But a while after I fall asleep, with the blackness of the night enveloping me, I hear something that sends pure terror through me. It’s a startling sound I just can’t ignore.
Second Body Discovered in West Green; Citizens on High Alert as Threat Spreads
West Green, Crawley, West Sussex
28 June 1959
Citizens of West Green are on high alert as a second body this month has been uncovered in Ifield Pond Saturday morning, 27 June 1959, after a thorough investigation.
The body of Mrs Helen Deeley was found in Ifield Pond after a shoe was discovered by a Crawley resident at the edge of the water. Questioning of Mr John Deeley led investigators to believe that the shoe belonged to the missing Helen Deeley, and a search ensued. The body of the deceased was removed from the pond, and detectives are still conducting a search for more evidence in this case.
Mrs Deeley was not at their residence when Mr John Deeley returned home from work on 22 June, which was unusual for the housewife. When Mrs Deeley failed to return by the next morning, an extensive search ensued in West Green, but there was no sign of the woman.
Mrs Helen Deeley’s death comes only a couple of weeks after the body of Elizabeth McKinley was discovered in a skip in West Green. With two murders in less than a month, residents of the typically peaceful neighbourhood are on high alert. The West Sussex Constabulary will not offer speculation as to whether the two murders are related despite the unarguable similarities regarding the bite marks on the bodies.
However, Mr Deeley was questioned in his wife’s disappearance after detectives exposed that he was involved in an extramarital affair. The West Sussex Constabulary notes that John Deeley is considered a prime suspect in his wife’s murder. Constables and detectives on the case offered no comment at this time, but sources have told reporters that dental records of Mr Deeley are being compared to the bite marks on both victims.
Despite the rise in violence in recent weeks, residents of the town are no stranger to horrific crimes. Many have expressed concern that this may be the work of a copycat of John Haigh, the Acid Bath Murderer. Haigh was executed on 10 August 1949 after being convicted of six terrifying murders. Haigh was notorious for his use of concentrated sulphuric acid to dispose of the bodies of his victims.
‘We are shocked and scared. Who would do something like this to a woman as sweet as Helen?’ Mrs Christopher Eades noted. ‘Helen was always such a giving woman. Always volunteering and active in the church. I just don’t understand.’
Detectives are still investigating the area at Ifield to search for any other clues. The person who discovered the shoe that led to the uncovering of Helen Deeley’s body remains anonymous but is being thoroughly questioned at this time.
Women are delicate and weak creatures who are delicious to prey upon. But they aren’t imbecilic, not by a longshot. And a woman always has a way of knowing when something is terribly wrong with the one she climbs into bed with. At least that is what I’ve come to believe.
Helen Deeley was no exception. Sweet and godly like the newspaper article says. She didn’t deserve to be cheated on by her scoundrel of a husband. And she knew it.
They always know it, subconsciously at least.
Mr Deeley deserves to die for his disgusting behaviour. But I won’t deviate from my plan. I won’t abandon the list. I will stay focused because I’m in the middle of it now. I’ve selected my chosen ones. Everyone else would just be a distraction. I can’t afford to be distracted.
Besides, I can’t be too livid with the bloke because his digressions left the perfect opening. When a woman is riddled with doubt, she’ll do anything to get to the bottom of it and set her perfect view of her life right again.
A letter strategically sent. A meeting place when John was going to be ‘late at work’. The perfect, secluded spot at Ifield – and an easy place to rid the world of the evidence. After I made my mark, of course. And after I’d planted the shoe. After all, it wouldn’t be any fun if she was never found, and those moronic bobbies are so incapable. The newspaper uses words like investigation and thorough, but I know the truth. They’ll never figure it out. They’re too easily distracted, so very easily thrown off the case. Bloody hell, I had to lead them to the body. Yet they think they’ll catch me? They have no idea. Wrapped up in dental records of the husband, the affair, of course, not painting him in a good light. They’ll be focused on him for so long that they’ll forget there is even another possibility.
I shake my head, smiling at their idiocy. It’s made the game easier, certainly. But sometimes I think it would all be so much more fun if they were actually smart – if it were actually challenging. What it must be like to kill in a place with real risk of being discovered …
But that’s not what this is about. This is so much, dare I say, more intricately beautiful? This dance between strong and weak.
Sickly boy. Frail boy. Weak boy.
Not anymore. I’m not that boy anymore. No, I’m not. I chuckle. No one has any idea, do they?
I tuck the piece of the newspaper between my front teeth, closing my eyes as I bite down. So thin, so delicate. My teeth click over it, creasing it. But I’m careful not to taint the actual words of the article. I need to preserve it, my trophy added to the collection.
Oh, Helen. Did you regret your mistakes? Did you think about everything that led you to me?
Helen hadn’t the slightest clue. The look of shock on her face when she saw me instead of the secret informant she was hoping for, the one to confirm her husband’s affair, to give her the proof that would shatter her world. But I shattered her first. Oh, did I shatter her.
It was laughable, really, the look on her face. They’re always so surprised. Someone they’ve seen countless times in town. Someone they’ve overlooked over and over. To them, I’m just the means to a necessary duty. I’m just a servant, in some ways. I’m just a nobody in West Green like I was all those years before.
But this nobody is certainly gaining infamy, even if it isn’t by name.
Helen was a little old for my taste, really. I usually like them younger, fresher. The skin is just better. Soft and supple between the teeth – it’s inviting. I savour the taste of vibrancy that seems to emanate from their skin. In truth, I’m not quite sure why Helen ended up on my list. I’d studied the women in West Green for weeks, thinking and pondering. Making the plan. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes day in and day out. Maybe it was the fact she just seemed so lonely. Was she a pity kill? I don’t know. I’d like to think it was more than that. I’d like to think there was something more there, calling to me.
But she was the second. And not the last. There are many more steps on my path to the end. It’s a lot of work, really. Exhausting if it weren’t so energising. And, when I ask if it’s all worth it, despite the intoxicating warmth that pulses in my blood, I know she will make it worth it.
The finale. The last one. The beautiful, wily one who will be the denouement to this masterfully executed plan. I’ve already found myself lurking, watching, peering at her through the darkness. I know I should wait. I’ve got the next one to worry about. I’ve got the next one to carry out. But she’s just so beautiful. And her spark is something magnetising.
It’s okay, though. I’m not jealous. Because I know I’ll be the last one to appreciate her. And I’ll get to put that beauty on full display soon enough.
But not yet. It’s just not time yet.
I take the article reluctantly from between my teeth. I blow on the wetness, staring at the intricate pattern before I tuck away the mementos with the others and close the lid of the box.
Chapter 6
West Green, Crawley, West Sussex
28 June 1959
I glance out my window into the darkness and smile at the sight. He’s here. Time to go.
I wait a moment to ensure that the house remains enshrouded in darkness. When a few minutes pass and I detect no stirring from Mum or Dad, I carefully nudge my bedro
om door open, the stillness of the house reassuring me as I creep towards the stairs. I inch my way downwards, careful not to step on the squeaky ones. Every step feels painful and dangerous, but in a way, it thrills me. Maybe it’s the knowledge that I’m sneaking out, or maybe it’s the fact that in a few moments, I’ll be with Charles.
I finally reach the front door and cautiously pull it open. Every millimetre seems to take an eternity, my cautious movements making me feel like I’m tearing apart a bomb that could explode at any moment. When the door is finally open, the muggy air oozes into my lungs. I turn and let myself look at Charles, grinning at the sight of him.
‘Careful,’ Charles whispers as I pull the door shut, gingerly clicking it behind me. My heart palpitates as I cross over to him, knowing the risk of all of this is worth it. Charles is worth it. Ever since I met the factory worker from Langley Green a few months ago when I was at the train station for a rare trip to the city, my heart hasn’t been quite mine. Sitting beside Phyllis on that bench waiting for the train, I had seen the man who would change everything. He came into my life at a time when I didn’t think life could be changed. We were headed to the city for a small trip, Phyllis knowing I needed a boost and inviting me along. It was when we were sitting there that Charles walked over, buying a ticket and standing nearby. He caught my eye, and I was entranced.
I don’t know if it was his messy hair in a sea of boys with perfectly placed locks or if it was that he had the hands of a man’s man, his factory job gruelling in ways boys of what my mother deems our ‘social status’ don’t have. Maybe it was the way he introduced himself, or the way he seemed to drink me in with his eyes. Whatever it was, Charles Evans from Langley Green claimed me that day over three months ago. He possessed me at a time when I was certain I’d never open my heart again, when I was at a point in life when I was feeling like all was lost. In truth, it was a time when all was lost. He changed my mind, and I knew I’d spend my life wanting to thank him for that.
So here we are, months later, Mum still bashing Charles at every corner, trying to match me up with men from Dad’s office. Here we are, me slipping out to go for a walk with the only man who understands me, who can lay claim to me once more.
Without another thought, I toss myself into his arms, relieved to be free of the imprisonment of the house. We pause in the grass for a moment, listening to make sure Mum and Dad aren’t stirring. We watch the windows, waiting for a light to pop on. It doesn’t, miraculously. Mum and Dad are apparently snoring away, blissfully oblivious to the disappearance of their only daughter who had been forbidden to leave the house after dark. With a second woman dead in West Green, Mum had incarcerated me a prisoner of my own home until the mass murderer – she is certain it is a mass murderer at work – is caught. So, at this rate, I’ll be imprisoned in our quaint West Green home for the rest of my life.
Charles pulls me in tightly, his oaky scent entrancing me as it always does. He kisses my cheek. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
I follow him, his hand wrapped around mine, as he pulls me down the pavement, the streetlights illuminating our path. We wander along, me relishing the feel of his hand in mine, as we chatter incessantly about his job, about Mum, about all sorts of things.
We talk about Helen Deeley and the case. We talk about how long it will take for Mum to come around to liking Charles. We talk about the future Charles has promised me, once he gets enough money saved and can properly make an honest woman out of me.
We wander West Green, stroll into Ifield, and meander back towards my house. It wouldn’t do to push things, although a part of me feels like I’m nineteen and Mum really has no say over the whims of my heart. I’m a grown woman, not a child. Still, as we mosey back, I freeze as we get about halfway down the street. Coming down the pavement is a figure, hands in his pockets, staring right at us. He is stopped a few paces ahead of my house. My heart skips, my blood curdling. I would know that arrogant pose anywhere. It’s been a miracle that I’ve managed to keep him away from Charles this long, that their paths haven’t crossed. But all of that is about to change, I realise with a chill. Everything could change.
‘Who is that?’ Charles whispers, gripping my hand tighter. Even if we won’t admit it, the occurrences of the past few weeks have everyone on edge.
I almost utter that I don’t know, but as we walk on carefully and the figure gets closer, my heart shreds. Why is he here? It’s been a while since I’ve seen him around or sensed his presence. What is he doing here right now? And what are the chances we would see him?
‘Evening, Addy,’ he says, tipping his hat at me. ‘What are you two doing out and about at this hour?’
We stop, the three of us on the pavement, the June sky hazy around us. A lump grows in my throat. The air is thick and weighty, choking my lungs with its humidity. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d moved on, that he’d gotten over it all. But now, looking at that familiar glint in his eye, I know he’s not done yet. He’ll never be done. How could he be?
I don’t know what to say as my horrific past comes crashing into my present and my potential future. This is what I’ve feared all along – Oliver’s harshness looming like a dark cloud over my future happiness.
‘Didn’t catch your name,’ Charles answers, puffing his chest as he clings to me.
Oliver extends a hand. ‘Oliver Parsons. I can’t believe Addy hasn’t talked about me.’
Charles doesn’t accept his hand. ‘Why would she?’ he asks, turning to look at me.
I feel my face turn a pathetic white, my whole life flashing before me. Seeing Oliver brings back so many intense feelings. Every single time I see him, a wave of what happened comes slamming into me. A wave of terror is always rippling closely behind. I want to cry. I want to vomit. I want to stab him in a violent storm of vengeance for the things he said to me, for what he’s done to me. I want to make him pay.
Instead, I stand meekly, hating myself for bowing to him.
‘Oh, didn’t she tell you? You see, Addy and I were going steady for quite some time. Would you say a year, Addy? Yes, we had so much planned out. But, shall we say, plans changed?’
I look up to see the smirk on his face, and it sickens me. There is a blustering hate in those steely eyes. I can’t let go of what I’ve done, but seeing him, the hate glimmering, I know that Phyllis was right all those months ago.
‘I suggest you get on home and leave us alone,’ Charles says, stepping between us. I love him for it, but I hate him for it, too. I hate that Oliver will see what he means to me – because that simply assures Oliver will try his damnedest to ruin this. I can’t let him.
‘Cheerio, then,’ Oliver says, tipping his hat, brushing past me as he walks on, whistling to himself. Shaking, I fall into Charles’ arms.
‘What was that all about?’ Charles asks.
I can’t speak, disturbed by what Charles and I running into Oliver could mean. Why now? It’s been months. I’ve managed to keep Charles away from him for three months. Oliver has made his appearances here and there, always lurking nearby. He’s always made his anger, his presence, known, and in truth, he’s kept my fear alive. I know what he’s capable of. Nevertheless, Oliver’s never shown any real interest in interacting with Charles. He prefers to sneak about in the background of my life, dictating the rules from behind the scenes. Now, though, he’s brazenly announced himself. What will this mean? I thought I could keep him at bay, could keep the two parts of my life separate. I thought I could hide my past in the background and keep Charles in the forefront. I believed that in a few months, things could be different – Charles and I with a new start, and Oliver fading out of my life for good.
Now, I’m not so sure. Oliver’s a jealous man, and he’s also an angry man. It makes for a deadly combination. Ever since that night in my room, I’ve been terrified about what he could possibly do. He thirsts for power in any form. With Charles in my life, Oliver must believe his power over me wil
l diminish. The question is: what is he willing to do to latch onto what control he has left? What will he do to retain it?
After all, he has the one ace in his back pocket, the dangling thread between us that could ruin everything …
Will I ever really be free from him? When I made that life-altering decision, I naively thought I’d severed all ties. Now, I realise Oliver will always have something to flaunt in front of me, something to own me with. I’m still his in so many ways. Vomit threatens to spill over at the mere thought of it all.
I could tell Charles the truth. I think he really does love me. I think maybe he could understand. But there are no guarantees, especially when I’m not sure if I understand myself.
Tears well in my eyes. Life is too complicated.
Charles leads me home, comforting me, assuring me all is okay, but the way he looks back down the street, I can’t be so sure. I know he’s nervous, and that only intensifies my anxiety and underscores the lingering guilt within me.
I sneak through the front door, careful to avoid the noisy steps. Back in my room, I sit for a long time, dazed and terrified about Oliver Parsons and what his appearance here, now, will mean. I glance out the window and see Charles, standing on the pavement, hands in his pockets. He is watching, waiting to make sure I’m safe. I love him for that. But you can’t always protect someone, no matter how badly you want to.
***
‘I was just in town, and guess what I’ve heard?’ Dad utters as he hurries through the front door the next afternoon. Mum and I are baking a tart as Mum chatters about the latest fashions she saw in the catalogue.
The One Who Got Away Page 7