by Rosa Sophia
On the twenty-third of that month, Phillip had asked Jonny to chop some wood for him. He relayed to the court that Phillip had sent him into the barn for the axe. Jonathan was also able to remember the exact words that his employer had used: “It should be somewhere in there, but when you find it, don’t worry about the paint on it. I spilled paint everywhere when I was redoing some furniture.”
Phillip had attested that it was true about the paint. He could easily prove that he had been painting furniture by showing the police the brown wooden chairs in the dining room. But Phillip Maslin insisted that he had never spilled any paint on the axe. He claimed that Jonathan was lying. It was blood on the axe, not paint. The statement was completely forgotten and Jonathan Stark was convicted of the murder of Timothy Nyce, as two witnesses recalled seeing Tim enter the Maslin property on the day of his disappearance.
Stark was given thirty years in prison without the possibility of parole. He was lucky. He could have been in prison for life. A lenient judge took pity on him. Timothy Nyce’s death hadn’t been as brutal as the other three. The blood on the axe was more near the handle, showing that it had been used to beat Nyce to death, rather than hack him to bits. The axe was old and the blade fell out easily. Two strong blows to the back of the head after the blade had fallen away, and Nyce was no more.
Most people imagined that Jonathan Stark had been quite frustrated when making this kill, since the blade had fallen off at a crucial moment. But he had succeeded—according to the jury, the police, and the judge—and his sentence was carried out.
If there had been any chance that Stark would ever get to bond with his son and reunite with his ex-wife that chance had been obliterated with his sentence. No doubt the news had carried to his family.
He was a tough older man of fifty-eight when he was finally let out of prison. Phillip and Julie Maslin were in their mid-sixties.
The year was 1989.
Jonny moved into a nice little house in Quiet Meadows adult community. He received a death threat as soon as he’d felt that his life was back to normal and since then, he’d been living with a figurative anvil positioned over his skull.
He didn’t have love and he didn’t have friends. All he had was the uncommonly sweet Doberman that loved to curl up by his feet and lick doggie treats out of his hand. A good companion, yes. But the kind young dog could never compare to the love Jonny had shared with Julie Maslin.
Chapter 7
Getting Tired of This Hallway
“Where are we going?” There was a suspicious tone in Jonathan’s voice. He was sitting in the front passenger side of Kat’s car, and Corry was in the back. He had a few bags on the seat behind him and his dog was crouched on top of them, watching the world go by. Jonny hadn’t brought much, as he thought it might make him too conspicuous.
“To my house,” Kat replied. “I thought you said you were all right with that?”
“I am. But this is looking much too familiar for my liking.” He ran a hand over his bald head and squinted into the distance.
When they drove over the small bridge and turned right, Jonathan gasped and started yelling. His dog started barking.
“What the hell are we doing here? Are you crazy! Turn the fuck around!”
Kat slammed on the brakes just as she was about to turn into her driveway. She looked toward the house, then back at Jonathan Stark. He was right. What was she thinking? This was the property Jonny had worked and lived at, the place where he had been arrested. He had left his young adulthood in the back yard of this estate and he was liable to find it standing there still, frozen near the barn, the way he had been on the far-off winter morning when Detective Avery had ordered him out of bed and into his dreary future.
Had Katherine even bothered to mention that she was living in this house? She had explained she’d been at this place in 1960, but had she told Jonathan where she had begun her journey?
“That’s it, I’m getting the hell out of here.” Jonathan grabbed for the door handle, his hands shaking.
“Wait!” Kat grabbed his arm and Corry put a hand on his shoulder. The Doberman was growling.
“She lives here!” Corry exclaimed desperately.
Jonathan turned to her. “What?”
“Katherine lives here, Mr. Stark.”
“I don’t think you have much to worry about,” Kat said, taking her hand off his arm. Corry released his shoulder and tried to get as far away from the growling dog as she could. “My grandfather is in an old folks’ home in Silverdale and—”
“And Julie’s dead. I knew that much. I read her obituary.”
“I inherited this house according to Julie’s will. Phillip went along with it because he lost his mind.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“That’s what they say, Jonny. Phillip Maslin has gone completely bonkers, according to the nursing home staff and his own lawyer.”
“Do you believe that, Katherine?” Jonathan had calmed down, but he was still shaking.
Kat hesitated. “I’m not sure. All I know is you’ll be safe here. The only thing that will bother you here are memories.”
“You wouldn’t have said I could stay here if you didn’t believe I was in danger.”
“That’s true. I think Phillip’s as alert as he’s ever been, and I’m almost certain this whole insanity bit is just a ruse.”
“What if he tries to kill me?”
Kat laughed. “The chances of a senile old man trying to kill you are slim to none. And that’s mostly because if he really is sane, he would be stupid to blow his cover,” she said. “But you may as well be safe about it.” She started turning into the driveway. “You never know when something unexpected might happen.”
***
Katherine came home to ten messages on her answering machine, all of them from her mother. She called her before going to bed.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“That’s all you have to say for yourself? Do you know how many times I called? Twenty. I didn’t leave a message for all of them. I got tired of repeating myself. I can’t believe you, Katherine. I’m so glad you’re here, but your attitude is inexcusable. Why are you digging into the past like this? Where were you? Have you seen the news? They know you’re back.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“I did. After several other people in your area reported seeing you. You’re a national story, Kat. The returned victim. Some of the tabloids are saying you were abducted by aliens.”
“You’ve got to kidding me.”
“I’m not, Kat. Either you tell me what’s going on or—”
“Or what?”
Her mother sighed. For a moment, she didn’t say anything.
“Kat. I love you. I don’t want to see you hurt. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I know some things, Mama.” The fact was, she was afraid to tell her. Katherine leaned against the kitchen counter, hugging the cordless between her chin and shoulder. “I know some things I’m not supposed to. People are going to come after me. I know they are. Because when you know something like what I know, you don’t get away with it.”
“Katherine—”
“Mama, listen to me.” Kat kept her voice calm and low. “You can’t interfere, do you understand me? I know Dad told you all those things. I know that you knew. And I know who killed those men.”
“How could you know?” she asked after a long pause. “How could you possibly find all of this out?”
“Just trust me, okay, Mama? Please?”
“I trust you, Kat.” Her mother sighed again. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
That evening, Kat painted. She took out the biggest empty canvas she had—eighteen by twenty inches—and let her mind wander. She pretended the canvas was the murderer of John Maslin and she found herself using the brush like a weapon, creating broad, violent strokes that, oddly enough, formed striking beauty.
She dated the painting September 2, 2005 and went to bed with Jake.
***
Kat nestled her head against the feather pillow.
“Katherine?”
“What is it, Jake?”
“I love you. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“I love you too.”
The blankets were warm and the fans were on, the pillow was comfortable and Kat was more tired than she’d ever been. She had taken Corry home a few hours before. Now she thought of how well things had proceeded when she’d introduced Jake to Jonny, their new houseguest. No one had talked much, which was probably best. Jake had seemed bothered, but Kat couldn’t figure out why. She knew it wasn’t because of Jonny.
Katherine thought of—
Blood.
She sat up in bed and looked around the dark room. Jake had fallen asleep beside her. She wished she could drift away that easily, but she was almost certain that such an idealistic desire was impossible right now. The murder was coming back to her.
“I liked having you around. But I can’t have you telling people about this.”
Kat shuddered. It hit her like a crashing airplane when she realized that she would have to talk with a murderer tomorrow. She would have to meet her supposedly senile grandfather.
How would she approach the subject? How would she make him admit that he was a murderer? And how in God’s name would she get him to admit to five other murders, assuming he had killed them as well?
And if he really hadn’t, what then?
What if John had been his only victim? What if Katherine had invited a killer to stay in her own home, two doors down from her own bedroom? She put a protective hand to her neck and looked around the dark chamber.
She slunk back under the covers and stayed there. It was going to be a long night.
The boy's skull split like a melon and emptied on the barn floor. Two swipes with the crude weapon and the less manly of the two boys was dead…
Blood. Everywhere.
She began to wonder if she should go see that therapist Corry had mentioned.
***
She was really getting tired of this hallway. If she was thinking correctly, the anniversary of her nightmare was August thirty-first. That meant she had been having this dream for eight years. The sunlight on the floor seemed to ripple with the fluctuations in her mind’s eye.
“Hey!” she yelled. “You may as well come upstairs now. I know you’re down there! Let’s just get this damn thing over with.”
A few seconds of silence passed. Then came the expected sound of footsteps on the staircase. A moment later, Julie was standing there.
“Hiya, Grammy,” Kat said sardonically. “How the hell’s it hangin’? Anybody else been knocked off?”
Julie didn’t say anything. She started to cry, which made Kat feel guilty for her words. She looked at her granddaughter with an urgency Kat had never witnessed until now.
“There are a lot of dishonest people in this world, Katherine. When money’s involved, people are always more willing to lie.” She nodded toward the room closest to her, the one Jonathan Stark was staying in. “You’d better check on him. You never know when something unexpected might happen.”
Katherine blinked. The room was very dark, but she stood up and stumbled toward the door. She made her way into the hall and went to Jonathan’s room. She thought she saw Julie standing near the staircase, but when she turned to look at her, she was gone, as though she’d just turned and walked away.
Kat went into the guestroom where Jonny was staying. She didn’t know why she was following advice found in a dream, but it was the only thing she could do. She stopped in front of his door and thought for a moment, rubbing her exhausted eyes and trying to recall exactly why she was standing there.
She opened the door.
“Jonathan?” This room was equally dark and she could just barely see the lumped form of a man sleeping on blankets in the middle of the room. They didn’t have more than one bed, so he’d improvised.
There was a strange odor in the air.
Kat walked over to him, and touched his shoulder.
“Jonny?” She shook him. There was no response. She went to the standing lamp in the corner of the room and turned it on. When she looked back at him, she swallowed the lump that had manifested in her throat and she spoke again, this time with much less confidence. She said his name.
She went to the old man’s side and touched him. She put two fingers to his neck. His pulse wasn’t there.
She touched his chest—no heartbeat.
Jonathan Stark, lover of Julie Maslin and convicted killer of Timothy Nyce, was stone cold dead.
***
When the sun rose in the morning, it fell on the wooden floors of the guest bedroom, illuminating the unconscious form of the purebred Doberman, then Jonny’s carcass, and finally the body of Katherine Maslin.
When Jake found her, he checked her vitals. She was okay. When he discovered Jonny had passed away in the middle of the night, he realized Kat must have found him and been unable to handle the discovery.
Jonny was an older man and probably an alcoholic, judging from the nearly empty bottle of scotch on the floor by his body. Though Jake was shocked, he assumed the man had died of alcohol poisoning at some point during the night, fulfilling his own fears that his death was imminent. It had been one of the first things Jonny and Katherine had informed Jake about the night before. Jonny had been terrified someone would come after him, now that he had spoken his mind about some very touchy issues.
Around nine in the morning, ten minutes after Jake had woken up, he carried Katherine out of the guest bedroom and put her back in their own bed. Just as Jake was headed for the downstairs phone to call 911 and announce a death in the house, he heard Kat’s voice.
“Jake?” She was tired and her voice was soft. He came back to her side and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What is it?”
“I found…”
“I know. I was just about to call someone to take away the body. I guess he died of alcohol poisoning in the middle of the night. The poor bastard was so convinced he was going to die that he pretty much killed himself.”
“Before I found him, I had a dream,” Kat murmured. “Julie was there.”
“Another one?”
“No, this was different. She told me to go check on Jonathan.” Kat looked up at Jake, her eyes wide with worry. “I woke up. I went in and did as she said. I think I saw her ghost in the hallway, I swear. But that doesn’t matter. I found him dead and—”
“Kat, it was just a dream. Dreams can be premonitions, but it doesn’t mean there was anything particularly odd about his death. It’s disturbing, yes, but it he killed himself…”
Kat winced and put a hand to her forehead. “I have a mother of a headache,” she muttered.
“You fainted. You must have hit your head.” Jake brushed the hair out of her face and pushed it behind her ear. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to go call someone about the body.”
“All right. But don’t let on about why he was here.”
“Okay.”
***
Kat went back into the guestroom while Jake was making the call. She stood by the door for several long minutes, contemplating whether or not she really wanted to go back in there and keep the company of a dead man. Eventually, she opened the door and went in.
The room smelled badly. The corpse was as white as the sheet overtop. Kat shivered when she saw the eerie whites of Jonny’s eyes.
The body was in an awkward position. She hadn’t noticed this when she’d found him, but he didn’t look like he was in a sleeping position at all. He looked more like he’d moved fitfully at some point and then forced himself to sleep in an uncomfortable pose. Perhaps he’d had trouble relaxing.
I know what that’s like. She was certain Jonny had been accustomed to sleepless nights. She wondered if he’d really died of alcohol poisoning. P
icking up the small bottle of scotch, she remembered her wild high school days. Getting drunk had been one of the only things to do in the boring town that she had grown up in. One night, she had drunk an entire bottle of scotch. She was still alive. It didn’t seem right to her that Jonny had died from the same thing she had done back in high school. Then again, he had probably been drinking for years. His body had enough.
She looked away from the body and saw the Doberman across the room, lying on its side. On closer inspection, she found blood on the dog’s head. What had happened here? If Jonathan had gotten drunk enough to beat up his beloved companion, both Jake and Katherine would have heard the ruckus. None of this made any sense.
Kat decided she didn’t want the cops to find the dog, simply because they might take it away. For some reason, she felt terribly sad for it, so she managed to lift the Doberman onto a blanket and transport him into her bedroom. She closed the door and went back to the guestroom.
That was when she saw a corner of white paper poking out from under Jonny’s blankets, right beside his wallet. She picked it up and studied it as she walked to the other side of the room, away from the body. The print on the front of the paper was neat, but the back was crusty with translucent dried glue. Why had Jonathan had this paper with him, and what did it mean?
Don’t forget to call Millie at the office on Friday.
There was a phone number on the bottom.
***
Kat listened as Jake told the cops his assumptions.
“We think he died from alcohol poisoning.”
“Is he family or just a friend?” the cop asked.
Jake opened his mouth to speak, but Kat cut him off.
“He’s a good friend of mine. We went way back. I knew this would happen. I feel badly, though. We had a fight last night.”