by Tim Kizer
“I saw him strangle her through a window. She was my next-door neighbor.”
“Why didn’t you help her?”
“I thought it was some kind of sex game.”
“Were they dating?”
“Yes.”
Laura bit her lower lip and was silent for a few seconds. “What was her name?”
Laura did not know how to react to these outrageous accusations against her brother. On the one hand, Richard was a gentle and kind man who did not seem capable of hurting a fly. But on the other hand, Jack, her boyfriend of three months, had no reason to lie to her.
“Karen,” Jack replied. “Karen Chandler.”
“Did you tell the police that you saw Richard kill her?”
“Yes, I did. But nothing came of it. Perhaps they didn’t believe me.”
Laura sighed and then rubbed her forehead. “Maybe I should talk to him about it?”
“What for? He’ll deny everything.” Jack paused. “Besides, he might hurt you.”
Laura didn’t need a lot of persuading to abandon this idea since she realized it was the wrong move. That was what dumb characters do in horror movies: they confront the villain, usually unprepared, unarmed, and with no backup, hoping he—or she—will confess, and then get murdered on the spot by the said villain.
“What are you going to do?”
Jack shrugged. “I want to bring Richard to justice, but I doubt it’s possible. I told you this to warn you.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “I’m afraid that Karen wasn’t his only victim.”
“You think he’s killed other women?”
“Yes.”
Could Richard be a serial killer?
It depended on whether he enjoyed killing. Laura hoped that he didn’t.
“I wonder what he did with those fingers,” Jack said.
There might be incriminating evidence in Richard’s house. And she might be lucky enough to find it.
By the time Jack left, Laura knew what she was going to do this weekend: she would search Richard’s house.
CHAPTER 2
1.
Thinking he’d heard Laura's voice, Richard drew a deep breath and looked back. He was surrounded by luxuriant oaks and thick bushes. The rich mixture of forest aromas that permeated the air was powerful and invigorating. He had still not gotten used to this cacophony of scents dominated by the smells of soil, bark, grass, and flowers even though he’d been wandering the woods for about half an hour now.
”Laura!” Richard called loudly, spinning his head around.
She shouldn’t have followed him. What was she trying to achieve by that, anyway?
He had been about thirty miles from Richmond when he had noticed that he was being shadowed. It was a white Honda Civic, he couldn’t make out how many people were in it. In order to confirm his suspicions, he turned off the highway onto a dirt road that led into the forest. The Civic followed him. He drove for a mile before he pulled to the side of the road and got out of the car. The Civic stopped, too, and moments later Richard found out that he was being followed by his sister, Laura. She was alone. He figured she had borrowed the car from one of her friends.
When he had asked her what this was all about, Laura had called him a killer and then run off into the woods. He had no idea why she had fled; he had not touched or threatened her.
”Laura! I’m begging you, please come out, don't be afraid!” Richard strained his ears, hoping to hear the answer. ”I know you're under stress now. You want to get out of here. So do I... Let me help you!”
He noticed a movement in the bushes fifteen yards away from him, and then Laura stepped out from behind from them.
“You’re a murderer!” she shouted. “Did you kill anyone in Boston? Or Cincinnati?”
“I didn’t kill anyone. Who told you that?”
“I saw the jar.”
“What jar?”
“The one in the garage.”
“Okay. So?”
“There were fingers in the jar. They belong to the women you murdered.” Laura laughed nervously. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know everything.”
“When did you see it?”
“Three weeks ago, when you were in Vegas. Did you really go to Vegas or did you go hunting?”
“Hunting? Laura, they lied to you. That jar isn’t mine.”
“Of course it’s yours.”
“Where is it now?”
“It must be still in the garage unless you moved it.”
“Laura, I swear, that jar isn’t mine. Someone planted it.”
Richard started toward his sister.
”Stay where you are!” Laura yelled in a hoarse voice. “Don't come any closer!”
She wiped tears from her eyes and raised her right hand, showing him a large kitchen knife. The blade glinted in the sunlight. Richard halted.
”I've got a knife.” She was staring at Richard without blinking.
He nodded calmly and forced a smile.
”That's good.” He took a small step forward. ”You shouldn’t be afraid of me. I’m unarmed. It’s me who should be scared here, isn’t it?” He laughed in order to demonstrate that he had no malicious intentions toward his sister. ”Laura, let's talk. Let's sit down and talk. Otherwise, this will never be resolved. Someone could get hurt.” As he spoke, he was inching closer to the woman.
”Hold it right there!” Laura screamed, waving the knife in the air. “Don’t move. You’re sick! Why are you doing this?”
Richard made a wry face and stopped. “Okay, I’m going to leave you alone.” He sighed loudly, giving her to understand that he was tired.
He was tired of running around the woods. And he hated the hot sweat that covered his face and body. He walked up to the closest tree and sat down under it.
He shouldn’t have turned his back to Laura. She might try to kill him.
In his mind’s eye, Richard saw her approach him from behind, stealthily, her hair tousled, her eyes red, her heartbeat rapid. She would stare at the back of his head for a while, deciding where to deliver the first blow, and then she would stab him.
Richard started. He suddenly realized that he had zoned out when he had imagined the attack, and forgotten about Laura, who was waiting for the right moment to strike. But she was wrong if she believed she could catch him off guard. He could hear the quietest rustle; he could detect Laura’s slightest movement. Now he was like a dog, whose sense of smell was a million times better than that of a human. He could almost read minds.
“Richard!”
He leapt to his feet.
”Richard! Why did you do it?” Laura's voice sounded very close. “Why did you kill her?”
Queasy with apprehension, Richard wheeled around, searching for Laura. She was out of his sight, and it made him quite nervous. Panting, he stepped into the bushes and shouted, “Laura! Sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you! I promise! I didn’t kill anyone. Someone planted that jar. You have to believe me! I’m not a killer.” He fell silent, giving his sister time to process his words.
He turned around. No sign of Laura.
”Laura, I'm leaving! We’ll talk about it later, okay? I'm going to leave now.” He returned to the footpath and headed for the road. ”Call me when you get home.”
Richard was walking at a brisk pace, peering into the thicket to his right and his left. After a hundred yards, he stopped and looked back. The forest was mute and motionless. Richard walked up to a sumac bush and was about to go around it when Laura jumped out of the shrubbery and charged at him, swinging the knife.
“What are you doing?” Richard yelled, trying to catch her hand that held the knife.
With a wild roar, Laura clutched at his neck with her free hand, the blade of the knife pointed at his carotid artery.
”Let me go!” she shouted. Her eyes opened wide and became as big as baseballs; they seemed to be ready to pop out of their sockets. ”Let me go!”
Richard snatched the knife from her hand and knocke
d her down on the grass. Laura fell clumsily on her back, her arms spread out.
”You lost your mind!” Richard looked at the knife, then at his sister. “You almost killed me!”
”Richard, you're sick.” Laura began to rise from the ground, her fierce glare fixed on Richard. ”You don’t understand what you're doing!”
She pounced at him, screaming heartrendingly, with her hands stretched forward. Deafened by her shriek, Richard froze. Seconds later, he felt his sister's body slide off his chest. The sight of Laura's face distorted by rage (Laura resembled a demonic character from Hieronymus Bosch’s paintings) had stunned him so deeply he dropped out of reality for the brief time she clung on to him, attempting to bite through a vein on his neck.
Richard was a little puzzled about what had happened. One moment Laura was looming before him, and the next moment she folded like a rag doll, silent and limp. She didn't even have time to bite him. Richard rubbed his neck, checking for wounds. He wiped Laura's saliva from his skin, then lowered his eyes to the ground. Laura was lying at his feet, her body twisted in a grotesque position. There was a large blood stain on her blouse, below her chest, which was expanding.
Richard relaxed his hand and let go of the knife.
“Laura,” he muttered, bending over the body. “Are you okay?”
The final convulsion shook Laura's body, and then the woman became stock-still.
“Are you alive?” Richard knelt down. Making sure that blood didn't get on his clothes or skin, he lifted his sister's head. “You're dead.” Richard shut his eyes.
2.
He met Mary the day he killed Laura.
He left Laura’s body in the woods. He did not bury it—not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have a shovel with him. He was not going to report the incident to the police. Yes, his sister’s death was an accident, but chances were very slim that the jury would believe his account of what had happened.
As he walked to his car, he debated with himself what he should do about Laura’s Honda. He believed it would be too risky to tow it: he was going to be in a lot of trouble if it emerged that he’d been towing the car Laura had driven the day she had vanished. He rejected the idea of burning the Honda down.
Could he afford to leave Laura’s car in this forest? He figured that he could. What was the worst that could happen? The police would stumble upon the Honda and then search the nearby woods. He could live with that. Laura’s body was going to be found sooner or later, anyway. He was not linked to the car, so it would not implicate him in the killing of Laura.
On the way to the highway, Richard decided not to proceed to Danville: he was no longer in the mood to shop for antiques.
By the way, he should get rid of the jar with fingers mentioned by Laura. Hopefully, she hadn’t moved it to another place.
He ran into Mary as he drove out of the forest. He literally ran into her. When she popped up in front of his car, he did not react in time because he was looking in the driver’s side mirror, checking to see if there was anyone behind him. He slammed the brakes and a moment later heard a woman scream, “What the hell!”
He jumped out of the car and hurried to the edge of the road to see the person he’d just hit. He told himself that her injury couldn’t be too bad since he had been going at thirty miles per hour, tops.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The victim was a young athletic woman with short auburn hair, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. She was sitting on the ground, touching her right leg, a grimace of pain on her face—her very cute face. Richard noted to himself that the woman had green eyes.
“What do you think?” she replied.
“Mary, are you okay?” a man shouted behind Richard.
Richard turned around and saw a man in his twenties running from the highway toward them.
“I’m really sorry,” Richard said to the woman, scanning the injured leg. There appeared to be no blood. He sighed with relief: she would live. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
The man stopped next to Mary and then bent over her. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
The guy had a shaggy beard and moustache, and sported a small beer belly. A red rose tattoo decorated his right forearm. He gave off the vibe of a good-for-nothing boyfriend that moms warned their daughters about. He probably was a big fan of weed, Richard thought.
“I think my leg is broken,” Mary said. She issued a groan.
“Where the hell did you learn to drive?” The man gave Richard a furious look. “We need to call the police.” He pulled a cellphone from his pocket.
Richard’s stomach clenched. State police were the last thing he needed right now. He cleared his throat and said, “Is it necessary? How about I take her to the hospital and then have my insurance company pay her medical bills?”
“And that’s it?” the man asked. He aimed his cellphone at the front bumper of Richard’s car and snapped a picture. Richard thought that he must have taken a photo of the license plate.
“Plus, I’ll give you a thousand dollars,” Richard replied.
“Seven. Seven grand. We don’t know how long Mary’s going to be disabled.”
Richard licked his dry lips and nodded. “Sure. Seven thousand it is. What’s your name?”
“Bob. Can I see your ID?”
“Sure.”
After scrutinizing Richard’s driver’s license, Bob helped Mary get into the back seat of his car.
“Are you on a hike?” Richard asked Mary.
“No. We ran out of gas.”
“Where’s your car?” Richard looked toward the highway and saw a dark blue sedan about fifty yards from where he was standing. It was hard to tell the make and model of the vehicle.
“There.” Bob stabbed his finger toward the sedan.
“You have a stain on your shirt,” Mary remarked. “It looks like blood.” She pointed at Richard's chest.
“Where?” Richard looked down at his shirt. ”Why do you think—”
There was a two-inch long red stain near his breast pocket. It must be Laura’s blood. Richard made a humming sound and said, “It's not blood. It's ketchup.”
“Can we borrow some gas?” Bob asked.
“Do you have a hose?”
Bob nodded.
“Sure.” Richard climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and said to Bob, “Get in.”
He drove up to Bob and Mary’s car and switched off the ignition. While Bob was siphoning gas from the tank, Richard asked Mary, “Where are you headed?”
“Richmond. Do you live in Richmond?”
“Yes. My name’s Richard. And your name is Mary, right?”
“Uh-huh. How far is the hospital?” Mary turned her head to her right, and Richard saw her graceful profile.
“There’s one half an hour from here.” Richard sighed. “I’m very sorry about what happened. I just got distracted. I understand it’s a bad excuse. Are you in a pain?”
“Yes, I am.” Mary winced. “Can I trust you, Richard? You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
Mary studied his face for a moment, and said, “I believe you. Most people are liars, but you seem trustworthy to me.”
He seemed trustworthy! That was funny.
“So we have a deal? You get seven grand, and we leave the police out of it?”
“Yeah. That’s what Bob said, isn’t it?”
Bob patted the door of the car and announced, “Okay, I’m done. You can go. I’ll be right behind you.”
As he pulled into the road, Richard asked, “Is Bob your boyfriend?”
It crossed his mind that the picture Bob had taken of his license plate might have a location stamp. He was sure it had a date stamp. Potentially, this photo could be used to prove that he had been in that forest the day Laura had gone missing.
“He’s my brother.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
Intere
stingly, Richard was pleased to hear that Mary was single. Again, he noted that Mary was very beautiful. He wouldn’t mind if she made a move on him.
One day, Mary or Bob might happen to learn that his sister’s body had been found in that forest. He wondered if he ought to be worried about it.
She did notice the blood stain, didn’t she?
If he were a ruthless cold-blooded monster like Freddy Krueger, he would have killed them both to eliminate any risk. But he was not Freddy Krueger.
3.
When he pulled up in front of the hospital, Mary said, “I think we're going to become friends.”
She proved to be right. They got married three months later. After spending one and a half years in Mexico, they moved to Mill Creek, a small town twenty miles north of Seattle. Bob moved to the Seattle area, too. For five months after they had first met, Richard wondered if Mary suspected that he’d had something to do with Laura’s disappearance. As far as he knew, his sister’s body had never been discovered (he religiously searched the news on the Internet for any information on Laura for a year; he stopped doing it because every time he had performed a search, he had relived Laura’s death). However, Richard was willing to bet Mary believed that Laura was dead.
Something was telling him that he should not let Mary out of his sight. Since she was good in bed, living with her was a pleasant proposition.
By the time they moved back to the States, Richard did not feel disquieted anymore. The memory of Laura’s death had faded and settled at the bottom of his consciousness.
Eighteen months after their arrival in Mill Creek, he buried Mary’s body in the woods.
CHAPTER 3
1.
“Hello!” Richard waved to Jim Dystel, his next-door neighbor, who stood on the porch, smoking a cigarette. Jim nodded in response. Richard took the mail out of the mailbox and went back into the house. He tossed the mail on the coffee table in the living room and proceeded to the kitchen, where he grabbed a can of beer from the refrigerator. Sipping beer, he returned to the living room and sat down on the sofa. He was home alone. Mary was probably at a beauty salon: yesterday she had complained that she looked like an electrocuted poodle.
