted, creamy milk chocolate.
He took out the bottle opener, removed the cork and began pouring glasses of Sherry. He chuckled. "For old times’ sake."
Before he took a sip, she grabbed his wrist. With another hand she lifted her glass to his. "To the night we met," she said.
