like everyone else so much of the time, nobody could believe what they did the rest of the time. They worked in restaurants. They drove buses and went to law school. They wrote poems for Comp II, one about “reaper’s eyes” that didn’t refer to harvesting the corn. Their histories, their kills, their habits of mind, their stealth, boldness and uncanny good luck (if you can call it that) opened a newworld: the world of the abyss. There was no bottom. Ted Bundy abducted and killed two girls in one night, not once but twice. Alex Rendell brought his Big Ten soccer team a national title; but his real gift was as a marathon death merchant: he cut the throats of groupies in twenty states.
Oddly, the more I read, the less I feared. These guys weren’t animals; that would be insulting to animals. And they weren’t Quantum Physics, either; they were Algebra I. They did the same things over and over, for two reasons. The first? They were compelled to do it. At first they loved it, too. It was their addiction, their crack. They’d gotten a taste and just couldn’t say no again, no matter how disgusted they were with their own actions. They’d created a wall of denial that would make any drug addict or alcoholic seem like a saint. The other reason? They were good at it—probably better at it than they’d ever been at anything in their lives. And that private victory, that “another-one-down-and-nobody-knows” feeling was tied up with the thrill of secrecy and denial, too.
Sometimes after reading a particularly gruesome passage, I thought of Rob and me. I pictured that first moment we hopped into his Jeep to sneak to Duluth to do Parkour without Juliet. I remembered that first kick of excitement, what it felt like to let Juliet go. To kiss Rob and know that I was the one. I also remembered a lot of weird and terrible stuff, though, too—mostly about the absence of life in the ghoulish faces of those poor women I’d glimpsed in Blondie’s apartment. I remembered Blondie’s car disappearing into the night after trying to kill Rob and me. I remembered all those moments a thousand times, and I still felt just as icky and unsettled.
A “sabbatical” does that to you.
EVERY WEEK, I had to get my arm checked.
My cast was a flexi-mold. I felt like barfing whenever they changed it, despite the efforts of the medical appliance makers to amuse me with a choice of subtle blue or wild paisley. My arm transformed into an old-lady’s arm: pale and shriveled. I couldn’t exercise, so I lost strength. The pain lessened but the itching drove me mad. Babysitting Tavish became my only real connection to the outside world, beyond my immediate family and doctors. I had to admit, showing up at Tabor Oaks three times a week was a thrill, like I was getting one over on Blondie.
Besides, Tavish and I were in love. Together, with the help of YouTube, we tried to learn to tap dance. He wasn’t even a year old. But to Tessa’s delight, Tavish danced on top of my feet.
The summer nights grew shorter. School was coming soon.
One night Tessa said, “Did you know that somebody made a prank call to the police about this place? And they said there was a murderer in here?”
I was changing Tavish, so I had a good excuse to look away. I had mastered the left-handed diaper change and was pretty proud of myself—especially since Tavish, now strong and solid, was a pretty squirmy challenge. I took a deep breath. “My best friend’s father is a police officer,” I said. “So yes, I heard about it. Small town. I didn’t know it was this very building though. Does that creep you out?”
She nodded. “Kind of. You know what, Allie? I don’t want to creep you out, but I came out in the morning, and there was dirt, like, soil, all over my balcony. There was a plant knocked over up there. And I thought I saw a shoe print in the dirt. But the rain washed it away.” Tessa looked at Tavish and me and laughed. “It’s so out of the way and
Oddly, the more I read, the less I feared. These guys weren’t animals; that would be insulting to animals. And they weren’t Quantum Physics, either; they were Algebra I. They did the same things over and over, for two reasons. The first? They were compelled to do it. At first they loved it, too. It was their addiction, their crack. They’d gotten a taste and just couldn’t say no again, no matter how disgusted they were with their own actions. They’d created a wall of denial that would make any drug addict or alcoholic seem like a saint. The other reason? They were good at it—probably better at it than they’d ever been at anything in their lives. And that private victory, that “another-one-down-and-nobody-knows” feeling was tied up with the thrill of secrecy and denial, too.
Sometimes after reading a particularly gruesome passage, I thought of Rob and me. I pictured that first moment we hopped into his Jeep to sneak to Duluth to do Parkour without Juliet. I remembered that first kick of excitement, what it felt like to let Juliet go. To kiss Rob and know that I was the one. I also remembered a lot of weird and terrible stuff, though, too—mostly about the absence of life in the ghoulish faces of those poor women I’d glimpsed in Blondie’s apartment. I remembered Blondie’s car disappearing into the night after trying to kill Rob and me. I remembered all those moments a thousand times, and I still felt just as icky and unsettled.
A “sabbatical” does that to you.
EVERY WEEK, I had to get my arm checked.
My cast was a flexi-mold. I felt like barfing whenever they changed it, despite the efforts of the medical appliance makers to amuse me with a choice of subtle blue or wild paisley. My arm transformed into an old-lady’s arm: pale and shriveled. I couldn’t exercise, so I lost strength. The pain lessened but the itching drove me mad. Babysitting Tavish became my only real connection to the outside world, beyond my immediate family and doctors. I had to admit, showing up at Tabor Oaks three times a week was a thrill, like I was getting one over on Blondie.
Besides, Tavish and I were in love. Together, with the help of YouTube, we tried to learn to tap dance. He wasn’t even a year old. But to Tessa’s delight, Tavish danced on top of my feet.
The summer nights grew shorter. School was coming soon.
One night Tessa said, “Did you know that somebody made a prank call to the police about this place? And they said there was a murderer in here?”
I was changing Tavish, so I had a good excuse to look away. I had mastered the left-handed diaper change and was pretty proud of myself—especially since Tavish, now strong and solid, was a pretty squirmy challenge. I took a deep breath. “My best friend’s father is a police officer,” I said. “So yes, I heard about it. Small town. I didn’t know it was this very building though. Does that creep you out?”
She nodded. “Kind of. You know what, Allie? I don’t want to creep you out, but I came out in the morning, and there was dirt, like, soil, all over my balcony. There was a plant knocked over up there. And I thought I saw a shoe print in the dirt. But the rain washed it away.” Tessa looked at Tavish and me and laughed. “It’s so out of the way and
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