Chapter 4

And what has Wilson been doing all this time? Well…

James Wilson jumped from his carriage and ran towards the crushed corpse.

"Oh no! Oh no! What do I do?" he squealed, frightened. "Maybe I should revive her!" He bent down to flop the unknown woman onto her back, but then realized that doing so would require touching her bruised, disgusting body. "Ewwwww…," he whined as he reluctantly took hold of her arm with the very ends of his finger tips. "Miss," he called, poking her a few times. She did not reply, clearly signifying that she was dead. Wilson looked from side to side. He could have sworn that he had seen someone with the young woman, but perhaps he had been mistaken.

He had no time to think this through. There was only one warm-hearted person that Wilson could think of who would aid him in this frightening dilemma…

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"JOOOOHN!" Wilson screeched, rapping on the front door of the home of Mr. John Dickinson.

Inside, Dickinson was reclining on a sofa, drinking a cup of tea. He had previously been rejoicing over the fact that he had managed to escape from his annoying little shadow. But alas! he had been discovered.

"Maybe if I just ignore him…" he grumbled under his breath. "He will leave… FOREVER!" Dickinson frantically signaled for the servant to not answer the door. The servant shrugged and disappeared. The room fell silent. Relieved, Dickinson took another sip of steaming tea. As he did so, there was more banging at the door. Startled, he spilled the tea all over his vest. He jumped from the sofa, sighing irritably, and began to wipe the scorching beverage with his handkerchief.

"JOOOOOOOHN!!!!!" Wilson wailed. His cries were becoming too pathetic for Dickinson to ignore. Moaning and grumbling, Dickinson stormed to the door and opened it, revealing a shaking James Wilson and a large sack sitting next to him. "Uh… Hi, John." An awkward silence prevailed.

"Wilson… What have you done?" Wilson looked up to see Dickinson eying the sack accusingly.

"Uh…" Wilson began to twitch under Dickinson's glare. "I… may need another burial plot under your house." Dickinson opened his mouth to speak, but simply could not form the words. Wilson cringed, fearing that Dickinson might slap him.

"All right!" Dickinson hissed, lifting the sack. "Who did you kill this time?"

"I do not know!" Wilson groaned. "I honestly do not know!"

"What's this? Victim number… five?"

Wilson chuckled nervously. "Uh, I think it's number six."

"Number six! Good God, James! Five accidental murders are terrible enough! Am I to assume that you are just being careless?!"

"Jooooohn… I'm not purposefully murdering people!"

"Well, there was my Great Aunt Bessy," Dickinson murmured, rubbing his chin pensively. "As I recall, you 'accidentally' poisoned her cider." Wilson shook his head, ashamed. "And there was my cousin Elizabeth, whom you crushed with a boulder… twice!"

"John, I'm not-"

"Cousin Roselyn. That was an interesting death."

"John, she told me to push her head down into that bucket of water! I assumed that when she began flailing her arms it meant that she wanted me to push harder."

"That one did not bother me so much. She was a rather stupid girl. But there was my niece, little Isabelle."

"No, John! I beg you, do not mention Isabelle-"

"You locked her in a trunk and FORGOT ABOUT HER!" Wilson turned away in disgrace. "And then of course, there's my favorite-"

"John, you promised that we would never speak of that one again!"

"My sister, Eugenia. Tell me, James: How did you cause her unhappy fate?" Wilson turned away. "WILSON!" Frightened, Wilson mumbled something inaudibly. "What was that? I could not hear," Dickinson demanded.

"DECAPITATED! ACCIDENTALLY!"

"How could you possibly manage- Oh never mind. I find it to be incredibly strange that everyone you murder is somehow related to me. Who is it this time?"

"I told you, John! I really don't know!"

"I just pray that it is not my wife!"

"No, I would have recognized her…"

"Aunt Gertrude… Cousin Josephine… Oh my God! You killed Grandmother, didn't you?!"

"No! She's not old enough to be your-" Dickinson was no longer listening. After glancing from side to side to make sure that no one passing by would see them, he cautiously opened the sack and looked in. "Huh…" he mumbled. "You never fail to perplex me, James."

"Why? What is it?"

"I do not know this one."

"What?! How is that possible? I've never killed a complete stranger!"

"I am telling you that I do not know this young lady, James!" Wilson stared at the corpse, puzzled.

"How very queer indeed! Well… I guess we will just have to add her in with the rest of them."

"We will not!" Dickinson exclaimed indignantly. "A perfect stranger buried in with all of my relatives? How preposterous! Sometimes I think that you are quite insane, James!"

"Well, John! We have to do something with her!"

"Figure it out by yourself! I have no connection with this woman. Why should I help you with your crime? I don't even like you!"

"Oh, John. You don't mean that!" Wilson said, nudging Dickinson with an elbow awkwardly. Dickinson rolled his eyes, flicking Wilson's elbow away.

"Fine! But this is the last corpse I will dispose of! And I mean it this time!" Wilson sighed with relief as Dickinson shoved the young woman's head back into the sack and threw it towards the corner of the room.

"Well…" Wilson began, trying his best to sound nonchalant. "I see you've been having tea." He pointed towards Dickinson's soaked vest. "You always spill something on yourself when I come over. Is that not strange? Anyway, as long as the water's hot, maybe I will stay and have a cup with you-" As Wilson stepped forward, the door was promptly slammed in his face. "Oh…" Wilson squeaked, flustered. "Perhaps you're right! I should probably be going home now! I will see you tomorrow, John!" He waited in vain for a reply. To no ones' surprise, there was none.