Bad News

by Amy Cross

  “And you're one of them!” he adds.

  “Not anymore.”

  “You won't go back?”

  “I haven't decided yet whether -”

  “You're their kind of person,” he says, turning back to the water-boiler as it begins to whistle. “That's not gonna change.”

  I take a deep breath and try to reset my thoughts. Maybe I came here to explain myself to Roper, but now I'm starting to realize that I don't need to do any of that. All I can do is apologize, and try to make him realize that I see how wrong everything was, so I make my way cautiously over to the counter and stop just a few feet from him. There has to be a magic word, or a magic sentence, that can make all of this okay again. There just has to be.

  “The place looks good,” I say finally. “You've... cleaned up pretty well, after what happened. I guess the cops tore your entire house apart.”

  I wait.

  Damn, that was a dumb thing to say, wasn't it?

  “Same as before?” he asks suddenly, taking the water-boiler and carrying it to the mugs. “Black? No sugar?”

  “Sure,” I reply. I need to reset again, and for that I need a moment alone. “Do you, uh, mind if I go and use your bathroom for a moment?”

  “Do what you want,” he says through gritted teeth.

  I turn and hurry toward the corridor that leads down to the bathroom, but then I stop and glance back at Roper. He cuts such a lonely figure as he prepares the coffee, and I feel as if he's been wronged by the whole world.

  “I'm sorry,” I say finally.

  He doesn't respond.

  “I'm just sorry,” I continue, my voice trembling slightly. “Everything that happened was wrong, and I'm sorry for my part in that. I'll fix what I can, and I'll learn from it all, and I'll do my bit to try to stop it happening ever again. I don't know how, not yet, but I'll think of something. And I just hope that you don't blame yourself for any of it. Because you're an innocent man whose life got caught up in it all, and I know nothing can ever truly make up for that. I just hope you find a way to heal.”

  A way to heal?

  Did I really say that?

  I sound like some daytime shrink.

  Then again, I guess maybe I meant every word.

  Roper doesn't say anything, so I turn and make my way to the bathroom. Once I'm there, with the door locked, I take a moment to stare into the mirror and try to get my crap together. After everything I've done, I have no idea how to make it all right, but I have to keep trying. There has to be something I can do, something I can say, that'll put everything right. There has to be a magic word more powerful than 'Sorry'.

  I stare at myself for a moment longer.

  I wait for enlightenment.

  “Crap,” I mutter finally, before sighing and flushing the toilet.

  Maybe I'm not deep enough. As I wash my hands, I realize that I tell myself that maybe I just need to dig deeper. I bet Rolinda Derringham's never had a moment of weakness like this; I bet she just steams through every little hiccup and refuses to stop until she gets what she wants. I've always been held back by some faint sense of morality, even now, but maybe I should forget all that and just unleash my full instincts. If I dig deeper, maybe I can leave Derringham in the mud, I can win all the awards, I can be rich and famous, I might even get my own talk-show. Maybe that's all I'm good for. Maybe life isn't about trying to be the most perfect version of yourself. Maybe it's about succeeding, and about rationalizing it all while you count the money.

  Or maybe it's just not worth it. Maybe I'm not so focused on success, at all costs, that I'm willing to trash my own soul.

  I unlock the door and step out into the corridor, and then – as I'm about to go back to the kitchen – I glance into the next room and see Roper's bare mattress on the floor. This time there are some papers on the floor next to the mattress, a little bundle next to an old mug. My first thought is to sneak over and take a look, but I tell myself to hold back.

  I tell myself that I don't have the right.

  This is the moment when I become a better person.

  I desperately want to go and look at those papers, I can feel an actual tug in my chest that's pulling me into the room, and I have to put a hand on the door-frame to keep myself steady. Man, it's as if my physiology is all set up for sneakiness.

  I stare at the papers for a few more seconds, and then I finally feel the sensation pass.

  I did it.

  I beat my instincts.

  I turn to walk away, but then – at the last moment – I notice the drapes.

  Or rather, the drape.

  I stare straight ahead for a moment, before turning to once again look into the room. And this time I see that there's a solitary beige drape fluttering slightly on the left side of Roper's bedroom window. On the right side, however, there's no drape.

  In my mind's eye, I immediately see Kimmy Duchette's body parts being pulled out of that pipe. I try not to think of the bloodied chunks themselves. Instead, I focus on the tattered material that had been wrapped around them. I didn't see the material at the time, but I saw the threads that were in the image on the phone. And that 'tattered material' sure looked a lot like the drapes in Roper's room.

  Or rather, like the single remaining drape.

  I think back to the first time I was here. Were there two drapes? For some reason, I think I remember that there were two. Then again, isn't that something Malone would have picked up on while he was here with his men? Or was their search too hectic, too crazed? I remember how Malone and his deputies were storming about the place. Is it possible that they did less than a stellar job? That they missed one huge clue that was literally hanging by the window in one of the rooms?

  I look along the corridor, to check that Roper isn't coming this way, and then I step into the bedroom. I get all the way to the mattress before I realize that this is wrong, and now I tell myself to turn around and head back out of the room. I have no right to be here. Nevertheless, I've done the bad part, so I hurry to the window and reach out to touch the drape.

  It's the same stuff.

  I want to deny it, but deep down I know that this is more than a coincidence.

  The window itself is only open an inch or two, and it's secured by a lock that prevents it being opened any further. I feel the drape for a moment longer, and then I turn to hurry back out of the room. My heart is racing, but I'm still telling myself that nothing is amiss.

  And then I stop next to the mattress, and I look down at the little pile of papers.

  I take a deep breath, and then I do something that I know is wrong. I crouch down and take a look at the top papers, and I quickly find that they're cuttings from old, faded newspapers. There are no dates, and the stories seem random. After a moment, however, I move the cuttings aside and find that there are some books here.

  Old library books.

  I open the first, and I see a stamp indicating that the book is about ten years overdue.

  Flowers in the Attic, huh?

  That seems like an odd choice for a man like Thomas Roper.

  The same goes for his other two choices: Little Women and The Secret History.

  I try to tell myself that I'm overreacting, that nothing's wrong here, but I'm getting goosebumps. Malone must have found these, it's impossible that his search was so completely incompetent that he missed something so obvious, but at the same time I feel as if I should at least mention all of this to him. Because something here doesn't add up, even if I'm still certain that Thomas Roper is no ax-wielding homicidal maniac.

  Suddenly I hear a creaking floorboard nearby, and I turn to see that Roper is standing out in the corridor, watching me.

  “Hey,” I say cautiously, fully aware that I'm holding his papers and crouching next to his mattress and generally looking extremely suspicious, “so this isn't quite as weird as it might seem. I was just wondering whether -”

  Before I can finish, he grabs the door and pulls it shut.

  �
��Hey!” I yell, stumbling to my feet, and then trying to force the door open just as I hear the key turning in the lock. “Stop!” I shout, as I bang my fists on the wood. “Let me out of here!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Thomas, you don't want to do this,” I say firmly as I try yet again to get the door open. “I'm sorry I came into your room, but we can talk about this. I didn't mean anything by it!”

  Dropping to my knees, I try to look through the keyhole. All I can make out, however, is the sight of the corridor's far wall, and I realize after a moment that it's been several minutes since I heard any hint that Roper is loitering out there.

  I check my phone again, but of course I still have no coverage out here in the sticks.

  “I'm sorry!” I call out. “I was wrong! I'm a bad person and I made a huge mistake when I came in here, and I shouldn't have been snooping around! I'm sorry, this is all my fault! If you just let me out of here, I can explain it all! Please, you have to give me that chance!”

  Well, maybe I can't explain all of it.

  Realizing that he's not going to listen to reason, I turn to head back to the window. I stop after a moment, however, because I know I've already tried and failed to force the window open. I need to find some other way out of this room, so I stand completely still for a moment and try to think of a solution, and then I slowly turn and look back toward the door.

  I've seen people kick doors down in movies, so why not try it in real life?

  I take a deep breath and study the door, and finally I decide to aim just to one side of the handle, slightly up from the lock. That feels like as good a place as any, so I take another deep breath, then another, and then I rush at the door and kick as hard and as high as I can. I'm braced for this not to work, but to my surprise my foot crashes straight through one of the wooden panels and I slam face-first into the door with my right leg having burst through almost all the way up to the thigh.

  “Huh,” I mutter, before quickly pulling back, only to feel a sharp pain.

  I fall and slam down hard against the floor, and then I look at my right leg and see that there's blood dribbling from beneath a torn section of fabric. I sit up and take a closer look, and then I wince as I glance at the door and see a sharp, broken piece of wood covered in more blood.

  Getting to my feet, I limp over to the door and start pushing out the remaining pieces of wood, until I have a hole that's just about large enough for me to clamber through. I struggle a little with my injured leg, but finally I manage to climb through and I stumble out into the corridor. I bump against the opposite wall, and then I pick up one of the larger pieces of broken wood and hold it up as a weapon as I turn and look around for any hint of Thomas Roper.

  So far, the house seems completely quiet.

  I wait, in case there's a faint creaking sound somewhere, but there's nothing.

  Swallowing hard, and with the piece of wood still held up for defense, I start limping toward the front room. My heart is pounding and I know I'll struggle to defend myself, but at least I've got a chance. As I reach the end of the corridor and look around the corner, however, I see that there's still no sign of Roper. The front door is hanging open, and it's almost as if he ran away after locking me inside his bedroom.

  Maybe he just went to fetch some axes and other crap like that.

  Maybe he's sharpening the tools he usually uses when he dismembers people.

  I head over to the kitchen and swap my piece of wood for a big, gleaming carving knife. I guess Roper didn't realize he should hide those away. Now that I feel a little more confident, I make my way toward the open front door, where I stop for a moment and listen for any sign that Roper is out there on his porch.

  Finally, hearing nothing, I realize that I have to be brave.

  I stumble out onto the porch and swing around, waving the knife around, but after a few seconds I see that all the chairs are empty. In fact, the only sound right now – other than the rustle of nearby trees – is my own panicked breath.

  I turn and look out past the porch. The forest itself is pitch-black, but so far there's still no hint of Roper. I guess he could be somewhere else on the farm, and in my mind's eye I can still see him gathering his murder tools and maybe collecting some chains as well for good measure. I guess I must have figured him out all wrong, but there'll be time for a full postmortem once I get back to town and tell Malone what's happened out here. For now, I just have to make sure that I get away from this place.

  Once I'm sure that Roper isn't anywhere nearby, I limp down the steps and out across the yard. I head toward the forest, while constantly looking around in case I've been spotted, but finally I reach the tall grass.

  Suddenly I remember what Roper told me the other day:

  “There's just something about the forest, you know?” his voice whispers in the back of my head. “I've lived here all my life, and even I wouldn't want to be wandering around out there. A man could lose his bearings and get lost, maybe stumble into the water, or even over the edge of the waterfall. And that's someone who's experienced. Are you experienced with the great outdoors, Ms. Carter?”

  No. No, I'm not.

  And I remember something else, something I said to Malone:

  “I guess I'm starting to understand how someone could vanish and maybe never be found.”

  For a moment, I stand and stare out into the vast darkness ahead. I'm cold and scared and hurt, and the thought of venturing out into the forest fills me with absolute terror. At the same time, I check my phone and see that I still have no coverage, which means I'm really not left with much of a choice. I either have to stay here at the murder farm and take my chances when Roper inevitably comes back for me, or I have to go out into the forest and hope that somehow there's a miracle and I make it back to civilization.

  Suddenly I hear a faint cracking sound over my shoulder.

  I spin around, still holding the knife up. All I see is the dimly-lit house, and there are no murderous, silhouetted figures, but I'm certain I just heard someone stepping on a twig.

  So I run.

  I turn and I race out through the dark forest, struggling on my injured leg, half-slamming into tree after tree, almost falling as the ground regularly dips and then rises beneath my feet. The sound of my own breath, and the sound of my steps against the forest floor, are all I hear as I rush out into the great darkness. I'm running so fast, I almost trip over my own feet, and finally I thud straight into a tree with such force that I almost fall backward and hit the ground.

  Almost.

  Steadying myself for a moment, as I struggle for gulps of air, I look over my shoulder. There's no sign of anyone, but then again someone could be rushing right for me and I wouldn't necessarily know until it was too late.

  What if he has night-vision goggles?

  I turn to run again, but my right leg almost buckles as I feel a burst of pain crackling up through my thigh.

  Reaching down, I immediately feel blood on the side of my pants, and I realize that the injury to my leg must be worse than I'd guessed. Still, there's no time to stop and patch myself up, so I start limping out once more into the darkness.

  Suddenly, hearing a rustling sound, I turn and look back again. And this time, I see someone running this way, just about visible against the distant glow of the farmhouse. Somehow, I recognize him immediately.

  I turn and start running again, pushing through the pain. I know I'm making a lot of noise, but I can't help that as I race between the trees. I barely even manage to keep hold of the knife, but somehow I keep going until finally I hit another tree.

  I look back, but now there's no sign of him.

  Desperately trying to catch my breath, I glance all around. The pain in my leg is intense now, throbbing wildly, and for a moment I feel as if I'm just going to collapse here. I guess, if I passed out, he might not find me.

  And then, just as I feel myself starting to weaken, I hear a rustling sound.

  I turn, an
d I'm just about able to make out the sight of a figure rushing this way. In an instant, I can tell that it's him, so I force myself to keep going. I race out between the trees, stumbling slightly on my injured leg, and I somehow find the strength to run and run and run. I manage to keep going, until suddenly the ground seems to disappear beneath my feet. I let out a shocked gasp as I fall, and then I slam into the mud and roll down a steep slope that eventually levels out and sends me crashing into another tree, and I can't help myself.

  I scream.

  I groan as I start to sit up, and then I realize that I dropped the knife. I frantically feel around, hoping against hope that I might feel the handle somewhere in the wet soil, but there's nothing. I guess it's lucky that I didn't land on the damn thing, but as I look back into the darkness I realize that there's no way I can ever go searching.

  A moment later, as the sound of my own breath becomes a little quieter, I realize that I can hear something else.

  Water.

  Rushing water.

  I turn and look out into the darkness, and to my surprise I see a hint of moonlight.

  And I hear the waterfall.

  It's the same sound I heard a few days ago, when I was out in the forest with Malone. Sure, there might be other waterfalls in the area, but Malone spoke as if this was the only one. And if I really have found my way back there, I at least have a chance to stumble to the road and then get to town.

  Filled with a sudden sense that I might be able to make it, I get to my feet and limp toward the moonlight, toward the sound of water that's getting louder and louder with each step.

  And then, stopping, I see him.

  Thomas Roper is right ahead, standing at the edge of the waterfall, looking down.

  I freeze, terrified to make a noise, but then slowly he turns to me and the moonlight catches one side of his face.

  I open my mouth to scream, but something stops me. I try to think of something, anything, I can use as a weapon, but all I have is a set of car keys and somehow I don't think I'm gonna be able to scratch this asshole into submission. I'm face to face with a monster and I don't know how to even begin defending myself.