Chapter 6
Been pacing and pacing—in my head, cause people are looking and no one can know. No one would understand anyway. My kind of suffering is not the kind you spread around. Been racking my mind for a solution, and only one's come up. A dangerous one.
Nothing else I can do. It's getting worse and worse. Everyday they get closer—she gets closer, that skinny dough-faced broad with the attitude. Not on to me yet—but they will be. Don't know anything for sure… but they suspect it. They're cracking their goddamn case, and it's my fault… in a way.
How could I guess they'd get Her name? How could they possibly come across it?
Idiot bitch. She and those fucking police mutt sidekicks of hers. Why can't they just leave things alone? It fell into their laps and like a dog with a stick, they just can't let it go.
Can't they see no one cares about this—no one cares about Her? If they did, they would've left no rock unturned searching for her back then. And no one did. No one gave a rat's ass—good riddance, that's what they said. And no one gives a damn now! So what's the use of digging into it?
It was Her fault really. All Her fault. She pushed me to it. But a judge will never see it that way—judges and juries never do. They'll always take Her side. The victim's side. Cause it's never the victim's fault, is it? Poor things—like they weren't ever out looking for trouble and got what they deserved. No fucking way.
It would be so easy to leave—just skip town and disappear. But I can't. Matters are keeping me here—matters so important, I might as well be bolted to the ground. And everyday I gotta show these "matters" a smiling face and peaceful countenance and pretend like everything's okay. My life was perfect, and now it's hell. I don't deserve this. No one does. And all because of one mistake. One teeny-tiny long-ago mistake.
Won't be long now.
I've been watching her. High and mighty, strutting around like she owns the joint and everyone in it. Stuck-up bitch, that blonde—just like the other one. Same arrogance will be the end of her.
I've followed her home. I know she takes the train every evening, walking alone in the cold darkness. She tries to act all menacing but deep down she's just a scared little girl—one who'd weep like a baby if I got my way with her.
She lives in a townhouse. Risky choice—ground-floor living quarters are so easy to break into.
And I know she lives by herself. Lights are never on when she comes home… and there are cats mewing on her windowsill.
It's not good to walk home in the cold darkness when there's no one waiting for you. Not good at all. Bad things happen to people who walk by themselves. Especially when there's no one to notice if you make it home or not.