Page 68 of Haven't Killed in Years
“Guns are too loud.”
“What, then?” She pressed for my advice, frustrated. “It has to be something quick.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not like there’s an easy answer. Getting away with murder is supposed to be difficult.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” She turned back from the sink. “I get it if you don’t want to be a part of this. I know it’s a lot.” She tried to inhale, but her breath caught in her throat and she flipped up her palms, gesturing defeat. “I know it’s really crazy and you don’t owe me anything.”
“I said I would help you and this is me helping you. You can’t half-ass it. Every detail needs to be worked out and you have to know one hundred percent that you want to kill her. I mean, shewasjust a kid.”
“Iwas just a kid!” Elyse threw the sponge into the sink for good. “You don’t do that and then puberty turns you into a well-adjusted person, while I’m stuck sitting in this apartment watching her crush my brother’s skull over and over again.”
“It won’t make you feel better,” I insisted. “Any relief you’ll get from her being dead will be marred by the actyoucommitted. You’ll watch her life fade away at your hand. There will be blood spilling out. She’ll cry and beg you for help and you can’t help her. Then she will just be a body and her eyes will be glued open and staring at you.” I leaned over the table, trapping her eyes symbolically with mine. “That’s what you’ll see every day for the rest of your life. If someone cuts you off in the street and you think a bad thought about them, you will see them dead, because your mind will know what you are capable of. It will not end. It will be who you are now.”
“Good,” she said as she stood back up and walked away.
Her cold indifference sent a charge through my body—an attraction clouded by guilt. Elyse was innocent and the point was to keep her that way. She wasn’t like us. I didn’t know what had happened to Natalie or why she was doing this, but regardless of any aliases or wigs, this was our mess alone—mine and Natalie’s.
Thirty-Six
Natalie
It was another effortlessnight watching Gwen. Painting Pots, then back to her apartment. Natalie wished Gwen would do something different. Go on a date, find a new hobby, change jobs. The ease with which Natalie could watch her at Painting Pots was, for the first time, starting to feel monotonous. When she didn’t have to think about Gwen, it was harder for Natalie to ignore the people in the house.
After a couple of hours, Gwen finally went to bed and Natalie headed home.
There was a car in the garage. Natalie climbed the stairs into her apartment, but once inside, she didn’t go to the window. She didn’t want to think about the car or the fact that it meant someone was in the house. Instead, she went into the bathroom to wash her face, turning the knob on the sink and letting the water run. It took a minute for the shoddy garage pipes to heat the water, and while she waited, she picked at the dry skin around her nostrils. As she passedher hand under the stream, testing the temperature, feeling it cross the threshold into lukewarm, there was a knock at the door.
Natalie hit the faucet to cut off the water. Then it was silent. She waited. Maybe it wasn’t a knock; maybe the wind had tipped something over in the garage. Then she heard it again. It was definitely someone knocking on her door.
She left the bathroom with nothing but her clenched fists and opened the door to a man in a pristine white baseball hat, fitted joggers, and a quarter-zip. His hands were tucked in his pockets and if he was dangerous, it wasn’t presenting as an immediate threat.
“Hi,” he blurted out with a sheepish smile.
“Hi,” said Natalie.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but you’re a hard person to run into. You must be a busy lady.” He waited a beat as if he had asked a question but then regrouped. “I’m sorry, I’m Wesley. I moved into the house last week.” He held out his hand.
“Natalie,” she said, meeting his hand. She wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t really talk to anyone, let alone in the middle of the night in her apartment—her safe space.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, the third time in twenty seconds. “I suppose it’s kind of rude for me to show up so late. I swear, my intentions are noble. I just wanted to introduce myself since I rented the place through the summer. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on the door.”
“Thanks,” Natalie managed.
“Okay, great. Well, I’ll leave you alone. It was nice to meet you, Natalie. Hopefully I’ll see you around once in a while.”
Natalie assembled a small smile and Wesley backed away from the door, not turning until he reached the stairs, where he spun around and jogged down them. Natalie closed the door and inhaled.A nice neighbor doing a nice thing and she’d handled it like a normal person.
She didn’t bother going back to her bathroom routine and instead climbed directly into bed. She stretched the blankets up over her shoulders and closed her eyes.
As her body relaxed, so did her mind—not in a way that brought peace, but in a way that brought clarity. There was someone in the house and not just for the weekend. A man she didn’t know anything about. A man who came to her door uninvited in the dark. Natalie sat up in bed. She couldn’t see anything through the curtains.
It wasn’t a conscious decision, but she found herself at the window, pulling the curtain back—barely enough to peer through. Wesley was in his bedroom now; she had a direct view across the driveway, not obstructed by any curtains or shades. He paced around the room, typing on his phone with purpose, still fully dressed, looking exactly like he had at her doorstep.
Finally he flung the phone down on the bed and reached for the waistband on his pants. Natalie averted her eyes. She wasn’t like that. She waited before looking back, but when she did…
Wesley was at the window.
Can he see me? Is he looking at me?
