by Amy Cross
"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".
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 as I start laughing. After a moment, the laughter stops and I just stare straight up at the sky. As the first police officer rolls me over and handcuffs me, I feel the faintest of smiles start to cross my lips. 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 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 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 seems to be totally determined to see his face one final time. My stomach is rumbling a little, but I can't go home and eat yet; the longer I wait, the more I seem determined to catch at least a glimpse of Dr. Larson.
Eventually I start trying to pass the time by practicing how to laugh. There's no-one about, 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, although my memory's a little hazy. 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 staring down at me. 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, with a kind smile on her face. 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. 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. Otherwise it could get 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".
"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 sad!"
I nod. "I don't think they suffered," I point out. "It must have been really quick".
"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 she'd understand me. Eventually, however, I realize that I'm being stupid. Turning to get out of the car, I spot he 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 week 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 and head into my house, taking care to step around the pieces of debris that are still on the lawn. 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.
Postscript
Shortly after her arrest, Juliet Collier was charged with five counts of murder: the victims were named as her father Brian Collier; her co-worker Elizabeth McGuigan; her boss Charles Eric Taylor; Piotr Cymbalista, the father of one of Crestview's residents; and Dr. Stephen Larson, her former psycho-therapist and, at the time of his death, a patient at Crestview.
After undergoing psychiatric evaluation, Juliet was deemed not competent to stand trial, and she was eventually ordered to be detained indefinitely at a facility on the east coast. She was dubbed 'The Crestview Killer' by reporters, who claimed that she was one of the youngest female serial killers in US history. Her supposed accomplice, if she existed, has never been apprehended, and it was eventually accepted that Juliet was most likely working alone.
Shortly before her fortieth birthday, and having completed two decades' of intensive psychiatric treatment, Juliet Collier was released from custodial psychiatric care. Her recovery was described as miraculous, and she was deemed to no longer be a danger to society. She took a new name, and is believed to have settled in California.
Bonus:
Cloth Man (Devil's Briar 1.3)
Prologue
It takes them a few hours to dig me out of the snow. They keep talking about the need to be careful, to make sure they don't hurt me. It's cute, but they needn't bother. I'm so far beyond the point of pain, I couldn't care less if they snapped my arms off and dropped my body until it shattered into a million pieces. The ice isn't just on my skin; it's deep within me, forming tiny crystals in my blood. My eyes are frozen open, and tiny ice particles refract the morning light so that everything I see is filled with dazzling colors; my mouth is also frozen open in a perpetual scream, though I am not screaming. So, you see, they can be as rough as they want, because it's only a body and I don't need it any more. I just wish I could die immediately, instead of clinging to life in this frozen shell. Surely the final moment will come at any moment? Surely, as they load me onto the back of a cart, my brain will shut down and I'll sink into the darkness of death? How can my heart even beat any longer? Dear God, all I want is death. Sweet, perfect, warm, light-splintered death. I'm ready. This life is over.
Chapter One
1925.
"Catherine!" I shout as I push the door shut. "Catherine! My coat!"
Standing and waiting, I realize that not only is there no sign of my daughter, but the house is icy cold and the stove sits empty. By this point in the afternoon, Catherine should have started making dinner, she should have got a fire burning, and she should be here to take my coat and help me prepare for my bath. There should also be a glass of whiskey waiting for me in the study. In the past year, ever since her mother died, Catherine has faithfully and attentively fulfilled her duties as the woman of our house, yet in recent weeks she has begun to falter. It is as if something has distracted her, and I am starting to suspect that she will require a gentle reminder of her responsibilities.
"Catherine!" I call out one final time, not in hope that she will come running, but because I feel I should give her one more chance. Perhaps the girl is deaf, rather than delinquent. Sighing, I am forced to remove my own coat and hang it up, brushing off the snow that has landed on my shoulders as I walked home. Stepping through to the kitchen, I put my hand on the stove and feel that it is icy cold, and there appears to have been no food preparation whatsoever. It is as if Catherine has simply vanished, leaving me with no apparent means of being fed. It's quite unfathomable that the girl would have so little regard for her father's well-being, so little concern, that she would neglect to prepare a hearty dinner. She recently reached her twentieth birthday; she should know better by now.
"Intolerable girl," I mutter, heading back through to the hallway. It seems I have no other option than to go and eat at the hotel, where there will at least be a hot stove with some concoction bubbling away. Of course, I shall have to come up with an excuse to explain why I have resorted to such desperate measures. I can't very well admit to Henry Porter, the hotel's proprietor, that my own daughter has neglected my needs so thoroughly. I should be ashamed to have anyone else in town know that I command such a distinct lack of respect in my own home. As for Catherine, the girl will face my anger when she eventually returns home.
Once my coat is on, I open the door and face the icy chill of the evening's stormy weather. All day, a cold wind has been blowing through Devil's Briar, bringing with it a deluge of snow that threatens to make the streets almost impassable. I very much regret having to go back out in such weather, but I certainly can't sit alone in a cold house and starve. One would think that, on a day such as this, Catherine would take extra care to provide me with comfort upon my return from work, but sadly the girl lacks even this basic courtesy. I have tried to discipline her before, of course, but I am starting to think that I must take a firmer hand. She clearly will not learn until I have let her understand the full force of my displeasure.
"Father!" calls out a voice, just as I am stepping outside into the cold street. "Father! Wait!"
Turning, I see Catherine running toward me, a look of shock in her eyes. I quickly glance about, and I'm glad to see that at least no-one else is in the vicinity to witness the ungainly spectacle of my daughter racing through the snow. It is a most un-ladylike thing for her to do, and I'm quite sure she no man would want to marry her if he had seen her in such a state. If she is ever to attract a good hu
sband, she must learn to exhibit a little more class.
"Father, I'm so sorry I was out," she says breathlessly as she reaches the door. "I had errands to run, and I'm afraid the bad weather slowed me down terribly". Barely looking me in the eye, she goes inside. "I shall have dinner ready for you within the hour," she calls back as she hurries into the kitchen.
"Do not bother," I say firmly. "I have already decided to go to the hotel. Attend to the hearth instead, and ensure that the house is warm for my return". I pause for a moment. "We shall talk about your behavior later, Catherine," I add, at which point she turns to me with a look of fear in her eyes.
"Father, I am truly sorry -" she starts to say.
"I have no doubt that you are," I reply, "but I'm afraid that an apology is insufficient. As I have said, we shall talk about the matter later, when I return". Without wishing to engage in further discussion at this point in time, I turn and walk away, shuffling through the heavy snow as I head to the town square. The streets are mercifully empty, since few people would be keen to come out in such awful weather. I daresay some souls will look out their windows and wonder why I, Dr. Marshall Collings, am out in such terrible conditions; hopefully, they will assume that I am on my way to pay a kindness to some poor unfortunate who has fallen ill. It will not occur to any of them that my own daughter could have disrespected me so gravely that I should have returned to an empty, cold house.
Since the snow is nearly two feet thick, it takes me much longer than usual to reach the town square. Mr. Paternoster's huge metal cross stands tall as ever, towering over the scene and looking particularly imposing given the snow that still falls heavily from the sky. It is good to have a little more religious piety in the town, even if I am somewhat taken aback by the scale of Mr. Paternoster's design. It is as if he is a little too eager to prove himself to the people of Devil's Briar, but I suppose our soulless Mayor was more than happy to accept such a grand gesture. For my part, I prefer to do away with ostentatious displays of faith and to focus instead on nurturing the flickering flame within my own heart. I believe God will look more kindly upon a good, strong man, than he will upon some large structure applauded by the crowds.
