When I opened the apartment door, located on the third floor, I could feel my stomach collapsing in on itself, and if I paid attention, the trembling of my thin, delicate fingers was obvious. I could feel empty inside, but whenever he was home, the only feelings that rose within me were feelings of dreadful guilt and utter fear.
The door opened to the living room and kitchen of the apartment, the latter of which on the far end of the wall, just beside the bathroom door. I didn’t see him. The old black leather couch we got from his parents’ was empty, the room dark, and for a short moment, I felt a small soothing of relief easing the heavy pound of my heart, but I continued to sweat because I realized if he wasn’t home, he was off doing it again.
My arms fell to my side with the click of the door shut, and my purse clunked upon the ground, spilling over so a few contents leaked to the floor, but I kept walking, trying to grasp the reality around me. The apartment was seemingly empty, but he should have been home from work by now.
I continued to tremble, and my stomach felt like a hurricane inside, twisting and spinning the contents of that disgusting sandwich, bile rising in the back of my throat. I could see the world around me go glassy, liquid starting to pool at my eyes, and just before I was going to let the wavering of my weakened legs give way and collapse to the floor, the bathroom door opened.
My entire body went cold as my glassy blue eyes met with an icy grey pair that belonged to none other than Jonathon. He blinked a few times, but quickly he stepped over and stopped before me, the twitch at the muscles of his eyes showing more emotion than I’d seen in him those nights he killed those women.
“Eleanor, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a hand and softly placing it under my chin, lifting my head to meet his eyes. I wanted to slap it away and scream at him, yell at him and cry for him to get away from me because he was a filthy murderer and I didn’t want to be associated with him in any way.
But I didn’t because I was afraid he would kill me too, and my death would never come at the hands of him. If I was to die, it wouldn’t be because of him, and if I were to have a choice, it would be my own hands.
The quivering of my lip and spilling pools of my tears betrayed me, and I felt my eyes and nose turn a painful red as I choked out a sob, and as I sniffled, he pulled me in for a hug, wrapping his slender, surprisingly strong arms around my body, embracing me with a touch of care, and in that moment, I wanted to hurl.
In the back of my throat, I could feel the threat of puking, but I couldn’t show my fear in front of him. I’d managed to keep my knowing the truth a secret from him for long enough, but what was the point? Would I have to live forever like this, accepting his vile kisses and embraces? How long did I have to live like this?
I could only ever be free if he were gone, but in order to rid myself of him, he would either have to die or go to jail. I would need evidence for the latter.
Evidence. I’d seen it twice, but I never thought to do it. I’d never thought to document his evil and report it to the police. I never thought to do any of that, but now, it seemed that I should.
Encompassed in arms that had been used to kill who knows how many women, I began to plot his downfall and my own. This guilt within me wouldn’t die so easily, and in order to get evidence, I needed to see more. No, this wasn’t the way to go. I should just tell the police and maybe they’d believe me, but I was a fool.
It was time to put an end to this madness. It was time to put an end to Jonathon, and it was time to put an end to myself.
Guilt would never subside, not even in the three weeks that followed my inner declaration, but with the numbness of my mind and the acknowledgement that it would soon be over, I could handle it. He would go to jail, I would meet my end, and everything would be over. No more murdered women.
I would be free from this burden.
Standing at the sides of homes and snapping pics followed by creeping into windows and taking more was the worst of it all. I was surprisingly quiet and stealthy as I did it all, but I thanked years of sneaking out in the midst of the night for that, and the time I was nearly caught, I thanked my years of hiking and running in cross country for saving me enough to let me escape from a chasing murderer. I couldn’t let Jonathon know what I was doing because then, nobody would catch him, and I would be dead by the hands of a vile, disgusting man.
He seemed to believe that he was just seeing things as he did it again.
It was an awful three weeks and consisted of cutting myself further off from those around me, but it would soon be over. Everything would soon be over.
In my hands, I held an envelope, filled thick with photos of evidence and a letter from myself, admitting my guilt for waiting so long to do something, and acknowledging that my way of doing this was improper. I was stupid, but it seemed the only option. Now, it was too late. I’d finished it.
The feeling of slipping that envelope into the mail was one of the most satisfying feelings I had felt in months, and the feeling of it was as if heavy weights were lifted from my forever sagging shoulders, but some still lingered, and I knew what that part was.
The guilt of leaving others behind.
Turning to the sides of the apartment building’s hall beside me, staring at the ugly orange of the carpet and smooth cream of the walls, I watched the empty space and ensured that nobody was around. If they told Jonathon anything about my mailing something, he’d likely look into it. He seemed growing suspicious of me these last two days, so I had little choice but to be overly cautious.
I promptly left. The time had come to close up a few loose ties I had in my life. To say an improper goodbye before I took it all the way to the very end, up on the edge of a rocky cliff, overlooking the beauty of a salty, blue sea.
At my parents’ home, I tried my hardest to feign happiness, and honestly, I could do it quite easily due to the acknowledgement of an inevitable end. A weight of life was lifted from my shoulders, and now, I was saying my goodbyes. It was to end, and I was to be at peace. A better place. A better world.
Just kidding. I knew I was going to hell.
The visit was nice. We had some coffee- mine with creamer, of course- and discussed a few things, speaking of the world’s current events and the inevitable start of school in a week. I expressed excitement for the return to college, but internally, I knew there would be no return.
And before I left, I decided one last question.
“I was speaking about this with Lauren the other day, but where do you think you’d go when you die?” I wondered at the door of their humble ranch home. My mother with her wild ginger locks and dull brown eyes blinked at me, and my tall, surprisingly young looking father raised a dark brow. Lucky for him his hair stayed black and didn’t turn the grey it should have.
“Do you mean heaven or hell or something else?” my mother questioned. “That’s a very strange question, Eleanor.”
“Of course it is,” I sighed. “Sorry, I was just curious.”
“Probably hell,” my father admitted. At this, I couldn’t count myself too surprised. He always blamed himself for the littlest things- running over squirrels, forgetting to tip waiters, etc- and afterwards, he would say he’d be headed straight for hell. My father was no religious man, but he did believe in some sort of afterlife, it seemed.
“Enough joking around,” my mother scolded, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “I think we’d all go to a happy afterlife where we could live quite well together.”
“With all I’ve done, I wouldn’t count on going there with you,” father said. His voice was surprisingly stark, and the look in his eyes felt almost as serious as the look in my own eyes when I’d spoken to my friends. I cocked my head to the side, but then he added, “I killed a squirrel again yesterday.”
I laughed. “Dad, you kill squirrels every week it seems,” I remarked. “Don’t worry about it. I was just wondering.”
“Alright. You’d better get to work now,” my father smiled.
“Of course.”
And so, I turned my back to my parents, and as I left, I couldn’t will myself to watch them as they waved in the doorway. I couldn’t look at them once more because I’d seen them smile, and that was the last image of them that I wanted. I was going to die today, and they needed to stick with me as a happy pair because I knew the pain they would feel would encompass them soon.
I’m so sorry.
I drove to a rocky cliff, and the painful memories of slit necks replayed in my mind like a recurring nightmare, and just thinking bout it, my hands went to my neck, but I slapped them down, recalling something almost as troubling from the feel of it.
My two dreams. In both, I met boys, but in one, he was choking me. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was nothing. But either way, that dream was too realistic with the ghost of a hand at my neck. Was that the sort of dream a medium had? Hah. I laughed at the thought.
The only medium type prediction I could make was the day of my death, and that day was today, a fine day in July.
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