Chapter 37 - The Knife

Jack searched through his closet for the sheets of photocopied paper. He had not bothered to put the pages in any protective cover or folder. After pulling everything out of his closet, the whole room strewn over with his belongings, he found a thick wad of folded over pages. Jack opened it up and read over the first couple of pages again, refreshing his memory. Once again, when he drew near the part about the exact details of the rape, he stopped reading and skipped the page. He still couldn't stomach it.

The next page held a report number and a name. It was a handwritten document with two signatures at the bottom. It looked like a statement. Jack had not looked at this page before. In fact, he couldn't even remember copying it.

My name is Jamie Roscoe. My birthdate is August 31st, 1950. On the date of August 26th, 1972, I talked to a young woman called Sharon. I don't know her last name. The time was around noon. We didn't talk for more than a few minutes, and I asked her out, but she said no. She didn't say anything about her being a minor. I didn't think she was. The last show I performed finished at 8:30 pm. After that me, Derek "Junior" Ellis, and Nate, my brother, went to the dressing rooms, which is about a two minute walk uphill, away from Roger's Yacht Basin. The dressing rooms are behind the other tents and storage rooms. We left Amusement Mile at about ten. The whole place was completely empty, except for a few people who rented stalls on the Mile, and were closing up for the night. From there we went to a couple of bars and then headed home in Junior's car when the bar closed, at three in the morning. He dropped us off at our apartment.

Jack knew this statement was a lie, because his mother's statement said she had been raped. According to his mother's statement, the rape had taken place at about ten. Roscoe's statement said that they left the area at ten.

Jack skimmed quickly over the next two, similar statements, and was interested to find that there was an incongruency when it came to the time they all left Amusement Mile. Junior said they left at ten-thirty, and Nate said he didn't even know when they left, just that it usually took them about thirty minutes to get out of costume and into regular clothes.

Jack calculated that the event took place about twenty years ago. He was sure he would be able to find information if he went to Amusement Mile, as well as the library to look for old newspaper articles. Most importantly, however, he had the names of the men. He wondered if they were still alive.

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After about a week of more research, utilizing libraries, newspaper archives and public records, Jack found out that out of the three, one had died of a drug overdose a few years back, one was in prison again, and the other... well, the other one was on permanent disability because of an injury that had occured during one of his performances. As it turned out, this one was Jamie Roscoe, the one who had asked his mother out.

Jack didn't dress up in his Halloween costume. He tried out the overcoat for old times' sake, and discovered it fit him perfectly, giving a royal glimmer amidst all the menace. Disappointed, he took it off and put it away. No one knew he had it. Well, Anthony might, but Jack could never get a word out of him.

During the court proceedings dealing with Joe Chill, Jack had somehow managed to get his switchblade back. Right now it rested under his pillow, with his shotgun not too far away, under the mattress. Jack withdrew it from where it was hidden and flicked the blade out. It was still a beautiful knife. Somehow people always kept taking it away from him. First there was Tim, and then there was Joe. Both of them had gotten theirs though.

Never again, Jack vowed. This knife was an extention. He twirled it a little, watching it spin and fit snugly in his grip.

Suddenly, Jack remembered the dream. He had been holding the knife, and had cut his finger. He checked his fingertips. They were ridged like they should be and free of cuts. Jack thought about it and remembered that he had cut his right hand in the dream. Taking the knife now, he ran his right index finger over the sharp edge, pressing almost hard enough to cut himself. He thought it was a little dull. Jack searched for a piece of scrap paper and tried the slice the paper with the knife. It didn't work. Yup, he thought. Too dull.

Jack folded the knife back and put it into his pocket. Leaving his room, pausing only to lock the door, Jack headed towards the kitchen. It was empty. Richard was probably doing laundry. If he wasn't cooking he was washing clothes. Jack wondered what he did for fun. Probably went grocery shopping. Jack smiled to himself as he searched for a knife sharpener. When he found it, he ran his knife several times up and down the sharpener. Wiping it clean on his pants, Jack ran his finger again over the edge. He didn't even feel himself get cut. Only after he saw red did he realize that his skin had been broken. Then the stinging started. Perfect, Jack thought.