The Good Neighbor Page 8

  I walked back to my house, glancing at Bernie’s as I passed. There were no lights on in any of the windows. I imagined him passed out on the couch, beer spilled all over him. I didn’t want to ruin the evening by thinking of Bernie, so I quickly put thoughts of him out of the way.

  Instead, I thought of Carla. She was different from Holly in so many ways, yet alike in many ways also. Both shared the same wonderful qualities of kindness and warmth, intelligence and humor, and of course, breathtaking beauty. But unlike Holly, Carla was more outgoing. She was the type of person who’d never met a stranger, and probably never would. Holly had always been more reserved, more careful about people. I was sure that Carla was well aware of the possible dangers posed by strangers, but she still showed her compassion and was friendly.

  And another similarity between the two was I loved them both.

  I wondered if it was possible to really fall in love so quickly. I’d known Carla such a short amount of time. Was it enough? I worried that she was just plugging the hole in my boat, as Jill had put it, and that once the hole was truly fixed, the feelings would disappear. I didn’t want to hurt Carla in any way. I truly hoped that the feelings I had for her were genuine. They certainly felt that way to me, but what did I know? I’d only been with one woman before.

  I’d hear people talk about their ‘rebound’ relationships and how they never worked out. Usually, people ended up hating the person they’d used as a rebound. I didn’t want that. I hoped enough time had passed since Holly that I was beyond the rebound stage. I wanted a real relationship with Carla.

  I noticed Andy had already gone to work. The lights were off in the house. Of course the lights were off. It was after midnight and Jill was a librarian. Most librarians weren’t known to keep late hours.

  I glanced over at Jenson’s house as I walked up the steps to my porch. I hesitated on the top step, considering doing something I never would’ve thought myself capable of.

  I scanned the houses along the street and was satisfied that no one was awake, and even if someone was, they weren’t outside or even perched at the window. I looked back at Jenson’s house, taking note of the light cast from the street lamps and the shadows that fell between.

  Was I brave enough? I would surely go unnoticed. It was late, and if I stayed in the shadows, I could slip over there virtually undetected by anyone.

  I started down the steps and then decided I should probably take a flashlight. It would’ve defeated the purpose of slinking in the shadows if I’d been planning to use it in the normal way. But I wasn’t. The only person who’d be able to see the glow of the flashlight would be Jenson, and I was banking on him being asleep at this hour.

  My stomach was full of butterflies as I walked down the sidewalk toward Louis’ house. I walked past the streetlight and crossed the street in the shadows. Glancing at Jenson’s house, I saw no lights on this side either. I felt more secure that he was asleep. I also felt safe assuming that his bedroom was upstairs, as was usually the case. I froze in mid-step as I remembered that he was old, and getting around for him wasn’t as easy as it was for me. What if he slept downstairs to avoid all the steps?

  A knot replaced the butterflies in my stomach. I almost turned back and went home. But I wasn’t going to break in, so I didn’t think it would be a problem even if he did sleep on the first floor.

  I glanced down the street once more to make sure I was the only one out. Then, I stepped off the sidewalk and into Jenson’s yard.

  I walked quickly and quietly to the side of his house that faced the empty house where the elderly couple had lived. I could just see over the sill of the windows on the first floor. I peered into the darkness, unsure of what I was seeing. Leaning farther toward the window, I strained my eyes.

  No luck. I flicked on the flashlight and slowly brought it up to the window. All I could think about was how horrifying it would be to bring the light up and have it illuminate the face of an angry Jenson, staring down at me. The image of him in my mind, all in shadows except for his pale face and white hair, glaring down at me caused me to pause for a moment. I nearly ran home, but I didn’t.

  I let the light fall through the glass and scan the room. It wasn’t easy to see through the thick curtains. Disappointed, I walked to the next window, only to have my view blocked by blinds. The next window was the kitchen window and higher than the rest. I couldn’t see in it. I was beginning to see that this was all going to be for nothing. I wouldn’t be able to see in, although I really didn’t know what I was expecting to see. I walked around the back of the house, my disappointment growing.

  That’s when I heard it.

  23 Jill

  I awoke on the couch sometime after midnight, angry with myself. I’d wanted so much to talk to Andy before he’d left for work. Now I’d have to wait.

  He left a note on the coffee table professing his love for me, which I already knew. It made me smile anyway, though. I could never tire of him telling me.

  I stood slowly, stretching and yawning. For the first time all day, I felt hungry. I didn’t want to chance upsetting my stomach, though. Maybe something light would be okay. Rummaging through the kitchen, I settled on buttered toast.

  I still felt shaky and weak as I got the butter out of the refrigerator and a knife from the drawer. Hopefully, this would pass soon. I didn’t like feeling bad. But who did?

  I slathered butter on the toasted bread and poured myself a glass of ice water, thinking of what I was going to say to Andy when he came home. Nothing seemed right. All the words seemed generic. Maybe I should have a party, but that didn’t sound right, either. Perhaps I should make a night out of it. Dinner, maybe a movie. It just seemed like I should do something to make it special. Of course, it was special enough by itself. But I still felt as if I should do something to commemorate the moment.

  Just when I finished the first piece of toast and picked up the second, nausea overwhelmed me. I dropped the toast and bolted for the bathroom, barely making it in time. Unlike the morning’s bout, this was over as soon as the toast was out of my body. Thankfully. I doubted I had the strength to continue.

  My legs were weak, buckling slightly when I stood. My hands trembled as I flushed the toilet. I rinsed my mouth with mouthwash to get rid of the horrible taste. I leaned on the counter while I brushed, trying to compensate for the lack of strength.

  After rinsing my mouth, I slowly made my way to the kitchen where the toast had landed on the floor, buttered side down, as my luck would have it. I picked up the toast and used a paper towel to wipe the butter from the floor.

  Standing, I was overcome briefly by dizziness. I steadied myself against the counter and made my way to the trash can. I threw away the paper towel, but as I was about to throw the toast in, I remembered Oscar. Surely, he would appreciate a nice, warm piece of toast with gooey butter melted on it.

  I went out the front door and onto the porch. I looked for the dog, but I never saw him. I did see someone, though.

  I watched as Owen squatted beside Mr. Jenson’s house. I was trying to determine exactly what it was he was doing over there this late. I squinted, trying to see through the streetlight and peer further into the darkness, but having no luck.

  Then, I heard a sound. I couldn’t identify it, and I didn’t have time. I quickly turned toward the sound and saw Bernie slip inside his house and close the door behind him.

  24 Owen

  The sound was one I’d never heard before. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t place it.

  Around Jenson’s house, only inches from the ground, were basement windows. I walked from one to another, peering inside. I tried to see what was going on in there. The most I saw was the back of Jenson’s head once, and a few times, I saw his arms making wild, dramatic, over-the-head movements. I couldn’t tell what he was doing.

  There was light in the basement that would’ve been sufficient for me to see, but the windows were filthy from the rain splattering dirt on them.
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  I finally realized that no matter how hard I looked, no matter how long I squatted here beside his house in the middle of the night, I’d never know what was going on in there. I was frustrated by this realization, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  I decided to go home, try to sleep to get back on schedule, and tell Andy everything I’d seen as soon as he came home from work in the morning.

  Some of those things were easy to do. I got home easily enough. I even went to bed with no problem. However, going to sleep was proving to be far more difficult than I’d hoped. After all, I’d been awake for less than six hours. My body didn’t need sleep and apparently wasn’t going to get any.

  I stared at the ceiling, waiting.

  I waited for sleep to come, which wouldn’t. I waited for an answer to the Jenson puzzle to come, which didn’t. One thing that kept coming was the thought of Carla. More precisely, making love to Carla. I replayed it in my mind again and again. It was something I definitely hoped to do more of in the future.

  Carla dominated my thoughts all night. I lay on the bed with my eyes closed, letting the thoughts have free range in my head. It wasn’t until someone rang my doorbell that I opened my eyes and realized it was morning.

  I went downstairs, rubbing my hands over my face as I went. I opened the door to Andy.

  “I came right away. I sensed a lonely porch that needed my help,” he teased.

  “I got to grab something to eat,” I said, stepping aside, allowing him to enter.

  Andy followed me into the kitchen where I made an egg sandwich. It was one of the few things I could actually cook. While I cooked, I told Andy about sneaking around Jenson’s and what I’d seen. Or more like what I hadn’t seen.

  “Shit, man. What do you think he’s doing down there?” I shrugged my shoulders. Andy thought for a while. “What if he’s hacking up the bodies in the basement?”

  “Don’t you think that’s crazy?”

  “Why’s that crazy? Isn’t that where the killers hack up the bodies?”

  “Yeah,” I said, putting the egg on the bread. “If they’re not old. You’ve seen him drag those bags, Andy. It’s not easy for him. You really think he’d do the hacking in the basement, drag the bags up the stairs, through the house, across the porch, down the steps, across the yard, and then pick up the bag and put it in the trunk? Doesn’t that seem a little much to you?”

  “Yeah, it seems crazy. But Gacy was old. That Fish guy was old as ass and it didn’t stop him from killing. That couple from Missouri was both in their seventies. With killers, you have to think crazy. You have to get to their level, think like them. Expect the unexpected.”

  “Andy, you’re getting carried away. You don’t even know he’s a killer. There’s never anyone over there. Who are these people he’s killing? All we know for sure is he’s weird.”

  “Yeah. And that’s the first thing you have to be in order to be a killer.”

  I laughed, taking a bite of my sandwich. I shook my head at him while I chewed, but he was serious. “You’re suddenly an expert on murderers, huh?” I asked him as I finished my sandwich.

  “I studied killers and psychology for a while in college. Thought about going into forensics, but Jill didn’t like the thought of me dealing with death so much. I think it reminded her that we’re all going to die at some point. You know how women are. So it became a hobby instead of a profession.”

  As we walked through the house on our way to the porch, I asked, “How come I didn’t know you had such a disturbing hobby? I mean, how could we be friends for so long and you never mention that you studied serial killers?”

  “Easy. I’m sure there are things about you that you haven’t told me.” I nodded in total agreement. “Besides, it’s not something you want to tell everybody. I mean, you start telling people you study killers because it fascinates you the way their minds work and the next thing you know, people think you’re weird and start suspecting you of things.”

  I laughed. “Like you’re doing with Jenson.” It wasn’t a question. I was pointing out his hypocriticalness, but not in a judging way. I just wanted to bring it to his attention.

  “Yeah, well, with Jenson, we have every right to be suspicious,” Andy said as we took our usual seats on the porch.

  “Why? Because he carries out black trash bags? Someone should call the police and tell them to case the supermarkets and arrest everyone who purchases black trash bags. Surely, they’re carrying around dead bodies. Or parts of dead bodies, as it may be.” Andy didn’t like my sarcasm, but I think he needed to hear it. He was getting a little carried away. Yeah, Jenson was odd. But that was no reason to accuse him of murder.

  “You know,” I added for sake of conversation. “I’d like to think that if he were a killer, he wouldn’t be so obvious about it.”

  “What do you mean? You just said there’s never anyone over there. Neither of us has seen him have visitors. What if he does, but he hides it so well, we think he doesn’t? Isn’t that being discreet?”

  “Yeah, but he brings those bags out in the daylight. He knows we watch him. He knows we watch him take white trash bags to the curb like everyone else on this street, and then take heavy, black trash bags somewhere else. That’s being pretty obvious. If he was really doing something wrong over there, I’d like to think that he’d be smarter about it than that. He’d do it at night, or find a way to dispose of the bodies in a way that no one would ever see him and think maybe he’s doing something wrong.”

  “Like how? How could he get rid of bodies without leaving his house? Bury them in his back yard?” Andy asked, snorting as if it were a crazy idea. Then, he said, “Dorothea Puente buried her murder victims in her back yard and she got caught. And she was old, by the way. And a woman. So don’t underestimate the strength of the elderly.”

  I thought for a second, and then said, “I don’t know. There’s an empty house beside him. Maybe he could bury them next door in the back yard. It would be years before anyone ever found them – if they ever found them at all – and by then, he’d have moved...or be dead. It’s brilliant.” I looked at Andy, watching the expression on his face to see what he thought of that idea. The look on his face was nearly impossible to gauge.

  We were silent for a while. It was funny that no matter what was happening, we were comfortable enough with each other to just sit in silence. Even if in that silence we were contemplating death and murderers and ways to hide bodies.

  Finally, Andy said, “I’d still like to know what he’s doing over there.”

  I started to interject, but all I got out was, “Andy—“

  “Look, I’m never going to be able to forget about it until I know. If he is killing people, don’t you want to stop him? Can you live with yourself if you see him arrested one day, after the body count has grown, and realize that you could’ve done something to stop it? I can’t.” Andy saw me pondering his words and quickly continued, figuring this was his chance to pull me onto his side of the fence on the issue. “If he’s doing nothing wrong, I’ll completely let it go. I promise. But I have to know, Owen.”

  I stared at Jenson’s house and thought about what Andy said. I knew he wouldn’t let it go until he knew.

  I sighed deeply and said, “Fine.”

  25 Bernie

  When I awoke, I could tell it was late morning. The black sheet that covered the bedroom window held back the light, but I could feel that it wasn’t early. Hell, I hadn’t seen early in so long, I couldn’t even remember what it looked like.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I tried to count the roaches, but they ran so fast, I kept losing track of which ones I’d already counted and which ones I hadn’t. I gave up. It was easier to count the stains on the ceiling. They didn’t move. In my former life, I would’ve had the roof replaced before it had a chance to leak. But that was then. This was now. And now, I didn’t care.

  I lay there thinking about the broad next door. She was almost all I eve
r thought about now. I couldn’t get her out of my head. The way her ass moved in her shorts. The way her shirts clung to her tits. Everything about her made me want her more. I knew she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. And it wouldn’t be long until we both got what we wanted.

  I’d gone over and scoped the place out after midnight. I was both disappointed and satisfied. I was disappointed that I couldn’t see in any of the windows. The curtains were all pulled tightly.

  She was teasing me.

  I was even more disappointed to find all the windows and doors locked.

  She wanted me to work for it.

  I was satisfied that it wouldn’t take much to get into her house. The back door was old and thin and the lock was flimsy. Piece of cake. I could probably even make it all the way to her bed without her hearing me.

  I smiled as I imagined how surprised she’d be when I slid into bed next to her. I laughed when I thought of the things I was going to do to her.

  I was more aware of the protrusion in my underwear than of anything else. It ached. The urge to take care of it was strong, but I had to fight it. If I left it alone, it would be so much more intense while I was banging her. If I took care of it now, it would still be great, I had no doubt. But it wouldn’t be as great. And I had waited so long. I wanted to get as much out of it as I could.

  It was hard to resist the urge to reach down and take matters into my own hands, but what fun would that be? It certainly wouldn’t be as good as giving it to the broad next door. And I was dying to give it to her. The things I wanted to do to her...

  No. I would wait. It wouldn’t be much longer now. It couldn’t be much longer. I wouldn’t let it be much longer.

  I was going to have her and soon.