A Killer Among Us

by Rhys Stalba-Smith

  Ralph frowned, Charlie unsure what to feel. It seemed everyone around him was in a similar boat. On one hand Charlie wanted to know so that he could protect his family, on the other, he didn’t think Carl’s intentions were as holistic as he implied.

  But yes, Carl said to quiet the chatter. I do think we have a serial killer on our hands. Five bodies don’t just turn up on a Monday morning.

  It’s one body, one of the Directors said. The others could be fakes for all we know.

  So why would one body be real, and the others fakes? Carl asked him. There was no response. Look at it like this, every other paper is having this exact conversation. What happens if they all publish the story and we don’t? Or we publish a censored version?

  But we can’t publish the photos, one of the directors said. He was slightly older than the rest. Sitting at the head of the table, opposite Carl. Goddammit Carl I will not have it. Whilst you may run the paper, I own it. I will not have you ruin its credibility by making it some snuff mag.

  Nor will it be one, Carl said. We’ll just report the truth. No photos, sure. But we’ll report the word. Maybe seeing the name will help some people come forward. Maybe it will trigger some missing person cases to be reported. The people need to know. And they need to be in a position to know how their state’s defence is acting upon it.

  The meeting after that dispersed quickly. The Directors all leaving one by one, shaking Carl’s hand and leaving. Charlie saw the single picture they’d received from afar. It was blurry, with a certain definition in it. Then he saw what each letter spelt.

  Now he stood with the rest of the staff on the steps, all smoking and looking at the ground. A break. Just a small break from the surrealness of it all. The word flashing in his mind again and again. He didn’t even want to repeat it. It scared him too much. The name he’d been running from for so long.

  After the meeting he distracted himself by looking at all the photos, making himself know them. See the truth. It wasn’t what he was thinking. Because along with the fear and anxiety making his skin feel not like his own, was something else. A terrible excitement. A terrible realisation. Here was the chance for his book. The perfect story that he could be at the base of. He could capture the whole thing fresh. The feeling of the city, it’s people, the fear and unknown of it. The power of it. It was a blank cheque waiting to be cashed. This is what made him feel disgusted in himself, because the immediate reaction he’d had to protect his family had disappeared. The shame made him want to smoke again.

  Except as he stood there smoking, a shadow rose up in him. Had they been so easy on him? Nothing had been sacred when he was reported on. He’d made a mistake and was dragged through the shit for it. His wife and daughter through it. This though, whoever did this, was doing it deliberately. They wanted the attention. They wanted people to know. Did they want to be caught? Charlie didn’t think so. But why not give them what they wanted, he could angle the book on that perspective. The Killer and the Voyeur. Something along those lines. Suddenly the Sydney Slick felt very amateur to him.

  Pretty fuck’n rough, aye? Charlie turned and Ralph emerged, cigarette already lit. I’d be keen to hear what you think of it all? he said. Seeing as you used to deal with people like this.

  Never like this, Charlie said. Most of ‘em were criminals, but not mass murderers.

  And that Jesse chick?

  Charlie stayed silent.

  It’s alright, Ralph said. We all make mistakes. The way he said it Charlie knew he meant it. You gotta understand that papers besides the news, report on what’s selling, he went on. And when they sell it they make it as dramatic as possible. But people by and large don’t understand that. They don’t see it as a business. They don’t think there’s a board of directors seeing the paper as an investment. So when they hear or read all this shit, they take it as if it were war declared. You my friend, felt the brunt that force.

  Charlie took a long drag of his cigarette. Trying to finish it and go get to his cab.

  Ironic though? Ralph said.

  In what way?

  Well, it was journalists that did a pretty bloody good job at stuffing your life up, now you’re one of them.

  I’m a writer, Charlie said. I’m working on a book. I hope that will become a full time job in the future.

  Hey I’m writing a book too, Ralph said, smiling with the cigarette in his mouth. Still waiting for that call though.

  In the end Charlie made some excuse about a phone call he had to make and excused himself from Ralph. He walked across the street and stood in the payphone he’d called home from the other day. Stood there thinking he should pretend to make a call, if Ralph were still watching, and eventually decided he should make a real one. But halfway through dialling, he hung up and stopped the phone. He didn’t actually want to talk to Eve, not after yesterday. Because yesterday, then last night, she’d finally let it slip. That yes he was starting his new job on Monday, as an assistant, not a journalist. The quip had been said quickly, unthinking, when they were doing the food shopping. Him pushing Harper, who’d been reaching for a toy and he was relinquishing his will.

  Are we made of money? she snapped. Then she said what she truly thought of his new job. Charlie tried to ignore it. Stayed silent the rest of the shop and drive home, Eve glancing at him for having said what she’d said. When they got home he took Harper to her room and set her up with her paints. Rachel joined and he left the girls to be happy.

  He and Eve went to their bedroom, turned the radio on and tuned it to static. Had it out. He felt this was worse than yelling. Wished that they actually would yell. It would feel more honest then. More powerful. But in their deliberate hushed tones under the radio, the words were sharper and deeper cutting. He was surprised she hadn’t mentioned separation or divorce. Not that she knew he’d found the papers years earlier.

  He began dialling again, this time finishing the number for home. Regardless of their stresses, and how they currently felt, they could get through it. He knew they could, they’d already been through hell. This made it all less important anyway. A serial killer was on the loose.

  Hello?

  Heya Eve, it’s me.

  Oh.

  I’m just calling cause I’m gonna be late tonight. My trial by fire review begins tonight, and so I don’t want you to think anything bad.

  Okay, thank you.

  How’s your morning been? How’s Harper going?

  She’s fine, Eve replied. A bit grumpy this morning with you not being here. And Rachel at school. But she’s fine, I painted with her.

  I bet she enjoyed that.

  She did, Eve replied. They both stayed silent. Look yesterday, I’m sorry for what I said. I know I can be harsh.

  It’s okay, Charlie said. They’re not things that aren’t true.

  Yes but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re fair.

  Charlie saw himself in the glass reflection, the anger that had been in him thinking about yesterday vanishing. Look, I also called for another reason. There’s been some news. Big news. It’s gonna come out today.

  Is it that poor girl they found? I saw it on the news this morning—

  It’s related to that, Charlie said. It hasn’t been reported yet, but there’s been more. More bodies I mean. And she’s apart of that lot.

  Jesus, Eve said, disbelief.

  Yeah. Look you’ve gotta keep this quiet, Charlie said. I mean I know you’re not gonna tell anyone. I’m just saying cause, I suppose I’m nervous. But we had the police here and everything. Each paper in the city received anonymous letters with a photo inside.

  A serial killer, she said. Still in disbelief. Fear, true fear, would be trickling into her veins. How many? she asked. Are they all women?

  Five at the moment, and unfortunately, he replied. You know as much as me now though. Just, Charlie stopped then. Remembering each photograph and body. Just, I don’t want you to freak out or anything. I mean, I want you to be careful. Wanted you to k
now. Just keep an eye out getting Rachel.

  Well I will freak out, Eve said. It’s pretty fucking scary. You know it’s funny, Gary didn’t say anything this morning when we spoke. I’d have imagined that he’d be in the thick of it all.

  Gary called? Charlie asked. Why was he calling?

  What? Oh nothing Charlie. Exasperation in her voice, tiredness. Just about next weekend. It’s his party, remember? Just finalising a few things is all.

  Oh right. Charlie’d forgot about the party. They received the invite a few months ago. Big thing full of confetti. It was Gary’s fortieth birthday. No kids, this had been underlined twice. Charlie felt it was purely for his inclusion alone. Gary knew that Charlie hated leaving the girls with sitter’s or Eve’s parents. But it was the birthday boy’s wish, as Eve had said. The girls would be with her parents for the night.

  But he didn’t say anything, Eve went on. He sounded busy, but he didn’t say anything about it all.

  Well I mean if he’s focusing on organising his party rather than his job—

  That’s not fair Charlie.

  No, no it’s not, he said. Fair would be reporting on me directly after my accident. Offering his own thoughts and ideas in his own fucking editorial column of my identity and mental health.

  He’s apologised for that, Eve said.

  Did he? Didn’t really feel like it. They were silent again. Charlie thinking about how Gary had been Eve’s shoulder to cry on, talk to. Not him. Not her bloody husband. Why would she too? Not when good ole Gary was there, so nice and understanding. A notepad just out of sight, him writing everything down and printing it in the paper. Disguised as musings. As if everything he was suffering hadn’t been enough. Look I gotta go Eve, he said. I just wanted you to know about the killer. Please be safe. I’ll call when I’m on the way home, okay?

  Okay.

  Bye.

  Love you Charlie.

  Love you too. Charlie hung up the phone, stood staring through the glass at all the people going by. Now the lunch rush. People hustling for food, on break, living their lives and making small talk. Yet a serial killer was among them. It could be anyone. Anyone. Charlie stared at the line again in the phone booth, about killing society for a good time, it took on a whole new meaning now. Just like the cancer that lived among the blood cells, so too was the killer. He liked that line. Maybe he would open the book with it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charlie sat dumb. The voice speaking on the phone.

  It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

  Millions of things firing through Charlie’s head, none of them on who this was talking to him? He knew who it was. He’d known them a long time ago. That voice. He just didn’t know them right now.

  Of course I’ve heard about your predicament. Your poor brain. A laugh on the phone.

  Charlie’s hand drifted to the alert button, big red thing, made for smashing. Now was the prime time to press it, to push it and this could all be over. Except, except this voice had brought back his life. He knew the voice, knew it was bad, but with the voice his fuzziness in the past had cleared up. With it he could see all the way to the bottom of the lake. He could see the depths. The darkness. The—

  You know we always had such a back and forth relationship. And you’ve been such a good listener Charlie. In the end I suppose you didn’t really have choice, and now, well, now you don’t have much more either. Trapped there. Broken legs. Broken body. But I do wonder what you think? Charlie could hear the smile over the phone. The lips tightening, teeth shining and gums red as tomatoes. Still got me though. Not all is lost.

  Charlie’s mind was in freefall. Just press the fucking button. Press it! Press it press it press it now! But he didn’t. He kept listening. The voice the voice the voice.

  Do you remember how it all started Charlie? Of course I shouldn’t be too reminiscent with you, I’ve heard the past angers people such as yourself. Charlie’s jaw was clenching and unclenching, his teeth grinding. An anger surging through him. Are you angry? the voice asked. Is it like old times? What a picture perfect life you had. Except then I came along.

  At this Charlie had a distinct memory pierce him. Something he hadn’t realised was in his mind. The black hole in his ceiling. The changing tar that would spin above him. Feeding on his anger and hatred. His dark thoughts and ambitions. His jealousy, envy. His wants. A child, then, a man.

  Yes, yes I imagine you do have a lot of anger, the voice whispered. I do. For we never got to finish.

  Charlie saw it then. The tar dripping down onto him. After the first murders came out. The photos to the paper, the message. The tar dripping down from the roof and into his mouth, onto his tongue.

  Our relationship began long before our much delayed rendevous though, said the voice. We had no choice in it, did we? Just as your sister. She had no choice either. She was only a child, barely a teenager, and yet two men made her choice for her didn’t they. You remember of course, don’t you?

  Charlie did remember. With those words, the tar not only dripped, it poured down on him again.

  . . .

  On the twenty-eighth of August in 1963 Charlie Gardner was ten years old. He had an older sister, Sarah, who was thirteen. The Gardner’s were a good family, close, funny, never a cuss between them. Charlie could only remember a handful of times where his parents had yelled at him, or where he’d been so upset that he threw a tantrum. Of course as a ten year old boy his only concern was finding out what Hap Diggins did on that week’s episode of Fuselage. His goal, no dream, was to grow up and be a fighter pilot just like Hap. That was all life was, comics, television, and Hap.

  For Charlie’s sister, who was that fraction older, but at an age where it made all the difference, her concerns had outgrown that of Charlie’s. They still got on, and they were still the loving and funny family, except now Sarah was aware of the world. She was aware of what her place would be. Part of her awareness had been wanting to change that. She loved her mother and father, and understood maybe more so than Charlie why their neighbourhood in the last ten years had exploded with Europeans. That there were places in the world where women were more than housekeepers and child rearers. That there were places out there where she could be more than a lady, she could be a woman. A woman that could do anything.

  But to get there required money.

  So when Sarah was eleven, closer to twelve actually, she found out about this world from her French friend at school. She made it her goal to meet this world and become that woman. She hustled and worked every job she could. Which in her suburb meant that she helped out with laundry and childcare.

  Sarah over the next two years became a neighbourhood beacon. If there were a child that needed minding, she was the one to help, if whites needed airing, pants needed ringing, she was their strong hands. The journalism and writing would wait, but the character was always being built, she often told herself.

  Among these families, and the trouble that had come with such a large influx of people, Sarah often made her work. She saw them as herself, there were no issues of identity, race, or belief. They were just people. It’s just that instead of having moved here from by the sand hills near Grange, they’d come here from Italy, Poland, Greece, the United Kingdom and islands of Japan and southern Asia. There was one family that came to depend on her weekly, almost daily. The Burke’s.

  The Burke’s were a mixture, often told to her by Missus Burke herself. Elaine as she preferred. Elaine had married a man from Britain. Tom Smith. Tom had been in the war, the front line. He had trouble sleeping, and because of the sleeping, which was caused by his dreams, he drank. With the drinking came a problem with working, in that, he didn’t. This didn’t faze Elaine as she too was an upwards driving woman, she worked and worked hard. She washed, cared, ironed, worked her fingers to knuckle to put food in her mouth and family’s. Her pride and joy shining through all of it, her flag to shine for her, was her son Ethan.

  Sarah over the two years of caring f
or them had got to know little Ethan. He was a bright child, a year or two younger than Charlie, but nevertheless confident and witty. She would watch him after school whilst Elaine was out working and Tom was drinking. He had a wit and imitation of character that made for a lot of comedy for the both of them. Both impersonating people of the neighbourhood.

  At the end of the day, Elaine or Tom came home first and she could leave. Sarah always preferred when Elaine came home first because she was neither drunk nor leery. But when it was Tom, he would be muttering and staring. Blaming. People thought him a good sort because even though he wasn’t Ethan’s father, he treated the boy as if he were. He spent days with him playing, reading books, how to carve a small wooden owl with a pocketknife. Only occasionally did his frustrations from the war reach down to Ethan.

  Along with the many problems these relocated people were facing was another worse problem, that of a protection racket. Run by the local policemen. A few of the times when Sarah was walking home, she’d see the police car crawling along. Deciding who’d they’d stop in at. It was a secret the neighbours and locals pretended to ignore. To acknowledge it meant to acknowledge that maybe the new life that had been promised wasn’t as shiny as described. That he even though the old world had been destroyed, there were still abusers in the new.

  The Burke’s, unfortunately, seemed to always receive a visit. This was because Tom often spoke ill of the policemen. Challenging any of the officers that came into the pub for a drink. Finally, one night at the pub he fought one of the officers. A constable. Glassing the man from behind. The constable in particular was Constable Michael Stephens. The glass exploded as it connected with the side of the man’s head. Slicing his ear near off, before jagging into the flesh and peeling the muscles from his cheek and jaw, flaying the skin outwards for the secret teeth to be seen by all. A brawl ensued where Tom managed to glass a second officer, before he himself was knocked out and restrained. Tom was arrested, spent a night in jail and released the next day when he was sober.