She was the typical Jan growing up, always eager to please. Once she ran off to Europe though, it was over. She hadn’t been back since. I knew that even though she agreed to come back home for tonight’s dinner, it simply wasn’t happening. Oh sure, she’d claim to be “studying abroad.” But, Greg and I knew that she really just enjoyed the European party scene. I often wondered if I would ever see her again. I did miss my sister. But I knew she was happier where she was.
“A whole month?” I repeated. “That’s real commitment on her part,” I laughed. It wasn’t a mean- spirited jab at my defenseless sister who was God knows where right now. I wished her the best. Truly.
“And Greg? Any news from my lovable brother?”
“Not really…” my mother said. “When was the last time you spoke with your brother, honey?”
I drew a blank. I honestly could not remember the last time I spoke to Greg. It had to have been at least a week or two. We weren’t particularly close but we hadn’t been on bad terms either. He usually called when he was bored with nothing to do or if he needed some cash. I didn’t mind. He always paid me back and he was never a bother.
“Maybe a week or two, or three. I can’t say for sure,” I looked at my mother. “When was the last time he stopped by?” I asked.
“Oh maybe a month ago,” replied my mother. “You know how he disappears and reappears without so much as a note or phone call. He likes his privacy. You know how he is.”
“Hmm.” Greg often worked long hours. Sometimes he even worked from dusk till dawn. He fixed cars for a living. It was awfully dirty work. Even when he wore gloves, the grime would be stuck underneath his nails. I would have hated to have been his girlfriend. The filth was just everywhere. But he enjoyed the dirt and the grime and who was I to question it. Still, I’d made a mental note to catch up with Greg. I could at the very least give him a call.
“Where’s that boyfriend of yours, Eric?" asked my father. Dad loved Eric. And Eric loved my dad. They’d sit around talking sports and what- not. Their conversations would go on for hours and you practically had to pry those two apart.
"Oh, he should be here in a little while. He was so excited you were coming over." I said. Eric always did like when my parents came over. He was the family type. He enjoyed the small talk, the sports talk and every other type of talk. Eric could keep my parents entertained for hours.
"Should we wait for him?" asked my mother. "Do you know how long he'll be?"
"I'm eating now," my father said grumpily. I guess he was hungry. Impatient was more likely. So much for waiting.
"No worries guys. We can eat now. He probably won't stop by for another hour or so. I just hope he comes before you guys leave," I stated. My father looked annoyed. Once my father was irritated, there was no going back.
"Dive in," my mother said. And so we all did.
Dinner conversation was surprisingly pleasant. No heavy topics and none of the major complaining that usually accompanied family dinner. I was actually enjoying the alone time with my parents. I could be selfish that way.
"So…What’s new? What’s going on in your life?" my mother pried. She was a busy body. She wanted to know it all. Not knowing always drove her nuts, but only when it came to me. Jennifer and Greg would always get away scott-free. They never had to divulge details of their lives. Mom was always so worried about me. I never could tell if that was good or bad.
"Nothing really, Mom. Same ol' work stuff. You know how it is. Paper work and then some more paper work. Nothing too exciting to write home about. What about back home? Anything new going on in town?" Perfect deflection. I wanted to avoid talking about myself as much as possible. Nothing good would come of that.
I didn't want to lie and I couldn't just let her know that maybe, just maybe someone saw me commit a murder. I could just imagine how that conversation would go.
Hey mom I killed a man while having sex.
Really darling? How’d it go?
Not that I wouldn’t enjoy rehashing a few details with my mother. I enjoyed our conversations and we had always upheld a generally open line of communication. But I knew what I had to say was too much for her. It was too much for anyone really. My lifestyle was a bit out there. I wouldn’t want to scare her. The truth was simply too much to share with anyone much less your mom.
"Tomorrow, your father and I are going to the 20 year anniversary memorial of that little girl's death at the town square. - What was her name?” my mother paused momentarily to think. “Oh right, Casey Cooper. Do you remember the little girl that died on that school field trip?" she asked.
Of course I remembered. Oh how could I ever forget Casey Cooper. Sweet little Casey. She was my first. - My first kill. And you just couldn’t forget the first time you killed.
"No. I don't think I remember any Casey," I furrowed my brows in confusion. "Casey Cooper...Casey Cooper," I repeated over and over again feigning temporary memory loss. Thank God I was gifted with the ability to lie well. Very well.
-------
It was a beautiful sunny day. I was 6 years old. I remembered that my mother had made my hair into pigtails that day, just like I liked her to. I thought I looked simply adorable and the teachers agreed.
"My those are pretty little pig tails Jolene," said my 1st grade teacher, Ms. Kepner. She was a young and talented teacher. She was an excellent caretaker and always mindful of the class. And she never did suspect me of foul play. Not on that day or ever. But really, who would?
All of the children had been walking single file that day on our class field trip to the lake. Casey and I had been the tallest in the class and so we were at the back of the line, as usual.
I can't say that Casey was ever mean to me but she was a menace to the weaker more mild mannered children. I had often thought that if given a chance I would show her how it felt to be bullied. I just wanted to shut her up. Even in my wildest dreams, I had never imagined that I would get the opportunity or that I would actually go through with it. I was six years old after all. My days were full of play dates with learning interspersed here and there, not figuring out ways to hurt my friends.
The sun was beaming high above the sky and the air smelled clean and fresh. The birds chirped their little songs and the sounds of children’s laughter could be heard all throughout the park. Bright green leaves swayed smoothly along with the light refreshing breeze. Simply put. It was a perfect day.
I knew it was wrong but I just couldn't help myself. The whole class was walking in line but Casey and I fell behind while we were playing in the dirt with figs and leaves. I guess you would think I had separated us on purpose but the truth was, it wasn’t. Believe it or not, killing Casey was not on my mind that day. We just got distracted. That’s all. At that age everything was fascinating and we found a small bed of sand near the lake and we were just playing. Playing the way young children do but Casey just would not shut up. Yap yap yap yap. I continued to build messy castles in the sand and playing with twigs and leaves. I just enjoyed being out in the sun playing in the sand.
And then Casey pushed me forward and I fell face first into the sand. It wasn’t a hard push. It was a light little shove. Casey had just wanted to play. But I hated playing with her. I wiped the sand off my face and looked at her confused.
“Let’s go play hide and seek,” she said smiling.
“I don’t like that game,” little me said.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she suggested again.
“Nah,” I said. I didn’t really like hide and seek. There weren’t very many places to hide in the park anyway. The class had already dispersed and little kids were running around in different directions. Everyone was having fun. But I really didn’t like playing with Casey. She was too bossy. I’d seen a lot of kids from our class go home all teary-eyed after playing with her. She’d make you do things you didn’t want to and get you in trouble just so she could watch. I was better off staying away.
I turned around and kept on playi
ng in the sand and she just kept on yapping away. I tried to tune her out as I continued with my sand castle, but she had such a high-pitched voice. She just kept going on and on and something inside of me went off. Maybe it was the extreme high pitch of her voice. Perhaps, it was the way her face contorted with every word that flew out of her mouth. It didn't matter. They were unimportant details now.
To this day I remember the anger building up in me. The adrenaline rushed so quickly through my veins. There had been a part of me that held me back. It tried to subdue the urge. But the other part was just too strong. My anger as a child was not a force to be reckoned with. I’d seen other angry children. I wasn’t the only one.
Yap yap yap yap. It just wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. If only she had just stopped yapping. Casey might have been alive today. Maybe I wouldn’t have become what I eventually became. Life was full of what ifs. I wouldn’t dwell on them for long.
Casey awoke a monster inside of me. Before I could rationalize and clear out my thoughts I had her head in my two tiny hands. I grabbed her from behind and snapped her neck. It was so quick. So painless. So easy. Too easy. Just like I’d seen in the movies, I thought. Except this was not a movie and it was much easier than I could have anticipated.
She didn’t even have time to struggle. No screaming. Nothing at all. Finally, the yapping had stopped. I shut her up. I expected to have to use more strength, but my tiny body seemed to exert more power than I ever knew was possible. Casey's lifeless body dropped to the ground.
Everything went still. I didn’t mean on the outside. I could still hear the birds chirping and the other animals fidgeting in the trees and grass. But inside of me, everything went quiet. It was as if I was at peace. I calmly watched the other children playing and the adults chatting by the playground. I never could quite describe the calm after a kill. It was disarming. It was – bliss. Life and death came together for a brief moment as one.
I left little Casey's body there and rejoined the rest of the class. Her body was found a few hours later while they were doing a final head count on the bus and realized that we were missing a head.
"Where's Casey? Has anyone seen Casey?" my panic stricken teacher asked. Everyone could see the desperation mounting in Ms. Kepner’s eyes as the minutes passed by and Casey still had not been seen.
After they found her body on the tiny sand bed by the lake, they brought all the children back to the school where they questioned us all. Questioning children was somewhat different than interrogating adults. The police officers had to be careful not to frighten us. I wasn't scared though. I simply restated what I heard all the other children saying.
It should have been difficult. Lying about her death should have tugged at my core, at least a little. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t. I felt nothing. I was happy not to have to hear her voice anymore. I wouldn’t have to see her bullying the other kids anymore. Not that I cared really. I didn’t hate her. I didn’t love her either. I just didn’t care.
No, I hadn't seen anyone looking suspicious lingering around the lake. I answered the police’s question’s dutifully. No, I didn't see her go anywhere. She was there one minute and the next she was gone. At that young age, no one expected us to remember anything of importance. They never did suspect any of the children of any wrong doing.
They probably assumed it was a kidnapping gone bad. Someone had tried to take poor Casey and when it didn’t work they killed her. That was the story the police came up with. There wasn’t any other evidence to go on. There were a lot of people in the park that day. No one saw anything and so there was nothing else to be done.
I wasn't sure how I got away with it back then. How did I continue to get away with murder today? Maybe, it was the fact the Casey was killed in such a cold -blooded way. Sometimes children have accidents. But it wasn’t an accident. And no one could have suspected that I, a child, could have committed such a vicious murder and with such intent.
But I would always remember Casey Cooper. She was my first kill and you just didn’t forget your first time.
"Jolene? Jolene?" My parents sat there staring at me.
My parents repeated my name over and over till it brought me back to the present. "Yeah, sorry. I was just trying to recall Casey. Nope. I just don't remember," I lied.
"You were so traumatized. You probably repressed the memory honey," said my father. "It's probably for the best that you don't remember the whole ordeal." He kept on chewing and shoving more and more food into his mouth. I affixed my eyes down onto my own plate. I could feel my mother looking down at me. Watching.
My mother was the most difficult person in the world for me to try to fool. She could see the lies before they left my lips. Like she could see the lie forming from the wrinkles in my forehead. If she suspected something queer though, she didn’t let it be known.
"Yeah, you're probably right dad," I agreed finishing up the rest of my meal.
But the memory of Casey stayed with me long after my parents left and long after Eric came and went as well. Reliving that day made it almost real. Like I had only killed her a few hours earlier. I should have been feeling remorse. I knew what was considered right and what was considered wrong. But remorse was somewhere far off. I was thinking happy thoughts.
Chapter 11
The week flew by without any resistance. Here it was Thursday, and the prior days provided nothing of any importance. Work was work and home was home. I hadn’t received any other unsettling notes. Everything remained unscathed.
Eric, like any good boyfriend, had sensed something was up and continued to hound me with his questions. What’s wrong honey? I can tell something’s on your mind. Anything you want to talk about? His questions went on and on but my response was always the same refusal to acknowledge that anything was amiss. Nope, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s peachy keen.
I should have tried harder to lie a little better but my mental resources went toward figuring out who had sent me those little black notes. I still hadn’t thought of anything.
Paul's disappearance was still being broadcast. But only by the local news stations and they devoted only a snippet at the tail end of their hourly segments. There just wasn’t much interest in his case. Paul was definitely not headline news. It had been a week. Their case was ice cold. I felt confidant that once again, I got away with murder.
Yet, the usual satisfaction came without my usual delight. Yes of course, I got away with it. I always did. But this time, someone saw me. I had never, ever been seen or even suspected of any wrong doing at any point in time in my life.
It's as if for the first time, I was being stripped down to bare naked nothingness. I encountered a new set of emotions that had lain dormant inside of me for so long. Embarrassment, shame, fear, anger, annoyance and I dare say most of all, insecurity.
Insecurity really rattled my cage. It was not an emotion I often identified with. Could I be so bold as to say never? Never say never they say, as never often comes too soon. I was accustomed to feeling nothing. Numb beyond despair. But that insecure feeling, that of not knowing what exactly this stranger saw, had me constantly looking over my shoulder. But killing removed the numbness inside of me. I could actually feel. Feeling something was better than feeling nothing. Would I dare to kill again so soon? The itch was there. Would I be so bold as to scratch it? No. I’d better not.
And here I was, insecurity runneth over now. If ever there was a time to begin feeling insecure, I suppose now was the time. I was being exposed to a multitude of dangers.
Right here though, on my big gray ridiculously comfy yet ridiculously expensive couch, calmness began to take over. I sat with my knees clutched to my chest staring into the all consuming wall. I stared at the wall as all of those thoughts flooded at me a million miles a minute, or so it seemed. The thoughts just wouldn't stop coming...eventually, I passed out.
...Running...running fast. running faster than I ever thought possible. I was running for my life. I coul
dn’t stop. My Lungs burned from exhaustion. My legs grew heavy with every stride. I began to slow down. I was slowing down too much. I couldn't keep up the pace. He would catch me. "Oh my God," I panicked. I couldn't stop but I could not go on.
I closed my eyes. I could feel him come near. This was it. This was the end for me...
And suddenly I was in a dark room. Pitch black except for the tiniest sliver of light emanating from the bottom of a closed door. I fondled clumsily for the handle. Finally, I grasped the knob and slowly opened the door. I took a step and peered through the darkness. Two people lay there sound asleep in their plush queen sized bed. The dark fluffy pillows and blankets obscured my vision.
I crept up slowly towards the head of the bed. One toe in front of the other, I moved weightlessly to avoid making a sound. It hit me there, hard. That coppery smell. The kind you didn’t smell too often, but then it hit you and you knew almost instantly what it was. Blood. There was no mistaking it. Suddenly, dizzying and unsettling nausea took over me. My hands shot straight up to my mouth to mute my own shrill cries.
There lay my parents in what initially appeared to be a serene, peaceful night's rest. What I had thought were dark patterns on their pillows and blankets were dark red matted blots of blood. Blood everywhere. It was in their hair, on their faces. Blood had spattered onto the wall behind their bed and onto the floor. Petrified still, I could see thick gashes on their throats where they had been slashed. They’d been slashed in the same fashion that I had delighted in providing for my own victims.
Was this me? Did I do this? Why? And how could I not remember?
The phone rang. I suddenly woke to find my iphone blaring my latest ringtone at a deafening volume. Eric - thank God. Even from afar, he pulled me away from my own insanity-ridden mind.
All of Her Men Page 4