83 Jenson

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.

84 Carla – 6 months later

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.

At least that’s what the note said. His brother had placed Andy in a hospital where he could be helped by counselors as much as possible. I think part of the reason also was so that the doctors and nurses could keep an eye on him. It hadn’t worked, though. Andy used the sheet from his own bed to hang himself in the middle of the night.

I missed him. I missed them all. Except for Bernie.

I stood now in front of Owen’s house. It was just as I remembered. As I stood there, I expected to see Owen step out the door, smiling at me like he always did. He would come over to me and wrap me in his arms. I started to smile, but stopped myself. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. It would never happen again. It couldn’t.

Owen was dead. I’d killed him.

I hadn’t wanted to kill him. I’d loved him. He’d meant so much to me. There was no telling how far our relationship could’ve gone, how close we could’ve become. If only I hadn’t heard what I’d heard as I stood outside the door that day.

I’d heard everything he’d said to Andy. He’d confessed every crime he’d committed, almost as if he was bragging about it. I had to do what I did.

I’d listened as he told Andy about the problems he’d been having with his wife, Holly. He’d known she was going to leave him. He’d also known that she had been talking to my Aunt Elaine, who had advised her to leave him. Her advice had been to seek happiness where it was, and if it wasn’t with Owen, then it must be somewhere else.

So he’d killed them both.

The elderly lady who had lived across the street had seen him burying Holly’s body in Louis’ yard. So he killed her. Fearing that she’d told her husband before he’d gotten to kill her, he killed him also.

Owen, the man I’d fallen for so quickly, the man I’d given myself to, the man I’d let be a part of my children’s lives, had murdered six people. He killed my aunt, he killed his wife, he killed the elderly couple, he killed Bernie, he killed Jill, and he buried Holly and Bernie next door in Louis’ yard. He was about to kill Andy because Andy had seen Bernie’s boots in Owen’s hallway. Andy had questioned Owen about the boots. Owen would’ve done anything to avoid being caught.

I’d often wondered if he would’ve killed me. After all, I’d seen the boots too.

I walked up the steps to Owen’s house one last time. I looked at the chair where Owen had always sat. I placed the key in the seat and walked away.

I walked back to my house as the movers loaded the last of my belongings into the truck.

I made sure the kids were properly wearing their seatbelts. I got into the driver’s seat and pulled the seatbelt across my protruding belly and started the car. I wasn’t going to have any more arguments with myself over who the father of the child inside me was. I knew it could be Owen or it could be Bernie. I was hoping it was Owen’s child. But really, was one any better than the other? Bernie was a sick and twisted rapist. Owen was a murderer. But he had loved me. And I had loved him.

I chose to believe that Owen and I had created this baby out of the love we’d had for one another. Had he not been a serial killer, we would’ve had a great life together. That was the part that hurt the most. I knew what we could’ve had. But that was gone. I was now a single mother with two children and one on the way. And how long would it be before I was able to trust another man? Probably never.

I looked at my house one more time. I looked at the fence Owen had built for me and remembered how concerned he’d been about my safety.

Then, I pulled out of the driveway and onto Hewitt Street. I drove away, knowing that I would never return here. I couldn’t. It was too painful. I’d come to this street innocent. I was leaving as a rape victim and a killer.