Girl Next Door Read online

  "I do like that woman," Shannon said. "Without her, I don't know how we would make things work."

  "Neither do I," I said when I heard the expected scream coming from the living room, and less than a second later Angela stood in the doorway, holding the wooden spoon in one hand and Tyler in the other.

  "Listen, honey; I need to go now. There's trouble."

  "All right. I have a show tonight, and then we'll be on the road again tomorrow. Talk to you later."

  I hung up with a deep exhale.

  "He hit me," Angela said. Then added while holding the spoon up, "With this."

  "I know. I'm sorry but listen up. Could you go get the others? We have some shopping we need to do, fast."

  5

  It isn't that impossible in this society, and I know that there are many more out there like me, hiding in plain sight. I know because I have lived as an ordinary person all my life and I still do. Even though I have been living a parallel and increasingly sick life. But I have always managed to keep it to myself. It's not like I can put a finger on a certain date in my life and say that on that date I decided to be a killer. I think you are one way before you do the actual deed. For me, it was something that built up inside of me over the years, from my childhood and into adulthood. I was raging inside. My rage contained such incredible energies. Yet people would say that I was a nice guy. Sure, I looked troubled at times; I looked moody, but generally, if you asked people back then, they'd all say I was a nice guy. They liked me. But that was only because they didn't know what was really going on inside of me because I am very good at hiding it.

  It was while growing up that I realized something dark was growing inside me and, even as I suppressed it, I knew one day it would demand my attention. As the years passed, it became more and more demanding and, finally, one day, I simply had to give in.

  I had to do it.

  I still remember the smell of his last breath. Of course, I do. He was, after all, my first kill. It was a surprise. He was a surprise. The fact that he was home was. I hadn't expected him to be. Knowing this family and their routine, having carefully planned this for months, I hadn't expected the father to be home. But he was, and that threw me out of balance at first. Of course, it did. He was strong, and he fought bravely for his family and for his own life. But I was stronger. As I wrapped the belt around his neck and tightened it, his face almost exploded. It swelled up so terribly, that's what I thought it would do.

  I came in through the back door. I opened the unlocked door leading to the kitchen and let the dog out first. I knew it tended to bite, but as it realized it could run out freely, it no longer worried about me. It ran happily into the backyard where it had spotted a black raven to chase into a tree.

  I heard voices coming from the kitchen as I stood in the doorway, the knife clutched between my fingers. It was morning. They were all going through their usual routines. The kids were upstairs getting ready, fighting over some toy, while their mother yelled at them to hurry up.

  She was making their lunches as I entered. I was sweating behind the mask, and a droplet landed in my eye and stung. It wasn't that hot out since it was February, so I guess it was just my excitement that made me break into a sweat. This was, after all, my first. I was a virgin up until then. This was the culmination of many years of fantasizing and dreaming about doing this. Years of planning. And it was so perfect.

  The woman didn't notice me at first as I moved in closer from behind her. She was smearing peanut butter on toast. She seemed stressed and was mumbling to herself. I stood there for what must have been a few seconds, a thrill of emotions rushing through me in waves, causing the hairs to rise on my arm.

  Then she yelled. Still without turning around, holding a piece of toast in her hand, the butter knife in the other.

  "Timothy! Brianna! Bus will be here soon. Come down now! Eat breakfast."

  Timothy. Brianna. Those were the names of the two youngest in the family. Eight and ten years old when it happened.

  When I happened.

  "Coming!" a voice replied from up the stairs. It was Brianna's.

  Then the woman went back to mumbling. I walked closer to her and could almost smell her. I imagined me reaching over and slicing her throat, killing her instantly just like that, but then regretted it. I remember thinking I wanted my first kill to be spectacular, and not fast. I wanted her to fight for her life. I guess I got what I wanted because, as I stood there, with the knife in my hand, ready to jump the woman, a voice interrupted me and threw me off guard.

  The yelling was angry.

  "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

  I turned to look into the face of the father of the family. As I said, it took me completely off guard since the dad usually had left for work at this point of the day. I had studied their routines closely, as I do with all my victims, and the husband wasn't supposed to be there. Needless to say, I don't like surprises very much.

  6

  August 2018

  "Ten minutes, Shannon!"

  Shannon King nodded with a sigh as the door was closed again and the stage manager disappeared. She turned to look at herself in the mirror in front of her. Her make-up was on; her hair was set. She was ready for her next performance. Every night meant a new town.

  "Where are we again?" she asked.

  Sarah, her PA, looked up at her from her phone. "Detroit."

  Shannon nodded. "Right."

  She had brought Sarah along on her tour and was so grateful to have her with her. Without her to keep track of her life, she would probably go insane. Shannon corrected a lock of hair.

  "How do I look?"

  Sarah put the phone on the table and stood up. On the table was an immeasurable amount of chocolate boxes and flowers that Shannon would never even get to enjoy. It was the same everywhere she went. Sometimes, she wondered if she should have her manager call ahead and tell them to save the money they used on flowers and chocolate and donate them to some charity instead. It always filled Shannon with such deep guilt to look at all of it and know that it was just a waste.

  "You want water before you go on?" Sarah asked.

  "Yes, please," Shannon said, and Sarah went to the mini-fridge to grab one for her. Shannon took it and drank greedily without ruining her make up that her make-up artist had carefully smeared on her half an hour ago. Shannon felt a shooting pain in her hand as she put the bottle down and winced.

  "Still bothering you, huh?" Sarah said. "Maybe you should have a doctor take a look at it again soon. It happened two years ago; it shouldn't still be bothering you."

  "I'm okay," Shannon said and turned away. She looked at her guitar in the corner and knew in a few seconds she would have to grab it. Shannon sighed. Holding the guitar used to be her joy; it used to make her feel so whole, but lately, it had filled her with despair instead. The pain in her hand was terrible when she was holding the guitar and playing made it even worse. It had been tolerable at home and almost didn't bother her until she went on the tour and had to play every day. The situation wasn't getting any better, and even though she tried hard to ignore it, she would soon have to admit that something was terribly wrong. Every night, when she came off stage, it hurt so badly it would keep her awake at night.

  She had been injured in Savannah, where she and Jack had been married two years ago. A woman, actually Shannon's own deranged aunt, had taken Tyler, and she had fought her with the result that her hand was stabbed. The doctors had told her the pain would go away eventually, but so far, it seemed only to get worse. Shannon had thought about seeing a specialist, but there didn't seem to be much time in her life. Or maybe she was just terrified of the outcome. What if they told her she needed surgery? She wouldn't be able to perform. What if they said she would never be able to play her guitar again?

  "You sure you're okay?" Sarah asked, concerned.

  Shannon took in a deep breath, then grabbed the guitar, pressing the pain back and forcing a smile.

  "Yes. And if you'll excuse me, I have a show to do."

  Sarah smiled back, a sense of relief rushing over her face. "Break a leg."

  7

  Cocoa Beach 2007

  He was the most amazing man in the world, his father. He wasn't handsome—at least mom said he wasn't—but he was big. Tall and strong, so strong that the boy was certain he had to be the strongest man in the entire world, maybe even the universe. Standing six foot eight and two hundred and fifty pounds, the boy had to bend his neck all the way back as far as he could even to look up at him and see his face.

  And he did just that, look up to him in every way possible. Everything his father did was awesome. Especially when he was fixing the car, and the boy helped by bringing him the tools he asked for. Those were the most amazing moments of his entire childhood. If he fixed the drain in the kitchen or the bathroom, it was the most incredible thing in the world for the boy. To just watch his dad as he grunted and groaned, used the tools to make things better for Mom.

  And as his dad explained to him early on, that's what it was all about. Making Mom happy and hopefully keeping her that way. Because if she was happy, then they all were.

  So, the boy tried his best to make her happy as well, even though it was a tough job. More often than not, she would yell at both him and his dad for not doing things properly. Like for making a mess or for dragging in dirt with their shoes. Or for eating with their mouths open, or for leaving the lights on in the bathroom, or for dragging their feet across the floors. Anything they might do wrong. Which, apparently, was a lot, whereas his baby sister apparently could do nothing wrong. Not even when she kept all of them awake at night by crying and screaming.

  And the boy watched as his dad just took the yelling and never even tried to yell
back. Not even once. The boy didn't understand why his dad didn't even try and defend himself, especially when Mom yelled at him for not having emptied the dishwasher when she had just asked him to clean up the garage. Or even worse when she would tell him he wasn't holding baby sister correctly and pull her out of his hands. She would call him irresponsible and all sorts of bad names that the boy didn't like.

  But dad just took the yelling and so did the boy. Because that's what they did, the men of the house. Every now and then, the boy would see his dad clench his fist while the yelling happened, and once he even did it so hard that blood dripped from the palm of his hands onto the carpet from the wounds where his nails had dug in.

  But he took the yelling. He stood there and took it, and that was how the boy learned to do the same. He learned how to bite down on his lip to not talk back at her because that would only make her even angrier. Even though it meant the boy constantly had sores on his lips from biting them. Sores that would hurt at night when he went to sleep, waiting for his mom to tuck him in like she used to do before his little sister came into their world, but she never had time to anymore.

  "You're a big boy now," she had told him a few weeks after the baby was born. She had said the words without stroking his hair or kissing him gently on the forehead like she usually did. "Big boys don't need their mommas so much anymore."

  The boy had then asked his dad if being a big boy and four years old meant his mother didn't want him anymore, but his dad replied that Mommy was just exhausted from taking care of the baby, that was all.

  "It'll get better for all of us once the baby is a little older. Until then, we men must make sure to take care of everything else around here, okay?"

  "Okay," the boy had answered firmly, pressing back the tears piling up in his eyes. If there was one thing he knew about being a big boy, it was that they didn't cry.

  8

  August 2018

  The line to get into the school was ridiculous. We all had to go through the front office if we wanted to walk our kids to class on the first day of school. And most of us had to since we were carrying huge bags of supplies that the children couldn't carry themselves. I had an extra reason, and her name was Betsy Sue. She had never been in school before, and I wanted to walk her to the classroom to make sure she was all right and that she would get the best possible start to the school year. The three A's, Austin, Abigail, and Angela knew their way around, but for Betsy Sue, this had to be a shock of monumental proportions. Up until now, she had lived her entire life inside a crazy woman's house after being kidnapped as just an infant. The past two years, Shannon and I had hired a private teacher for her to bring her up to speed with the other kids and ease her into her new life, but now we had decided it was time for her to go to a real school along with the other children. And Betsy Sue seemed to agree. She was looking forward to meeting the other kids. She would begin sixth grade, the last year of elementary school. I had already spoken to the school about her situation, and they were going to take really good care of her, they had promised me.

  A sign on the side of the fence asked us to donate to the Alondra Browning Foundation, and the sight of it made my heart skip a beat. Alondra Browning was a young girl who was killed before the summer break when ten little girls had gone missing from Roosevelt Elementary. Unluckily, only one of them had ended up in a body bag. I had handled the case for Cocoa Beach Police, and it was after that tragedy that they realized they needed my help fulltime. They needed someone like me on their team, Weasel had said when asking me to take the position.

  "Welcome back. Ready for a new school year?" the lady behind the counter asked as she took my driver's license and scanned it. She was new, and on her name tag, it said, Mrs. Meyer.

  "Not really," Abigail answered her. "I already miss the pool."

  "I am kind of looking forward to a new year," Austin said.

  He received a look from his twin sister. "Why do you have to be such a dork?"

  "Am not," Austin said.

  "So are," Abigail argued.

  "All right, that's enough," I said, knowing how the two of them could go on for hours on end. Especially Abigail who never got out of the way of a good argument. Like me, Austin hated arguing and usually would just agree to anything his sister said, but I was beginning to see a new tendency in him as he was starting to speak up for himself more lately. It was a development I welcomed since I didn't want him to be run over by his dominating sister constantly, but it also meant a lot more fighting in our house and I, for one, couldn't wait to get the both of them shoved into the school and leave without them. Tyler was fussing and wanted me to pick him up, but I couldn't since I also had to carry all the supplies. Angela and Betsy Sue were both behaving so nicely as usual. Betsy Sue was holding a small coin in between her fingers that a raven had brought to her outside while we were waiting. It didn't happen as often as it used to, but she still had a way with those birds, just as she still talked to ghosts and believed that her friend Billy the ghost with the yellow skin had moved down with us when we brought her from Savannah. I had a feeling she just needed him to stay with her to make her feel safe and to have someone to blame things on if she had done something wrong.

  The doctor had told us she would eventually let him go, once she felt more at home here, but after two years, he was apparently still with us, and I had to be careful where I sat down at the house since she would often scream and tell me I had sat on top of him.

  The door buzzed open. "All right, kiddos. You're on your own," I said.

  "Me first," Abigail said and rushed to the door and opened it first, Austin right behind her. They stormed into the hallway, yelling loudly, and I just knew they were going to get yelled at on the first day. I wondered if that was some sort of record.

  "All right, Angela, you know where you need to go, and Betsy Sue, you come with Tyler and me. We'll walk you to your classroom after we drop off all the supplies."

  9

  August 2018

  "Hi there. Welcome to the neighborhood."

  The woman, who had stopped in front of Diane's house, sniffled and reached out her hand. Diane was sitting in a chair on her porch when she walked by.

  "My name is Jean. I live a couple of houses down the street. Number two-thirteen."

  "I'm Diane," she said and shook Jean's hand.

  "So, you just moved in, huh?" Jean said.

  Diane wiped sweat from her forehead. She was dirty and gross from the intensive cleaning.

  "Yes."

  "You renting?"

  Diane shook her head and sipped from her water bottle. She couldn't stop sweating. She wasn't really used to this type of heat anymore.

  "Nope. Bought the place."

  Jean looked surprised. "You bought it. Really?"

  "Yes, I know it doesn’t look like much, but I think I can make a decent home of it."

  Jean looked at the house, then back at Diane. She was holding a Yeti cup in her hand, and Diane suddenly noticed her breath smelled a little like alcohol. Diane pulled back so that she wouldn’t smell it.

  "If you say so," Jean said, grinning.

  "I do. Me and Misty—that's my cat—will create a nice home for ourselves here."

  Jean sipped from her Yeti, then nodded. "I am sure you will. Well, I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."

  "That's awfully ni…" Diane stopped talking as a car pulled up to the curb and the window was rolled down. A man wearing a uniform stuck his head out. He seemed tall even though he was sitting down.

  "Hi there."

  "This is Dennis Woods," Jean said. "He lives right across the street from you with his wife Camille and two boys, whose names I don't remember. What are they again?"

  "Lucas and Trenton," he said and kept looking at Diane. It made her slightly uncomfortable, the way he looked at her. "I’ve seen you around," Dennis said, smiling. He had one of those faces that was pleasant to look at. His eyes were nice, but Diane also knew from experience that true psychopaths had a way of looking just like that. Her ex-husband had looked like that. At just the mere thought, Diane put up her guard. On the other hand, she thought, it was good to have someone big like this Dennis-fellow close by, should it be needed. If he was as good a guy as he seemed, that was. Diane was naturally suspicious of all men.