by Amy Cross
"Okay," he says, frowning. "Well... Hello!"
"Hello!"
He steps back. "Would you like to come in?"
"Sure," I say, stepping through the door. It's pretty clear that he's confused by my presence, and the whole situation seems kinda awkward. He's got the TV running, and there's a plate of crumbs next to the sofa; I guess he's a solitary kind of guy who spends his nights sitting around by himself.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, heading over to the kitchen. "Tea? Coffee?"
"Tea, thanks," I say. As soon as he's gone into the next room, I walk across the lounge. It's so weird to be in here; it's as if I'm invading someone else's space. Five minutes ago, he was happily enjoying his own company, and now suddenly he's been interrupted. He's at least thirty years older than me, which makes it particularly strange that I'd just turn up and come to visit him, and there's a part of me that wants to just turn around and get out of here. Still, I feel as if I have to say something to him about his sister. I've been planning to confess the truth to him, to tell him that I'm the one who caused Martina's death in that car crash, but now I'm starting to wonder if I should just let the past stay buried. Why give myself more problems? I mean, he might get angry and threaten to tell the police, in which case I might have to kill him and -
Suddenly it hits me. I know why I'm here. I want him to get angry. I want him to threaten me. I want to be forced to kill him. Earlier, I told myself that my killing days were over, but now I realize I'm deliberately trying to engineer a situation where I'll have no choice but to murder Robert Hopkins. A cold chill passes through my body as I realize that perhaps I've got an appetite for blood after all. I should turn around and get out of here. There's no need for any of this to happen; I could just make an excuse and leave, but something's still holding me here. I guess maybe I'm feeling nostalgic; after all, Martina Hopkins is where this whole thing began. If I hadn't killed her, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't be so strong. I wouldn't be so -
"Here you go," says Robert, coming through with two cups of tea. "Please, sit down". He sets the cups on the table, before moving some magazines from one of the chairs. "You'll have to forgive the state of the place," he says, seeming a little nervous. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting visitors. To be honest, I never expect visitors. The life of the aging bachelor, huh?"
I smile. It's fun seeing how nervous he seems; in most social situations, I'm the one who's awkward and a little out of place, but I feel as if this time the tables have been turned. As I sit down, I realize that I'm actually the more comfortable of the two of us right now. It's hard to believe I could have reached this point, but I feel as if I'm far more confident now that I know my father is dead. In fact, my mind is racing with ideas and plans, and all I want to do is get started on this new part of my life. First, though, I feel as if I have to confront the one final, unresolved part of my past; I have to made everything neat, and that's why I have to tell Robert Hopkins the truth about his sister.
"It's strange," Robert says after taking a sip from his tea, "but after you were here the other day, I started going through some old boxes of photos. It's odd to think Martina's been gone for so many years. It feels like only yesterday that we were standing around in that old funeral home, arguing about some long-forgotten part of the business". He pauses for a moment. "Eleven years. Such a long time but, in a way, gone so fast. I ended up going to visit her grave today. Hadn't been there for years, but I just wanted to pay my respects, you know? I guess I'm the only one left who'd ever bother, so it seemed like... Well, I figured I should start going more often, so I'm going to make a routine of it. Every month, on the first Sunday, I'm going to go and give her a quick visit". He smiles. "That probably sounds weird to you, but I just want her to know that I still care".
"It's not weird," I say.
"Maybe not," he replies, "but it's good to keep ties with your old life. I've never been one for family ties. Always been a bit too happy without all the complications, but somehow it seems more important these days". He takes a deep breath. "And I probably never would have started down this route if you hadn't shown up looking for a photo of her".
We sit in silence for a moment. "When she died -" I start to say.
"That was all so long ago," he says, interrupting me. "There's no point getting angry. What happened, happened. If I could go back and change it, maybe it'd be worth obsessing over it". He pauses for a moment. "I don't know if I'm religious, Juliet, but sometimes I think there's a kind of steadying influence behind all the chaos. Someone or something that knows the plan". He smiles. "Listen to me, getting all nostalgic and spiritual. Ignore me. Why don't you tell me why you're really here? 'Cause I'm pretty sure a pretty young woman like you has better things to do than drop in to see an old man on a Saturday night".
"I've just had a strange day," I reply. I want to tell him the truth about Martina, but at the same time I'm reluctant to break the conversation. In some weird way, I'm actually enjoying just sitting here, chatting away with him. I've never been able to manage small-talk before, but this time something seems different.
"Strange in what way?"
"I lost my job," I tell him. "I mean, I knew I'd lost it a while back, but until today I thought there was a chance I might get it back. And I got rid of some old baggage that had been building up. And now I'm..." I take a deep breath, as I realize that I don't have any plans. "I think I lost a friend today," I continue. "Her name was Jennifer. I haven't known her for long, but she was tied very much to one specific place, and that place isn't going to be there anymore. I went back and I thought she'd say goodbye to me, but she didn't. So I guess I'm thinking about that".
"It's hard losing friends," he replies, "but the trick is just to make some new ones. Hell, I've never had many friends, but I've never needed 'em. Just one or two, here and there". He smiles. "Sometimes a friend can be someone who just drops into your life for no apparent reason. Even if there's some big reason why you shouldn't be friends, like age or something else, you can kind of reach across and make things work". He stares at me for a moment, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. "Is that something you feel, Juliet? That sometimes you can make unusual friendships and relationships work?"
I swallow hard, not sure what to say. I feel like this conversation is taking a turn that I hadn't anticipated.
"It's okay," he continues, putting his cup of tea down. "I think I know why -"
"Your sister," I blurt out, keen to keep things under control. "Don't you ever get angry? What would you do if you came face to face with the person who killed her? What would you say?"
"I don't know," he says. "I've thought about it, obviously. He's only thirty miles away in the prison on Cedar Street, so I guess I could request a visit, but I don't see the point. It'd just be a negative experience for both of us. I've moved on".
I stare at him. "What are you talking about?"
"The drunk driver," he continues. "I've kept an eye on him over the years. He's been in and out of jail for various things. Guy's clearly an alcoholic. I feel more sorry for him than anything -"
"What drunk driver?" My heart is racing; something doesn't make sense here.
"Gareth Lockley. The guy who hit Martina's car".
I stare at him. "No," I say after a moment, my hands starting to tremble as I place my cup of tea on the table. "There was no drunk driver..."
"Of course there was," he says. "Martina was parked at a stop-light. The light went green, but Lockley was coming across the intersection and he didn't stop. Plowed straight into her car. They said she didn't have a chance. Said it was instant, but I've always wondered if they told me that just so I'd feel better and not worry about her suffering. Lockley was a trucker. One of those big rigs, and he used to drive drunk half the time. They say he was so wasted, he passed out just after the crash".
"That's not what happened," I reply, starting to panic. "She was driving, and she opened her glove compartment and a jack-in-th
e-box sprang out and made her crash".
"A what?"
"A jack-in-the-box".
He smiles. "Where the hell did you get that idea from? It was a drunk driver. There were more than a dozen witnesses. Martina was just minding her own business and that asshole slammed into her".
"No," I say, shaking my head. "She... She was driving, and she reached into her glove compartment, and this jack-in-the-box leaped out at her and caused her to lose control, and she hit a wall and... That's what happened, I mean, it's just what happened. I remember -"
"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "You've got your wires twisted. I've even got the death certificate somewhere, and some old newspapers reporting the case. She didn't lose control of anything. It was drunk old Gareth Lockley and his truck".
"No," I say firmly, trying to stay calm. "She was driving along, and she opened her glove compartment and -"
"I'm sorry, Juliet," he says, interrupting me, "but you've been misinformed. Juliet was killed by a drunk driver. He admitted it in court. It wasn't even the first time he totaled someone else's car, either, and sadly it wasn't the last. Hell, if you really don't believe me, go to the jail on Cedar Street and see if you can visit him. Hurry up, though, 'cause the last I heard, he was dying of liver cancer".
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate on the truth. I don't know why Robert's making up this story about a drunk driver, but I know what happened. I put that jack-in-the-box in Martina's glove compartment, and just a few minutes later she was dead. It was a childish plan, but it worked, and it showed me that my actions could have consequences. Martina was the first person I killed, but she was in many ways the most important since she was the gateway. Her death showed me what I could do; if I hadn't succeeded in killing her, I wouldn't have been able to go through with the others.
"It's in the past," Robert continues. "It all happened eleven years ago. I could have done more to confront the guy, but I'd have gone crazy if I'd -"
"I've got to go," I say, standing up so fast that I bang the table. My cup of tea falls off the edge and hits the ground, spilling across the carpet. "Sorry," I mutter as I hurry over to the door.
"Juliet?" Robert calls out, but it's too late. I'm already outside, hurrying to my car. "Juliet!" he calls again, as I fumble for my keys and unlock the door.
"Fuck," I say as I drop the keys into the foot-well. I lean down and reach around for them; eventually I manage to pull them back up and start the car, by which point Robert has run out of his house and is leaning down to tap on my window.
"Juliet," he says, "what's wrong? Why don't you -"
Ignoring him, I start the engine and slam my foot on the pedal. The car lurches forward and the tires screech as I head down the road. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I see Robert standing and watching as I drive away. I don't know where I'm going, but I feel like I need to work out what's really happening. I know for a fact that Martina was killed by the jack-in-the-box I put in her glove compartment, because if she wasn't... I swing the car left, barely taking my foot off the pedal as I take a hard turn and race through the night. I'm well over the speed limit, but I don't care; I just have to keep driving, no matter where I end up. As I stare at the road ahead, suddenly there's a brief flash, like one of the shifts of perception I used to get when I was younger, and I find myself on a completely different road, halfway across town. I slam my foot onto the brake pedal and come to a halt, staring at my hands on the wheel. How the hell did I just forget my journey? Taking a deep breath, I glance out the window to see where I am, hoping that maybe I've managed to get home already. But I'm not home. Not yet.
Instead, I'm parked outside Crestview.
Chapter Six
Eleven years ago
Walking across the grass, I eventually reach my mother's grave. It looks as if the area has been recently mowed, so everything's kind of neat. Leaning down, I place a single tulip on the spot where my mother's little wooden box is buried. I know a tulip's not much, but I can't really afford to buy her a big bunch of flowers, so she'll just have to make do with something I was able to pick from a garden while I was on my way here. I know my mother was a nice person, and I'm sure she'll understand that I can't bring a load of roses every time.
"I know it was you," I say, staring down at the patch of grass. "I felt you with me last night, in the house". I pause for a moment. "I don't think I could have done it without you. Everything seemed too easy, so I could tell you were there to help me. Thank you".
Hearing a noise in the distance, I look over and see an old man coming out of the maintenance shed on the other side of the cemetery. He glances over at me as he locks the door, but he doesn't wave or even smile; he just turns and heads across the grass and out the main gate, with a sour look on his face. I guess some people don't like to say hello.
"I kept wondering why everything was going so well," I continue, looking back down at the ground. "When I killed Martina, it seemed so easy, and I was kinda surprised that it worked at all. But then last night, while I was in Mr. Harriman's house, I realized that someone must be watching over me and helping me, and there's only one person I could think might be doing that. You didn't have to say anything. I knew it was you".
I wait for some sign that she can hear me, but there's nothing. I don't really know what I was expecting today. I have no idea how ghosts work, but if my mother is helping me, surely she can give me some kind of signal? All I want is some small indication that I'm not alone; just the tiniest indication that I'm not imagining this whole thing.
"I'm sorry I ran away from you," I say, thinking back to that moment in the hospital when I ran screaming after my mother bled all over me. "I shouldn't have done that, but I don't like blood. It was the blood I was running from, though. Not you. I would have come back the next day and told you, but you wouldn't have been there".
I leave another pause, hoping that she'll take the opportunity to reply.
"I don't think I'm going to need your help all the time," I tell her, figuring that I don't want her to think that I'm begging for constant attention. "Not for things like last night, anyway. I don't want to do that kind of thing again. But I'm having to do a lot more stuff around the house at the moment, now that..." I pause, realizing that I'm not quite sure how to explain the situation with my father. "It's complicated," I say eventually, "but I have to learn how to do things. It's kind of fun, but if you could keep watching over me, that'd be useful. I use websites to check information, but sometimes it's difficult translating instructions into actions, if you see what I mean".
I stand in silence for a few minutes, giving her another chance to say something. Just as I open my mouth to keep talking, however, I suddenly realize that there's someone standing right behind me. My first instinct is to turn around, or to panic, but I force myself to keep staring at the grave. After all, if I look at my mother's ghost, she might vanish, and I prefer the feeling of having her around. I can feel her just inches from me, almost as if she's about to give me a hug. Standing completely still, barely even breathing, I try to make the moment last for as long as possible. To be honest, I could quite happily stand here all day, every day, for the rest of my life. Eventually, though, I realize I want to see her face. I know it's a mistake, and I know I'll probably ruin everything, but I just want to see her one more time; I want to look into her eyes, and see that she's staring back at me. I take a deep breath, trying to fight the urge, but I'm too weak to resist for much longer. Turning around as quickly as I can, I hope that even if she fades away, I might at least get a glimpse of her before she goes.
But there's nothing there, and the feeling of her presence has gone, and I'm all alone.
Still, I know she was here for a few seconds, and that's enough of a sign. I'd hoped she might say something, but the sensation of her closeness will just have to be enough. After all, I can't be greedy. Making sure that my backpack is securely in place, I turn and walk quickly back across the cemetery. I need to get home
and see what's happening; I'm sure there'll still be people picking through the rubble of the Harrimans' house, and I'll need to be a little careful. Still, it's better than having Mr. Harriman poking about behind the woodshed or - worse - calling in the authorities about the smell. As I reach the gate, I turn back and look over at my mother's grave. I'd give anything to see her face again, but I'll just have to make do with the feeling that she's watching over me. I've got a feeling that everything's going to be okay.
Chapter Seven
Today
"What are you doing back here?" asks a familiar voice as I stand in the rec room of the abandoned ward. It's almost dawn, and I've been standing here for hours and hours, waiting for Jennifer to arrive. To be honest, I'd almost given up hope, but I figure I've got nowhere else to go. I need her. Finally she's here, and I turn to find her standing over by the door. In my whole life, I've never been so relieved to see someone.
"Where have you been?" I reply.
"Around," she says, smiling. It's as if she's being purposefully evasive. "Do you think I've got nothing else to do? Should I just sit around and wait for you to need me?"
"You've got to help me".
"Why?"
"It's all gone wrong".
She frowns. "What has?" Walking into the room, she circles me, as if she's studying every inch of my face. "It looks to me as if everything's gone very, very well. All the bodies are safely hidden, and the workmen have already started to arrive, ready to knock the place down".
"What if they find the evidence?" I ask, looking over at the cupboards that contain the five corpses I've stashed here. It's hard not to imagine them tumbling out into view. "What if the workmen come through before they knock the place down and they look in the cupboards?"
"They've already been through to take a look," Jennifer replies. "They were here yesterday, just making sure there was nothing they should remove. Section 15, paragraph 9 of the local construction code mandates that they have to look everywhere, including in all the cupboards, but of course they didn't bother. You know what people are like. Over-worked and under-paid; they just popped their heads around the door for a quick look, and then they ticked the boxes on their forms to say that they'd carried out a full inspection. There's only one job left for them to do now, and they're getting ready as we speak. I can hear the engines starting up. They're going to knock the whole place down".