All yesterdays papers, p.27
All Yesterday's Papers, page 27
It doesn’t matter where he drives. He just needs to get away.
My life is over. Everything has gone fucking wrong.
Maurice’s cheek throbs from the pain. He cradles it in his hand, the other one holding himself steady against the counter.
“He just up and left. Oh my god. Kenneth left me.”
His knees give out—the shaking becomes overbearing. He plops down on the carpet, kneeling in front of the carelessly tossed binder. The impact forced it open, showcasing one of his many prints of Patsy. These prints, he shakes his head, he saw these fucking prints. I didn’t do enough to hide them. He was never supposed to see these. Because I knew—I knew he would react as he did. But, oh god, it’s much worse than I’d ever realize.
The shock from the confrontation, the numbness on his bruised cheek, his mind in a cloud of static fuzz—he wants to cry, but tears don’t come. His body freezes up, unable to move from his spot on the carpet.
What can I fucking do?
Everything he’s ever worried about has come true. It doesn’t even feel real. This morning, everything was fine. Kenneth didn’t act any differently than usual. Kenneth kissed him. He said he loved him. And Maurice went to work, just like normal. But little did he realize what was going on behind the scenes. Kenneth had been doubting him. And he was very good at hiding those doubts. He had a plan to search the house when he wasn’t there. And he found the photos.
He knows. And he hates me.
Maurice’s face twists with despair.
“Kenneth doesn’t love me anymore...”
Maurice reaches in front of himself and grabs the binder. And he throws it—papers flap and fly out as it whacks against the fridge.
“Is he going to go to the police? Oh my god, where is he going? What am I going to do?”
There’s not much he can do. The outcome of his life is now in Kenneth’s hands. Kenneth is the only person in the world who knows the truth. And he can use that knowledge against him—he wouldn’t continue to keep it a secret for him, no. He hates me for it. Why would he ever want to care for me now? When I’m such a disgusting piece of shit. Kenneth is very likely going to go straight to the police and tell them the facts. Maurice is the serial killer.
His cheek pulses again as his heartbeat swells in his throat. He clutches tightly on the fabric of his thighs, breathing out breath after breath after breath.
How do I stop him? How could I convince him now? If he hates me, there’s no way he’d ever listen to any explanation I give. He literally yelled at me. I’ve never heard him yell like that before. Even if I tried, he wouldn’t take any answer from me, nothing I say would be good enough. He’s going to fucking tell them, and there’s nothing I can do. There’s no way for me to save myself.
Thunder crashes overhead. Rain drums madly on the roof.
But what if there is a way? If he’s headed to the station, if I leave right now, I could catch up to him. I’ll catch him outside in the parking lot. Pull him away. It’s dark out, it’s downpouring like crazy. Nobody would be able to see us. I’ll knock him out. Drive him off.
Maurice’s pulse throbs in his ears.
He won’t be able to tell anyone if he’s dead. And that way, he’d never be able to run away from me ever again. I could see his beautiful blood. And he’d always be with me, no matter what.
Lightning brightens up the sky, illuminating from the window behind him the binder’s contents scattered on the floor. Another thunderclap follows.
“Oh my god, what the fuck am I thinking?!”
Maurice screams the words out, pulling his bangs out of his eyes, clawing his fingernails into his scalp. He holds his hands there, clutching forcefully, nearly to the point where he’d bleed, feeling his pulse smack against his fingertips.
“I could never kill Kenneth, what the fuck! Who fucking am I anymore?! I love Kenneth. He’s my soulmate. How could I even think of doing something so terrible to the one I love?!”
He screams his words again. He pulls his hands away and his hair falls back over his face. He leans forward, banging a fist onto the floor, sending shocks of pain up his arm. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Kenneth doesn’t deserve to die! No, fuck no, if he dies, his soul leaves. What fucking point would there be to just keep his body without his soul? When I love him for who he is? Oh my god, I am fucking insane. Only a fucking maniac would think that’s a good idea. What the fuck is wrong with me?!”
Tiny wet circles spread on the carpet. Finally at his breaking point, he bawls. Tears crowd on his lashes and drip down his face into his mouth. He whacks his fist into the floor again.
“Kenneth doesn’t deserve to die. Rhonda didn’t deserve to die. Did any of them deserve it?” He pauses his words as he sobs. “I was feeling strange about it all even when I killed Wendy. But—I justified it ’cause she kissed me. She deserved it, she—” he whines another sob, “—fuck, no she didn’t. It’s my own fucking fault for leading her on. Same with every other fucking girl. But I didn’t feel that way back then. Not for Marsha, Patsy, or even Brenda. Why? ’Cause I... I don’t know...”
Maurice sits up on his knees, hands falling to his sides. The tears don’t stop and snot spills from his nose. Thunder rolls across the sky.
It’s because of Kenneth.
Ever since he met Kenneth, everything in his life started to change. He never realized he could care for somebody, to love someone so dearly. To be filled with joy from another man’s touch. To have someone understand him on such a personal level when no one else would. For that person to open up Maurice’s heart and let him finally come to understand what it’s like to experience true love. To connect, to cherish, to devote his whole being to his soulmate.
He needs Kenneth more than ever.
And Kenneth left him.
A harsh wind shudders against the windows.
“None of them deserved to die. Kenneth made me realize. I’ve been so fucking broken all my life, and Kenneth made me realize I actually could feel love. That I could care for others. And now I fucking regret everything. I should’ve never killed any of them.”
His vision blurs as more tears flood his eyes.
“But what good is thinking that if Kenneth doesn’t love me anymore?!” his voice cracks as he yells, heaving out a sob. “I’ve already committed murder! Multiple times! And he hates me because I did! That I’m such a monster to even want to do those things in the first place. He’s right, I am a fucking monster! How the fuck could I even think about hurting him?” his voice continues to get more hoarse from overworking it. “How could he ever come around to love such a monster like me, now that he knows? I don’t deserve him. But oh, I need him, I need him so fucking badly.”
He rubs his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. Another sob flows out as a bolt of lightning strikes the earth in the distance.
“What’s even the point of living if I can’t be with him? If I can’t have him anymore? When I’m just gonna get locked up and sent to prison? I’m—I’m such a fucking terrible person. I actually thought about hurting him, even though I never, ever, would. He doesn’t love me anymore. So what good would living do me? Why even continue going on like this?”
Maurice stands up. He turns around and steps to his right. Kitchen utensils clink and jump as he slams open one of the middle cabinet drawers.
His right hand wraps around the handle of the meat cleaver.
“Kenneth doesn’t love me. I can’t go on without him...”
He sobs as he shoves the drawer shut with his knee. He finds his seat on the chair at the right of the dining table. The knuckles on his left hand whack against the hard wood surface.
He rests the sharp edge of the cleaver against his wrist.
“Oh Kenneth, I still love you... I always will, no matter what...”
The walls vibrate as thunder crashes again.
The tears don’t stop falling.
His heart refuses to slow.
He lifts the blade, carefully hovering over his arm.
“Kenneth...”
He forces it down. It tears into his skin. He drags it across. A horizontal gash on his wrist.
Maurice groans at the immense pain. He throws the knife to the floor. His wrist burns as blood spills from the fresh wound, pooling onto the table.
The hurt consumes him. The stinging in his muscles pulse. His vision blurs, darkening to black, in and out. Tears dripping from his eyes mix into the stream rushing from his arm.
We’re soulmates, Kenneth. I’ll meet you again. I promise I’ll do better in the next life.
An instinctive reflex makes him cover the gash with his opposite hand. Blood seeps through his fingers. He can’t keep his body steady as it shudders. He rocks back and forth in his seat.
He collapses face-first onto the table.
Twenty-Four
Downpour taps madly on the windshield. His wipers are still, letting the rainwater flow over it in streaks. It’s nearly impossible to see anything even a few feet in front of the car with the black darkness of the sky and constant flood of the rain.
I’m so alone. So terribly, utterly, alone.
Kenneth’s mind is in a haze. That, mixed with the awful weather, stalls him from focusing on where he should go. What he should do. The entire world is whirling around him like the wind hitting his windows. He could only drive as far as to the church down the block, and his car stands parked in the small parking lot. Maybe if he waits it out for the rain to clear, it’ll help clear his head, too.
He grabs the sides of the steering wheel with both hands and whacks his forehead on the top of it. “What do I do, oh, what do I do?” Tears drip onto his lap as his heart pounds in his chest. “I just kinda left without thinking. But I couldn’t stand it—I couldn’t take looking at him anymore.”
His gut knots every time he pictures Maurice in his mind. The fear in the pained expression of his handsome face. The terror and sadness in those beautiful blue eyes. Kenneth feels disgusted, how even with everything he now knows, intrusive longing and desire steps forward. He throws those thoughts in the back of his mind—no, I can’t let that overwhelm me. He lied to me. He’s a fucking murderer. I got him to admit it to me. I couldn’t help myself—I couldn’t help but yell at him.
The dissonance between the man Kenneth thought he loved, and the man Maurice actually is drives him mad. He’s not really the loving, caring person he made himself out to be. He’s a cold-blooded killer—one so frightening that he went out and found many victims, lured them in, and once he had his way, took pictures of their mutilated bodies. It’s all true. Maurice is the infamous serial killer and there’s no denying it anymore. To know such a truth about his own partner stabs another dagger into his heart. And to make matters worse even still, knowing what Maurice is capable of, were all his proclamations of love only more lies? Was he planning on killing Kenneth, too?
He shivers, digging his nails into his palms clasping the wheel.
“I did what I wanted to do, I let him know my thoughts. How much this fucking hurts me. But what do I do now?” He lifts his head, staring at the trickling rainwater on the windshield. He sniffs, and more tears wet his cheeks. “I left everything at the house. Biscuit’s still there. But—she should be fine, I hope. I know how she hates thunderstorms, she’s probably doing her very best to hide. But... I would still have to go back and get her. Oh my god, I can’t go back, not right now...”
He sniffs again, rubbing his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Shouldn’t I just go to the police? Tell them what I know? I—fuck, no, how would that work out? I’ve already lied to them. I’ve already told them a different story and got everyone else to go along with it, too. Doesn’t that—doesn’t that make me his accomplice or something?” He bangs his head down on the steering wheel again. “That’d get me, and everyone else in trouble too, wouldn’t it? Fuck—I—”
The pressure rising in his throat bursts. He heaves out sob after sob, straining his voice with every whine.
“Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?!”
Thunder clashes overhead, rattling the entirety of his car.
His eyes sting as he continues to bawl, holding his head over the wheel and letting the tears flow freely down his face.
“I don’t have the prints with me, either,” he says between sobs, “I fucking left them all there at the house! I could go to the station, but—say I get the police to come back home with me. I’ve basically just given Maurice time to get rid of all the evidence! There’d be no proof for them to find. Wouldn’t that make me look fucking stupid?” He sniffs; snot drips down his nose and into his mouth. “It’d look like I’m just accusing him over nothing, like I’m a fucking liar! Well—fuck—aren’t I, though? I’ve already told them he didn’t do it. And if I went back on my word and said he did—oh my god, I don’t know...”
The aspect of missing evidence isn’t the only thing nagging at Kenneth’s mind, preventing him from moving from his spot and driving to the station. It’s that underlying, subconscious thought of seeing the man he said he loved, the man he’s devoted his whole life to being taken away, whisked off to prison, never to be seen again. It’s a shock that he never could fully prepare himself for, even if he already did hold suspicions. He’s been in denial it could possibly be true. And now that the truth hits him so abruptly, he grieves for what he knows is to come. He grieves for the loss of the person he knew as his soulmate. He desperately doesn’t want to see the person who’s made his life the happiest it’s ever been no longer be a part of it.
And he whines out another sob.
“I’m so alone...”
Kenneth looks back out the windshield. Another bolt of lightning strikes a tree in the distance; the sharp crack pierces the sky, flooding the black expanse with white light.
“Fuck, I just sent out a reply to Diane a few days ago, after I talked to dad. If only I hadn’t, if I could go back...” He shakes his head, tears spilling down past his chin. “What the fuck, no, what am I thinking? Regardless of all that, I could never go back to her. I’d just be making another fucking mistake. She lied to me, too. I’m just—I’m just so—I just don’t want to be alone again...”
The rain doesn’t let up, drumming over and over on the roof of his car.
“I don’t think staying here out in the rain is helping me. But where do I go? I... I can’t go to the police. I dunno, but I can’t go back home either. Where—”
Thunder rumbles overhead.
“Kathy doesn’t live too far from here. I think—yeah, now that I live over here, it’s only about five minutes away.”
It’s such a terrible and stormy night; a night perfect for relaxing indoors and enjoying the comforts of his own bed, Norman reasons. The kids are in their own bedrooms—with them being teenagers, they’ll take any chance they get at wanting their own personal space, away from their parents. Norman never knows exactly what they do in there, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re home, they’re safe, they’re not out partying or trying to find a date on the weekend regardless of the weather. Such a relief makes him grateful; thankfully his parenting method is doing its justice.
Justice—that word in general has been nagging at his mind. The one case that won’t ever leave his conscience hammers at his brain, even when he’s trying his best to relax and forget about it. He’s not at work right now, he’s done what he can at the moment—worry about it later when he has to, when he’s back in the office. But this case has consumed his mind the last week, interview after interview, probing for clues where there should be some, but finding nothing.
Norman worries about his daughters. Gloria recently turned seventeen, and the youngest victim of the serial killer was nineteen-year-old Rhonda Love. She was killed while out on a weekend camping trip with her friends. It makes him fearful to ever let Gloria go on vacation with her own friends until such a terrible man is caught and put behind bars. Her safety, and frankly every other young woman’s safety in the entire state is at risk, as long as he walks free.
And that killer, there’s no doubt in his mind now who it could be.
It has to be Maurice Rogers.
He must be lying about not knowing Rhonda Love. The similarities between her and his partner, Kenneth Wilson, are too striking to be a coincidence. The way Kenneth really was so naive to everything during his interview, the way he looked frightened when presented with any sort of clues about Maurice, even how Maurice seemed just a bit too confident saying he wasn’t involved. Something doesn’t add up. Something must’ve flipped a switch inside Maurice if he saw Rhonda at the campsite, how much she resembled Kenneth. How could all of this only be just a coincidence?
He can’t let Gloria meet him.
If Maurice now holds a vendetta against Norman for prying into his life, what if he retaliates and goes after his family?
Maurice’s hands, clasped around Gloria’s neck—
A meat cleaver slashing through the air—
Blood falling from the wound. Her eyes rolling back, lifeless, not even able to scream for help as he cuts further into her flesh—
Norman groans as he sets down his book on the bed, rubbing the crease between his brows. It’s been difficult to get through even a paragraph as his thoughts cloud his mind. His wife laying next to him takes notice, setting down the book of her own.
“Honey, you got a headache again?”
He sighs. “Oh, no, Delilah. I just—have a lot on my mind.”
“Is it about work again?”
“Yes, and—” he takes another deep breath, “yes and no. I know I shouldn’t be so worried, but I can’t help it. I keep running into dead ends with my interviews and in turn, worrying about the kids’ futures. And not just them, I feel like the well being of the whole state is weighing on my shoulders because of this stupid case.”
