Page 88 of Haven't Killed in Years
The same way she had poisoned Declan—it was chilling. I’d seen a lot of people brutally murdered in my day, but this was different;this was a strange mix of disturbing and just plain sad. Everything that we had experienced together as children still occupied her whole life. To me, it was my distant past. She didn’t have the same luxury.
My sympathies for Wesley dissipated once he blew up my whole spot.
Gwen is not Gwen. That’s what he said. Her father is a serial killer. Wesley told me all about him, but it was hard for me to pay attention. He was saying so many things, so many names I don’t know, and everything was so long ago, and I just couldn’t follow it all. Maybe it’s because I don’t care. I could tell he really thought I should, so I tried. But it had nothing to do with Gwen. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to think.
I appreciated the sentiment that what my father did had nothing to do with me. If only that had been the truth. I had experienced such liberation at the idea that this had all been Natalie and nothing to do with my father. That was gone now—right out the window—as I read on and watched her be unwittingly sucked into a situation she had nothing to do with.
Wesley says I can’t watch her anymore. He didn’t say that exactly, but I know that’s what he meant. I told him I would stop, but I don’t know if I’m lying. I want to stop. I don’t want her to see me. Not like that. The cops found an arm and Wesley thinks it has something to do with Gwen’s father. He thinks someone is trying to find her. He’s going to talk to her. He wants to warn her. I know once he tells her, she’s going to pay more attention to everything. To who is parked on her street. To who is in the parking lot atPainting Pots. To who is in the rearview mirror. Everything. There is nowhere for me to be. So I have to stop. At least for a little while.
That had been a lie. He’d needed Natalie out of his hair and after the way things had played out, I wished he had just killed her then and there.
There was an obvious change in Natalie’s writing after that point. Stuck at home without her routine, all she did was worry about me. Her entries became repetitive. She was putting more pressure down on the pen.
She waited in her apartment, day after day, night after night, for Wesley to show up and update her, to tell her I was okay, to recount the fictitious interactions we had on occasion—not too much to overplay his hand but enough to satiate Natalie’s cravings. Then, when there was another arm, and then bodies, she couldn’t take it anymore. She begged Wesley to let her do more; they needed to do more.
Wesley brought over pictures for me to look at. It was the blond guy from Painting Pots. His name is Porter. Wesley has been following him. Porter looks so different. His hair is gone. His clothes are different. He’s with all these other strange guys. They all wear so much black and hang out in this dark apartment. Wesley showed me pictures he got from the building across the street. You could see inside. Posters of mug shots. Wesley told me they were of other serial killers. Wesley is worried that maybe we were wrong about everything. Maybe the killer isn’t looking for her. Maybe the killer is someone she knows. Wesley hasn’t told Gwen about Porter yet. He told me first. It’s how I can help Gwen. Wesley has an idea.
Of course Wesley had an idea. Showing her pictures of Porter with Jake and his friends would be shocking; it would be suspicious. Maybe it would have been to me too if I hadn’t been the one to introduce him to them, to watch him become one of them.
Then Wesley dropped a bomb.
Porter is going to visit Abel Haggerty in prison. Wesley bribed a guard to tell him who was going to see Abel, and Porter is on the list. This isn’t right. Porter could be dangerous. I should have just run him over the day I hit him with my car. Wesley needs to tell Gwen. I will if he doesn’t. Somehow. I’ll figure out some way to tell her. But Wesley wants to try something first.
He’d had a plan. Natalie would leave her apartment and move into a motel. She would dye her hair. He would get her new clothes and colored contacts. She wasn’t going to be Natalie Shea anymore. She was going to be me.
That was when “Marin Haggerty” had approached Porter—the fateful Old Navy rendezvous.
I told Wesley I don’t think Porter has anything to do with this. He was very nice. He really believed I was her. I pulled it off. I like that I could be her. That someone could believe I was her. If Porter had anything to do with this, he would have known I was just an impostor. I didn’t like how he asked so many questions, but I just thought of Gwen. I thought of how she would talk, what she would say or not say. It was easier to talk to him as her. Easier than it ever is for the real me. He wanted to get coffee, but I said no. He invited me toa party, but I said no. I think he really liked me. I think we could be friends too. Once Gwen and I are friends again.
Of course Porter was not this sinister figure Wesley had planted in Natalie’s mind, but I think he knew that. What Natalie thought was a fruitless endeavor had accomplished exactly what it was meant to do—leave Porter thinking he had met Marin Haggerty. He wouldn’t be able to keep that to himself and it would set off the next chain of events. While finding answers was nice, I was irritated at how flawlessly Wesley’s little plans had worked.
Until they hadn’t.
If Porter tells anyone that he met her, he will be in real danger. If we were right the first time and someone is doing all of this to find her, they will kill Porter to know what he knows. The killer doesn’t know it was just me pretending to be her. I shouldn’t have done what I did. This is my fault. Wesley keeps telling me Porter will be okay, but I know he’s just saying that to make me feel better. He says he’s going to figure something out, but if he won’t do anything to keep Porter safe, then I will.
Oh, Natalie, I should have known you were in there somewhere.When you think you have Natalie figured out, when you think she’s a puppet at your disposal, Natalie is going to Natalie.
He underestimated the urge she would have to fix what she had done by putting Porter in danger, the responsibility she would feel. She got Porter a room on the other side of the motel she was in. He needed a place to stay and she needed to keep an eye on him. She didn’t tell Wesley.
Wesley has a place Porter can stay. Some friend who lives in Saugus is out of town for a while. He gave me the address so I could give it to Porter. I didn’t tell him Porter was here. He’s upstairs, on the far end. I paid for two nights, but I can’t afford to keep him here with me forever. This is a good option. I’m glad Wesley meant it when he said he would help Porter.
If only Natalie had known where she had really sent Porter…what he would find when he got there. I was glad she would never know, but I hated that it had renewed her faith in Wesley. Even if it was short-lived.
Gwen’s mother is dead. The killer is getting closer to her. I can’t sit all day in the motel hiding. I want to do more. I begged Wesley to do more, but he says we need to be patient. He told me we had to be smart about it and I hated that. I can have good ideas too. I know her better than anyone. And you know what? I do have an idea.
I miss having Porter at the motel. It was nice having someone to watch again. But it’s not safe for him to be here, because if the killer knows Porter met her, then…But what if the killer didn’t need Porter to know who she was? What if the killer could find the same woman that Porter did? Then Porter would be safe. Then the killer wouldn’t be looking for Gwen anymore. Maybe Gwen will see me, but when this is all over, I will explain everything. I will tell her what I did to keep her safe.
She’d wanted to be the hero—my hero. Natalie had released that video. The one I’d watched, holding Elyse’s hand, about to learn that Elyse knew the truth of what I’d done to her family. Natalie had disobeyed Wesley, but if he had known how much her actions had actually hurt me, he would have been thankful.
Wesley is not happy. He says I’m in danger now. He says the police will be looking for me and so will the killer. That if I’m dead, I can’t do anything to help Gwen. I think he’s right. I was frustrated and impatient. I acted out and now I might have ruined everything.
Why do I always do this?
The journal entries slowed as I read the final few pages. She had spent her last days sitting alone in that motel room, eating Easy Mac and watchingCriminal Mindsreruns, worried someone who had seen her as Marin Haggerty would come for her.
Finally someone had. But it was only me.
Natalie wasn’t the psycho killer I’d thought she was. Instead, she was the person who’d cared the most about me, even if she had a funny way of showing it. And, of course, now she was dead too.
