by Amy Cross
"I don't seem to be having much luck catching him, do I?" he continues. "Well, did you give him my message from 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, staring at him.
I nod.
"You're home alone quite a lot, aren't you?" He pauses. "Well, I guess your father has to work," he continues, but he seems a little suspicious. "Still, 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 kind of 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 them 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.
Sitting in his kitchen, I spend most of the afternoon flicking through magazines and drinking cups of tea. It's weird, but my entire life has been spent feeling awkward and out of place, yet recently I've found two completely new ways to feel calm and happy. The first was when I was working at Crestview, and the second is sitting in Charles Taylor's kitchen while I wait to move his body. I guess it's pretty strange to feel so calm after I've just killed someone, and I can't shake the feeling that there's something seriously wrong with me; then again, I can't manufacture fake sorrow or guilt, so I guess I just have to go with my true feelings. I have to be myself.
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 that's slowly forming in my mind, 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 reading 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.
Whereas it felt normal to be in the main part of the building with no lights, the abandoned ward feels a little odd in the dark. For some reason that I never quite understood, the lights in the abandoned section were always left on, so the place was lit up brightly. In the dark, it feels a little strange to be here, but I don't have time to be creeped out. I haul Mr. Taylor across to one of the storage cupboard, pulling open the door to reveal Lizzie McGuigan's rotting, bloated corpse. I'm immediately hit by the foul stench of decay, but I force myself to get on with the job, and it doesn't take much effort to push Mr. Taylor on top of her and finally shut the door. I pause for a moment, surprised by how well this whole operation is going, and then I head off to grab my father's bones from the car. Once that final job is complete, and the bones are laid neatly with Piotr Cymbalista's corpse, I stand back and admire my handiwork. I've done it. I've actually, finally done it. And then it hits me -
No more deaths.
I killed these people for a reason. Lizzie McGuigan was a cruel tyrant who was abusing the patients. Piotr Cymbalista was causing trouble. Stephen Larson made my life hell when I was a child. Charles Taylor ruined everything by stealing from Crestview and forcing the place to be closed down. And the list of my father's cruelties is just too long to detail. Still, I feel as if this chapter of my life is closed. I killed the people who needed to be killed, and now I don't need to kill anyone else. It's not as if I'm some kind of bloodthirsty monster who has to satisfy an appetite for blood. I'm totally comfortable with every decision I've made, and I feel as if I've taken the evil in my heart and used it for good. It's not my fault that I was born like this, but at least I've used my talents to make the world a better place.
"Jennifer?" I call out, hoping that she might come to join me at this moment of victory. To be honest, Jennifer Mathis is the one part of this whole situation that still worries me. I feel as if she's inextricably linked to Crestview, and I'm scared of losing her when the building is pulled down. She's been so useful to me, and she's become my only real friend. If she goes away, I'll be all alone.
Wandering through the corridors of the abandoned war
d, I keep expecting to find Jennifer waiting for me, but there's no sign of her. Eventually I reach the bathroom, where I carefully remove the grating at the far end and take out Jennifer's mobile phone. It's been so long since my first night shift, when I found this phone ringing behind the grate and realized that Jennifer wasn't alive. I still don't know exactly who or what she is, or where she came from, and I guess maybe I'll never know the truth. Figuring that the phone might be my only chance to keep in touch with her, I slip the phone into my pocket before heading back through to the main part of the building. There's a part of me that's going to miss this place. I've always had a tendency to be nostalgic about buildings rather than people; I walk through the red ward, and then the blue and green wards, and finally I come to the reception area and realize that it's time to leave. This place has been good to me, and I would have happily stayed for the rest of my life. But those days are over now, and at least I have somewhere else to go. I have a life to live.
"Bye," I say quietly. I wait a moment, just in case Jennifer Mathis decides to appear, but the whole building seems to be empty. Finally, I place my key on the coffee table, before turning and heading out the door. It's weird to think that this morning, I was desperately trying to find a way to save Crestview, and now I'm happy to leave the place forever. I guess I'm adaptable and resourceful. As I get into my car and pull away, I realize that I'm a survivor. No matter what life throws at me, I can make it through. I thought I was this weak, scared little creature, but now I know that I'm resilient. I've spent long enough living in the shadow of my father's ghost, dreaming up insult after insult, allowing his memory to push me around. I'm finally free, although...
As I drive through the streets of the town, I realize there's one final thing that I've forgotten. One person I still need to visit. There's a part of me that thinks I should leave it well alone, and just forget about things that happened a long, long time ago. Still, I've been building up to this moment for quite a while, and I need to at least say goodbye properly. Perhaps I won't reveal the whole truth, but I still have to pay my respects and acknowledge the past. As I finally pull up outside Robert Hopkins' house, I think back to the day many years ago when I use the jack-in-the-box to kill Martina. Even before that moment, I always knew I was a bad person, but it was Martina's death that proved to me that I'm evil. If I hadn't killed her, I'd never have had the courage to kill my father or the other people. Sitting in the car, I stare out at Robert's house and see that the lights are still on. This is crazy. Everything is perfect. I've solved every problem and tidied away ever loose end. I should just drive away and forget all about Robert and his long-dead sister, but I feel this irresistible urge to pay one last visit to a symbol of the past. Taking a deep breath, I get out of the car and walk along his driveway; I pause again, and then I ring the bell.
Chapter Four
Eleven years ago
Mr. Harriman's house is surprisingly hot; so hot, in fact, that I kinda can't help wondering how he and his wife can manage to sleep. Then again, I suppose old people like to be warm at night. As I walk quietly through the darkened hallway, I glance up at a nearby clock and see that it's just after 1am. So far, everything's working out perfectly. I can even hear two sets of snores coming from upstairs, which means I can be certain they're both asleep. I just need a couple more minutes, and then I can get out of here and wait for the explosion. My heart is racing as I think about what's going to happen if my plan comes together.
When I reach the kitchen, I head straight for the stove. As I'd hoped, it's hooked up to gas, which means I don't even have to bother with my back-up plan; I swear, it feels as if someone is watching over me, helping me to get everything done. After pausing for a moment, I turn all four dials on the front of the hob, and I hear the gas start to hiss; turning, I hurry back through to the hallway and out the front door, which I carefully pull shut after myself. I almost forget to remove the wire that I used to pick the lock. I guess I'm lucky that there was no alarm system, and that the lock was as easy to open as the website had suggested. Once again, it's as if someone is watching over me, helping me to get these things done.
Heading back to my house, I carefully lock the door and go straight to bed. I need to make sure that everything seems totally normal, and I have to avoid waking my father up. I can't sleep, though: I'm too excited. As time passes, I start to wonder if maybe the plan has gone wrong. What if Mr. Harriman woke up and smelled the gas? What if in some way the gas wasn't flammable? What if someone saw me going into the house, and warned them? A million possibilities pass through my mind as I lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. Eventually I start to worry; after all, if this plan doesn't work, I'll need to come up with something else, and I won't have much time to spare. I was so certain that I'd be able to make Mr. Harrison's house explode, but now I realize I might have made a mistake.
Suddenly there's a huge boom, followed by a crashing sound. The whole house shakes, and for a moment I start to wonder if I've gone too far. What if the explosion damages not only Mr. Harriman's house, but also mine? After what feels like a couple of seconds, however, everything calms down, but I can already hear people in the street outside. Climbing out of bed, I go through to the bathroom and look out the window; I immediately see that most of Mr. Harriman's house has been completely destroyed, with the top floor having apparently collapsed into the rear and the garden. The destruction is much more expansive than I'd anticipated, but fortunately there's enough of a gap between the buildings that my house doesn't seem to have suffered so much as a broken window.
"What the hell was that?" my father asks, standing behind me.
"Mr. Harriman's house exploded," I say, watching as people continue to run out of their houses to see the damage. Car alarms are blaring, and the scene is one of total carnage.
"Huh," my father replies. "Why do you think that happened?"
"I don't know. Do you think anyone would have survived?"
He stares out the window for a moment. "I suppose it's possible, but to be honest the place looks wrecked. Look at the way the top floor has kind of collapsed right down into the rest of the house. It looks like some of it's even gone through to the basement". He stares a little longer. "No," he adds eventually. "It'd be a miracle if anyone got out of there alive".
"That's what I thought," I say, before pausing for a moment. "Should we go out and see if we can help?"
"I'll go," he says. "You should stay here".
"Can't I come?"
"No, Juliet. It's cold, and it's chaotic out there. You have to stay in the house. Do you promise you won't follow me?"
I nod.
"Okay. Good girl".
I hear him heading downstairs, and after a moment I spot him emerging into the darkened street. Sirens are getting closer, and soon there are fire engines and police cars screeching to a halt nearby. I figure they'll be so focused on the damaged house, they won't bother knocking on our door too much; anyway, my father's already out there, wandering among the other neighbors as they stare at the wrecked house. Fascinated by the carnage, I spend the rest of the night at the bathroom window, watching as fire-fighters enter the rubble. It seems like nothing much happens for quite a while; eventually, however, I see a stretcher being taken to the back of the house, and a covered body is removed, followed by another. As an ambulance drives slowly away, I realize that my plan worked perfectly. Mr. Harriman and his wife are both dead, and I'm pretty sure there would be any next-door neighbors for a while; not on the side of the house next to the woodshed, anyway.
By the time I have to go to school, the street is still crawling with emergency teams, and there's even a news crew reporting on the explosion. Pausing for a moment, I listen as the reporter explain to viewers at home that two people died in what seems to have been a tragic accident; the gas stove is already being blamed, but at the moment it looks as if the gas was left on, and eventually it built up to such an extent that even the tiniest of sparks would have been enough to cause
a massive explosion. I walk across the front garden, finding that there are pieces of rubble strewn over the grass; I guess I'll have to clean up a little when I get home tonight, but for now I have to act as normal as possible. With my backpack over my shoulders, I just look like a girl who's on her way to school.
"This is why I don't have gas," says a woman nearby as I cross the road. "We switched to an electric hob a long time ago".
No-one really notices me as I make my way through the crowd, dressed in my school uniform. I can't help feeling that in some way I'm special; after all, there must be close to a hundred people standing around in the street, but I'm the only one who knows the truth about what happened. I guess there'll be a proper investigation, but I know what they'll conclude: they'll decide there was a tragic accident involving the gas stove, and they won't even think about the possibility that the Harriman's were killed on purpose. I mean, who would want to kill a quiet, retired couple? And even if somehow the possibility was raised, who would think that the girl living next door could possibly be responsible? Reaching the end of the street, I turn and look back at the scene. My heart is racing with excitement as I realize that my plan worked perfectly. Still, I can't shake the feeling that someone, somewhere, is watching over me and helping me do these things. It just seems a little too easy; a little too convenient. But who?
Chapter Five
Today
"Juliet!" Robert says as he answers the door. He looks a little surprised to see me, which I guess makes sense; after all, we've only met twice before, and it's getting close to 9pm. "What are you doing here?"
I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I realize that I have no answer. I don't know why I'm here, and even if I did, I couldn't tell him the truth. "I was just driving past," I say eventually, figuring I have to say something. "I thought I'd drop by and say hello".
