Three deaths, two years, one street.

That was one hell of a coincidence.

I looked at Owen. It was difficult to read his face with so little light, but he appeared to be worried, probably concerned more about Carla and her kids than himself. Typical Owen. Out of morbid curiosity, as well as concern for my friend and his girlfriend, I smiled mischievously and asked, “You still against stalking?”

12 Owen

Andy seemed shocked and surprised about the two-year theory. He couldn’t believe we hadn’t noticed the relationship between Jenson’s arrival and the three deaths that had occurred on our street. He felt bad that we’d been so consumed with our own lives, but I assured him that that’s just the way things were. There was no reason to feel guilty about anything. It was human nature, a type of self-preservation, to be more focused on us and things that affect us than on anyone else.

We talked into the morning light about the things in each of our lives’ that had held our attention in the last two years. A recap while we waited for daylight.

For Andy and Jill, the past two years had been full of ups and downs. They’d been trying to have a baby. It seemed once that it was going to happen for them. Jill had gotten pregnant, only to miscarry two months later. They’d been devastated for a while, but figured it was meant to be. They’d been trying since.

Andy’s father had suffered a stroke. There was a while when it didn’t appear he was going to make it, but he did. After months of therapy, he pulled through virtually unchanged. He’d gone from being unable to speak or use his right side to doing everything he was before, with only a hint of a speech impediment. He was so proud of himself, as he should’ve been. He worked so hard to get better. Six weeks after leaving the hospital, he had a heart attack in his sleep and died. After his father’s death, Andy and his brother took turns staying with their mother. In the end, she’d gone to live with Andy’s brother.

And me, well, I’d spent the first of the previous two years working myself to death, and the last year depressed. Most of that time was spent on the front porch, trying to forget everything that had ever happened within the walls of my house. I’d considered moving, but wasn’t prepared to let go. I didn’t want to face the memories, but I didn’t want to erase them either. Selling the house had never been an option for me. So I’d taken to the front porch.

Holly had been my only family, and when she left, in her place remained a huge hole. That hole seemed permanent until Carla moved in. The time spent with Carla was time well spent. The ache that I’d suffered through every day had finally eased. The knot in my stomach had relaxed. The weight that had felt so heavy on my shoulders had finally been lifted. I was starting to see things in a new and different light now. My world wasn’t made up of only shades of grey.

So looking back, it was easy to see how we’d missed the correlation between the many events that had taken place on Hewitt Street. We’d all been caught up in our own versions of hell, too far down to see much else.

We decided then, at about five in the morning, that we were going to pay closer attention. Our eyes were open now, and it was very unlikely that anything else was going to be escaping us. We agreed that in addition to keeping watch, we would do a little digging, see what we could come up with as far as what lay beneath the horrible events that had occurred on our sleepy little street.

Maybe it was all a big coincidence. Maybe there would be nothing to find. Maybe sometimes these things just happened. The principle of three. You know, people always die in threes. Well, with the old couple and Elaine, that made three. Maybe the stress we’d been under lately had finally caused us to crack.

We were about to find out.

Andy and I sat on the porch, still contemplating our sanity when Jenson came out, dragging a large black trash bag as usual, down the steps, across his lawn, and to his car where he loaded it into the trunk. He rested, like always, before getting in the driver’s seat.

While he performed these tasks, Andy pestered me about following him.

“Come on,” Andy said urgently. “What are the chances that he’s doing this today? It’s like we were meant to follow him. We’ve sat here all night, even dug through his trash, and now he’s doing it.” Though he was speaking in a whisper, I heard the excitement in his voice.

Feeling Andy’s eyes fly back and forth from me to Jenson, I said, “We’re going to have to hurry.”

We went as quickly as we could to Andy’s car without seeming obvious or suspicious in any way. We were backing out of Andy’s driveway as Jenson made a left at the end of the street.

13 Bernie

The sound of a racing engine startled me awake. I figured it was some damn punk teenagers, but when I ran to the door and threw it open, all I saw was that red-haired guy’s car turning the corner at the end of the street.

I looked across the street at his house, and then the house beside his. Owen’s house. I saw no signs of life over there, but that wasn’t saying anything. Unless Owen was on the porch, which he usually was, I never saw signs of life there.

I closed the door and stretched. I’d been waiting for those two morons to go inside so I could go next door and see the brown haired broad who wanted me. But those sons of bitches had sat out there all night long. I’d been sitting on the couch, peeking through the curtains, waiting. I thought the red-haired guy would be going to work, but he never did. The two of them sat on Owen’s porch all night, no doubt talking about me. Or the broad next door to me.

I walked into the kitchen, kicking cans and bottles out of my way as I went. It was getting harder and harder to remember a time when I didn’t have to kick trash out of my way as I walked through my house. It was starting to seem like a whole lifetime ago. The roaches didn’t even scatter the way they used to. Hell, I used to not even have roaches. The house was clean. It smelled good, I smelled good, and everything was neat. Looking around now, there were no traces of any of that. It really was no more than memories from another lifetime. A lifetime I would never again know or be a part of.

Before I fell into the well of pity that was headed my way, I leaned over the sink and looked out the window, searching the broad’s yard. I didn’t figure she’d be out yet. It was still pretty early, which made me wonder where the red-haired guy was going at such a time.

I imagined her in bed, sleeping soundly. Probably naked. Naked and waiting for me. Waiting for me to come into the house quietly, sneak up the stairs, slowly pull back the covers, and slide into bed beside her without waking her up. Then, she’d want me to pull her tight against me. I could almost feel her breasts in my hands as I thought about it. I imagined her to smell of flowers of some sort. It wasn’t something I liked, but I could overlook it. I smiled as I imagined the things I would do to her. Some of them, rough. Others, even rougher.

I felt the bulge in my underwear. I had to stop thinking of her now. I wanted to save everything so I could give it all to her.

I grunted as I realized it would have to wait. I had no idea if Owen was home or not. I wanted no interruptions when I was with the broad, so it would have to wait until I knew where those two idiots were.

I was tired from keeping watch and waiting all night. I’d sleep today, and then tonight, I’d wait for everyone to go to bed. Then, I’d go next door, where she’d be naked, waiting for ol’ Bernie Bear.