The Good Neighbor (24 page)

His head hung down, his chin nearly resting
on his chest. He appeared to be unconscious. Blood trickled from
his head and ran down the side of his face. I watched as it dripped
onto his shirt. Drip, drip, drip. I couldn’t look away.

In that second, as I watched the dark red
liquid create a growing pool on what once was a crisp white
t-shirt, I realized that life as I knew it was over. Everything had
just changed. Nothing would ever be the same now. For any of
us.

“Carla,” he said, still standing at the
door.

And my blood ran cold.

I turned onto Hewitt Street just as the knot
in my stomach gave birth to one in my throat. I felt as though I
may vomit, but I was certain I would choke on it because there
would be no way around the lump in my throat.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary here.
Maybe the danger wasn’t on this street. I knew that was wishful
thinking, but I held out hope.

I pulled into the driveway and parked the
car. I got out quickly and looked at each house on the street.
Again, I noticed nothing unusual. Everything seemed as it should. I
went from house to house visually, taking notes in my mind. Nothing
seemed wrong.

The only thing different was a light on in
Louis’ house. That didn’t happen often.

I thought it was quite odd that Louis
returned on the same day I had this awful feeling. Maybe it was a
coincidence, but maybe not. Maybe the two events were connected
somehow. Of course, I’d just have to wait and let everything unfold
as it was supposed to in order to find out.

I went inside. I pulled up a chair to my
front windows and sat. I didn’t plan to take my eyes of Louis’
house. Not if I could help it. I wanted to be ready this time.

My fists clenched automatically. I knew I
couldn’t inflict any damage with them. But I would die trying.

“What’s going on here? What happened?” I
asked, trying to sound casual. You know, as if I walked into a room
with a dead body and a hostage every day.

“You have to call the cops,” he gushed. “I
was on my way to, but since you’re here, you have to.”

“What happened?” I asked in a much sterner
tone.

“He killed Bernie! He killed Jill!” His eyes
widened, which I would’ve thought impossible. I had no idea how his
eyes were staying in the sockets.

“What?”

“He killed him. He killed her too.” Tears
welled in his eyes. I just couldn’t seem to process what he was
saying. This was all so unreal to me.

In the background, I saw the chair-bound man
raise his head. He slowly turned his head and looked at me. My
heart sank.

He shook his head and nodded, indicating that
the real killer was the man standing before me now, pleading for me
to leave the room.

Over and over, he repeated, “He killed him,
he killed Bernie. He killed Jill. He tried to kill me, but we
fought and I managed to tie him down. But we have to hurry.” While
he chanted this, my gaze remained locked with the helpless man
bleeding from the temple.

Seeing that something had caught my
attention, he turned around and glanced at the man in the chair.
Quickly, he turned back to me and tried to lead me out of the
room.

“Please, go call the police. Tell them to
hurry!”

“Okay. I’ll go. I’m going now.” I turned to
leave.

Satisfied that I was leaving, he turned and
walked farther into the room, toward the bound man.

Seizing the opportunity without much thought
at all, or so it seemed at the time, I quickly and quietly turned
back to the room. I stepped inside and grabbed a very heavy iron
bookend from the bookshelf just inside the door. In one fluid
movement, I picked it up and swung it as hard as I could at his
head. It was a solid connection.

After the sickening sound of iron hitting
bone, came the sound of a body hitting the floor. I watched briefly
as he fell beside Jill. He landed so close to her body, the red of
her blood mixed in with the red of his hair.

I dropped the bookend and rushed over and
began to free Owen from the chair.

“He’s the killer. He killed Bernie and Jill,”
he said slowly.

“Are you okay?” I asked, still working on the
rope.

“Yeah. He hit me pretty good there.” I
finished freeing him and he reached up and touched his head. I
watched him wince and felt terrible for him.

He stood slowly. He stepped over Jill’s body
and felt for a pulse on Andy.

“He’s alive. We have to tie him to this chair
in case he wakes up before the police arrive.”

Owen didn’t have the strength to move Andy,
and I wasn’t strong enough so he remained on the floor. We decided
that even if he woke, Owen could deal with him.

I felt sick. It was bad enough that Andy and
Owen were in the shape they were in and that Andy had killed Bernie
and Jill, but the thought that we were in the same room with Jill’s
body was too much. And knowing the Andy had killed her only made it
worse.

As if he could feel me staring at him, he
turned his head and his eyes met mine through the window.

I still stood there, like a fool, with my cup
of tea caught in the air between my mouth and the saucer. Realizing
how silly this was, I set down the cup.

I grabbed a rolling pin, planning to beat
that dog with it for digging in my back yard. I carried it with me
as I stomped my way out the door and across the back yard to where
the dog stood, covered in mud.

As I approached him, his tail wagged. Little
bastard. Digging up my yard.

I changed my mind about beating the dog when
I saw what he’d been digging. I changed my mind about the dog
altogether, as a matter of fact.

Sticking up out of the ground was a hand.

Owen hugged me. It was a tight embrace. The
kind you give someone who just saved your life.

“You do need to go call the police,” he said
as he pulled away from me.

I nodded and started to walk away. But then I
heard Andy speak.

“He killed him, Carla. He killed Bernie. He
tried to kill me because I knew. He probably killed your aunt. He
killed Jill.” His voice cracked.

I looked at Owen, who looked hurt that anyone
could even suggest such a thing. He shook his head. “I didn’t,
Carla. I would never.”

I looked from Owen to Andy and back again.
They both looked sincere. They were both in bad shape.

Andy said, “It’s true.”

After a moment of silence, I said, “I’ll go
call the police.” I exited the room. They both knew that. What they
didn’t know was that I was just outside the door, listening.

I was always amazed at the things you could
learn from being a fly on the wall.

As I listened to the conversation taking
place between the two men inside the room, I felt my heart
shattering, my soul ripping. I could actually feel myself going
hollow inside. I hated the feeling. It was new to me and I never
wanted to experience the feeling again.

I’d heard enough. I knew what I had to do. I
took a deep breath and went back into the room, where there stood a
killer and captive.

I watched the police pull into Louis’
driveway. I wondered what was going on over at his house, but
didn’t figure it was any of my business. If this was the reason for
my horrible feeling, then it wasn’t near as bad as last time.

The police officers didn’t seem to be in any
hurry, so it must not be an emergency. They hadn’t run the siren or
flashed the lights. It was a lone car with two officers. Surely, an
emergency would warrant more pizzazz than that.

As I watched Louis open the door for the
officers, I realized that my feeling hadn’t gone away. The last
time, it had gone away as soon as the accident was over. Whatever
was the cause of the feeling today wasn’t over yet.

I remained seated at the window, waiting.

I’d never really thought of myself as a brave
person. I’d had to be brave for my kids a few times with spiders
and bogeymen, but that was about it. No, I’d never had to face down
a murderer. With any luck, this would be the last time.

I walked into the room praying that this went
well.

Owen was standing beside Andy, who had
regained consciousness. They both looked at me when I entered the
room.

“Did you call?” Owen asked.

“Yeah. They’re on their way,” I replied. It
was a lie.

I walked around Jill’s body to the men. I
swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit. I realized I was
holding my breath. I took a deep gasp, my last one before I became
a killer.

I stepped closer to him. He looked at me. It
would be the last time.

I put my hands behind me and leaned in
closer. With his eyes locked on mine, he didn’t see it coming.

I brought my hands around quickly and stabbed
him. With an eighteen inch long aluminum knitting needle in each
hand, I stabbed one in each side of his neck. I pushed them as deep
into his flesh as I could, to do as much damage as possible. I had
them each about one-third of the way in him before he reacted.

He instinctively grabbed the needles.

He yelled, he cursed, and he cursed more when
he pulled the needles from his neck.

I’d always told my kids that if anything
should ever happen and they were to be impaled, they shouldn’t
remove the object which had impaled them. They wanted to know why.
I’d explained to them that removing the objects from their body
would allow the wound to bleed. This would surely cause them to
bleed to death, which is what was happening now.

Suddenly and without warning, the feeling
that had plagued me all day vanished. It didn’t go silently, as I
would’ve liked. It went with a violent chill and a severe wave of
nausea, one that I was sure would win and cause me to vomit. I
persevered, though.

I sat at the window a few minutes more to
make sure it was really gone. I saw nothing outside to indicate
that anything was different. There were no additional police at
Louis’, there was nothing different on the street that I could see
from my window. Yet, something was different. Something had made
the feeling leave me.

Just before I left the window, I saw the door
open across the street at Owen’s house.

I watched as a man and a woman walked out of
the house. He appeared to be wounded, and I thought I saw blood.
She looked shocked and dazed. I wondered what had happened in
there. I watched as they saw the police car next door. They walked
to Louis’ house, toward the safety of the police.

I wanted to help them, but I didn’t feel that
it was my duty. If there had been anything I could’ve done to help
them or to prevent whatever it was that had happened, it was too
late now. It was over.

I watched as they rang the doorbell at Louis’
and waited for him to answer the door. The man leaned heavily on
the woman as they waited. When the door was opened to them and they
disappeared into the house, I knew that whatever had happened had
happened at the moment my feeling had left me.

I didn’t understand the feeling. I never
would. At my age, I’d probably never experience it again. At least,
that’s what I hoped.

I left my post at the window. There was no
reason to keep watch there now. It was over.

I held the key in my hand. It was the key to
Owen’s house, the one he had given me. That seemed like another
lifetime to me now. I watched as the sun gleamed off the key,
creating a dazzling little light show in the palm of my hand.

I looked up and down Hewitt Street, taking
note of the changes that had occurred.

I looked over at Bernie’s house, which was
now occupied by a married couple with a toddler. They appeared to
be nice people, but I hadn’t visited with them or gave them any
indication that I wanted them to visit me. I didn’t trust them. It
wasn’t personal. I didn’t trust anyone now. Especially my
neighbors.

Louis had sold his house also. He’d said he
was going to anyway, but the events that had taken place that day
certainly made him go about it quicker. I hadn’t seen him in
months, and I was certain I never would again.

Jenson hadn’t moved. Neither had Hazel.

I looked down the street at Owen’s house. It
was only about the third time in six months I’d been able to look
at it. It seemed to beckon me. I walked off my porch and across the
street.

It broke my heart to make this short
journey.

I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t, mainly
because I wasn’t sure about the cause of the tears. I wasn’t sure
what I would be crying for.

As I passed the house that Andy and Jill had
shared, I couldn’t help but think of them. Poor Andy had been
devastated by Jill’s death. The fact that Owen was the one who had
ended her life only made his grief worse. He’d thought so highly of
Owen. And then Owen took from him the one thing he loved more than
himself. More than life, even.

Had it happened at any other time, perhaps it
wouldn’t have been as bad as it was for Andy to accept. But it had
happened just as he lost his mother. He was already sad about
having no parents left in this world. He had taken comfort from
having Jill and Owen by his side. And then, before he’d even been
able to deal with the loss of his mother, he’d lost both of
them.

And the realization that Jill had been
pregnant sent him over the edge. It was far too much for Andy to
handle. He couldn’t live in a world where everything he’d loved and
held dear was gone.