Author’s Note: This one just came to me on a whim. I wanted to write a little short story about it, but as usual, I think it’s going to rage out of control and keep going. I have not a clue where this one is going to go, but it’s just another attempt of me trying to write down what pops into my head. It’s a curse, lol. The characters come and go, so for those readers who have asked me why I stop for so long on a particular story, now you know why. The characters bombard me and I go through writing binges and then they are gone again, only to come back later at their convenience. Sounds crazy, believe me, I know. It’s a chore having them all in my brain, rattling around. If I could actually finish a story, that’d be great. Every time I get close to it, another character comes up with a completely different story and I have to switch to that one. So, here are some new ones. Enjoy the read. Until next time…

“TIME’S UP”

Prologue

June 20, 2007

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“Are you not enjoying your time with me?” came the response.

“About as much as I enjoy second-degree sunburn on a hot August afternoon,” she answered.

“Your honesty is refreshing, if a bit brutal,” he commented. “Although I suppose in the present circumstances, I can’t say I blame you.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” she reminded him.

“You’re here because your name was on the list,” he answered simply. “They’re allowing me to request visitors in my last days. Isn’t that wonderful of them?”

She could detect more than just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which had always managed to sound both melodic and cynical to begin with. She could remember the first time she’d heard it. It had been nine years ago. Nine years seemed like a lifetime ago to her now. Things were different back then. Everything had since changed, including their relationship. If one could call it that. She wasn’t sure anymore of what had truly transpired between them. It didn’t matter, though. Whatever it had been, it had completely ruined her life in the process. Now, here she sat.

“Yes, but why was it on the list?” she inquired. “Why, after all these years, did you suddenly feel the urge to see me and speak to me?”

“I’m preparing to meet my maker,” he replied. “I suppose you have not been following the news.”

“I turn the channel every time you’re mentioned,” she informed him.

She had the feeling he was smiling at that. His sense of humor had always been…interesting. She could only guess, though. From where she was sitting, she could not get a clear look at him. He was concealed by the darkness, both figuratively and literally. She knew he could see her, however, and briefly wondered what he thought of her now.

“I bet you do,” he said. “So, how’s life been treating you?”

“I’m sure you didn’t invite me here just for the satisfaction of hearing just how much my life has been down in the dumps lately,” she surmised.

“You’re right,” he confirmed, “but then again, it can’t be any worse than mine.”

“Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?” she asked dryly. She wasn’t even surprised.

“Is it working?”

“No,” she answered, not having to think about it.

“Didn’t think so,” he said directly after. “You never were very sympathetic.”

“Then we have something in common,” she insisted.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, “but at least I faked it at one time for your sake.”

“Do you want me to believe that you spared me in some way?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Well, you did a piss-poor job, didn’t you?” she asked sarcastically.

“I tried my best to keep you from getting involved,” he said by way of explanation. “I honestly did not want to bring you into it… or any of my family or friends for that matter.”

“Do you know how clichéd that statement sounds?” she wondered.

“Yes, I know, but does that make it any less believable or sincere? It’s the truth. I have no reason to lie to you now. It’s all over. I used up my last trick, if you know what I mean… Frankly, I’m not expecting the governor to call,” he stated.

“Neither am I,” she added, looking straight into the cell, her expression a bit smug.

“You want them to kill me, don’t you?” he asked, although his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

She scratched the back of her neck and let out a small snicker of a laugh, but it was fleeting. She just never thought she’d be sitting in a penitentiary, having this conversation with someone on death row. It was a bit overwhelming for her, which surprised her. She had thought that after all of the shock she’d been through in the past several years, it would have numbed her. She slowly shook her head to herself, as she looked down at the cold floor beneath her booted feet.

“I..uh…I don’t really have an answer for that,” she admitted. “In a way, yes I do. I don’t think someone like you should be allowed to breathe. An eye for an eye is a very appealing solution. I have so many mixed feelings, though. It’s a jumble of thoughts, really. I never imagined that anyone I knew would be in this situation. I never thought that…it would happen so close to home. I grew up, reading about it, looking at it from a distance. I’ve read biographical accounts of several serial killers, or mass murderers, whatever you want to call them. I watched all those primetime live interviews with notorious criminals. I just treated it as everyone else did, like it was just another source of entertainment. I felt so sorry for all the people who were always involved, the victims and their families, the killers’ families and friends they had betrayed. It was always tragic… but then, I’d turn off the television or close the book. That would be the end of it for me, because it had happened to someone else… to a stranger. I could rest at night because I had always felt safe. I can’t do that anymore… because of you.”

He was silent for a minute beyond the cell bars. It was eerie in the darkness.

“I’m sorry that you can’t sleep at night,” he finally replied.

“No, you’re not.” She knew he had no feelings, none that could touch on the normal range of human emotions, anyway. When he spoke empathetically, she knew it was just an act.

“It was never my intention to cause you lasting agony. Unfortunately, our actions are never without consequence. It’s just so that it’s everyone around you that has to suffer them,” he attempted to explain.

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all these years? Is that how you deal with your guilt?” she asked.

She could hear him sigh heavily in frustration. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was sitting there with his fingers interlaced, propping up his chin, and breathing through his nose in exasperation. That’s what he had always done whenever she had berated him for anything in the past. He would just sit there, not screaming back at her or breaking small objects by hurling them across the room, like someone with an anger management problem. He’d barely even argue. He had always been rather calm and seldom had she seen him lash out in anger. Apparently, that had been a clever disguise on his part, hadn’t it? He had never drawn suspicion, something that had worked so well for him for so long. He really hadn’t changed much since then.

“I don’t have to tell myself anything, really. Events of my life have transpired. I can’t turn back time and undo it. Nothing I say now will change anything in the past. I’ve come to the realization that we are all capable of committing horrible acts, even you, Susan. You can tell yourself that there is a big difference between recognizing the potential capabilities and actually going through with the urges. That’s your decision. I look at it as survival of the fittest. Go watch the discovery channel. Watch the lions and wolves pick off the weakest of the pack. They are predators, plain and simple. It’s how God made them. They don’t question it. I don’t bother to question my role in life, either. They hunt. I hunt. They kill. I kill. It’s all the same,” he replied.

“So you think that God put you on this earth to destroy life, is that it?” She asked incredulously. If he was being honest, she couldn’t believe she had once trusted this monster, so long ago.

“Not necessarily as a primary mission of mine, no,” he replied. “I’m just trying to let you in on a few facts and explain myself.”

“You’re not making a believable argument. An animal hunts its prey to survive and eat,” she reminded him. “You did it for pleasure. There is a big difference.”

“Look at all of those hunters who stalk the woods and the African plains, searching for the perfect trophy to put on their wall to make them feel powerful. They are thrilled by the hunt, as with the kill. They derive pleasure from it. Are you telling me that I am so different from the lot of them?” he asked.

“I’m not particularly crazy about animal trophies myself, but man has hunted animals for as long as there have been animals to hunt. It’s generally accepted now,” she answered.

“Man has hunted man,” he reminded her, “and women as well.”

“I suppose I have to agree with you,” she admitted grudgingly. She wished he wouldn’t have said that. It was a grim reminder.

“I won’t deny that I got pleasure out of it,” he went on, “because, as I said before, I’ve got no reason to lie.”

“What makes you think I want to know about that?” she wondered. “I’m not a cop wanting a confession and I’m not a priest waiting to hear one.”

“You’re here,” he said. “You must want to know something. You do want to know after all these years, don’t you Susan?”

“What do you think I want to know?”

“You want to know why I did it,” he explained, his voice falling into a creepy melody, almost as if he was singing that statement to himself.

With the steel between them, she realized with some relief that she wasn’t truly afraid of being near him. She wasn’t even sure if she would be without the bars present. She felt more of repulsion for him than fear. She was aware, of course, that he was fully capable of causing her harm, physical or otherwise. He had certainly done so to others in his lifetime. She couldn’t imagine what had stopped him from harming her. She had never really received an answer to that question.

“Why did you never target me?” she inquired. She knew it was very forward to ask, but gathered he was probably used to that kind of questioning by now.

“Ah, there it is. You’ve waited a long time to pose that question to me, haven’t you?” he asked back. “Why is that?”

“I always thought I knew the answer,” she replied. “I thought it was because you followed the old rule of not killing someone you know, or perhaps, because you actually cared at some point. Now, I’m not so sure. So tell me.”

“It’s complicated,” he replied dryly.

“Try me,” she challenged.

“Not scared of the consequences of reopening the whole thing?” he asked from his spot. He still had not come into the light.

“No,” she replied, “not anymore. I want to get it over with. Then, I can walk out of here and never look back.”

“If that’s your choice,” he said, in a way that suggested he disagreed with her decision. She didn’t care, though. She was not here for him. She was here for herself.

“It is.”

“Shall we hold hands and take a stroll down memory lane, then?” he inquired in a slippery tone.

“Why not? I have all day,” she replied, crossing her ankles and leaning back in her chair.

She wondered briefly why the visitation was set up this way. She thought that they would be in the huge visiting area or in a well-lit room separated by glass like she had always pictured. She had never come to visit him before after his conviction. He had requested to see her a few times via mail or an occasional telephone call, but she had declined. The only reason she was here now was because she wanted some closure. He was the only person who could give it to her. In a few days time, he would no longer be able to do that and she figured it was her last chance. She wasn’t looking forward to it exactly, but any answers would be better than none at all. She just didn’t want to regret never finding out the things she wanted to know.

“Very well, then,” he said, resigning himself to the task. “Go ahead and ask if you wish to go first, that is. What do you want to know?”

“I want to go back to the beginning,” she revealed. “I want to know everything.”

“That’s going to take much longer than a day’s worth of visiting hours,” he informed her, scoffing at her demands.

“Then you better take the lock off your memory,” she insisted, “and get talking.”

“My, you’ve gotten bold since our last meeting, haven’t you?” he asked snobbishly.

She nodded, “Lots of things have changed.”

“So I see,” he confirmed quietly. “Well,” he sighed, “I’ll tell you now that it’s not going to be easy to remember every little detail.”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you get the facts right,” she assured him.

“You know I’ve never confessed to every single thing I did,” he reminded her.

“Then, I’ll just have to accept the position of your sole confidant, won’t I?” She asked, clenching her jaw. He was starting to toy with her. It was not something she enjoyed but there were probably certain things she’d have to give up if she expected him to confess to her.

“I suppose, although not even those so-called trained professionals were quite up to the job. Are you?” He asked, poking fun at the police and federal agents.

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Good to see that you don’t mind the suspense,” he reflected. He paused. “Very well, perhaps it will help to cleanse my soul. You can’t imagine how many religious fanatics have been bombarding me recently about redemption and the salvation of the lord.”

“Don’t try to evade the subject,” she countered.

He went quiet suddenly. After a few moments, she decided to prod him to get him to talk.

“How do you want to start?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Do you want to begin with the first murder or do you want to go back further?” She elaborated.

“I thought this was all about what you wanted to discuss, not what I want to talk about,” he pondered.

“I just want my questions answered,” she admitted.

“That’s easier said than done. I don’t know if I can accomplish that all by myself,” he said. “The answers you seek may be tightly locked away, but not in me, you understand.”

“Stop bullshitting me,” she demanded.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He asked slyly. “I assure you, I’m not. I’m simply suggesting that what you’re looking for may lie elsewhere than this cold, dark place. I hope that you’ve exhausted all possibilities before coming to me.”

“I have,” she answered.

“I see. You’ve looked closely in the mirror then, hmm?”

“Have you?” She wondered.

“There are none in here,” he replied.

“Very funny,” she stated cynically. “Now, if you please, I’d like to begin.”

“Be my guest,” he invited. “Perhaps you’d like a tape recorder. I’m sure if you place this down on paper you could have a best-seller on your hands.”

“I’m not interested in the money,” she said, “I’m interested in finding peace and unfortunately, I can only do that through you.”

“It’s nice to feel important.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she argued. She didn’t get how little she made him feel. She didn’t think she could say anything to him that would make him feel as humiliated and angered as he had made her feel in the past.

“You want me to start from the time we met?” He asked, ignoring her last statement.

“Did the murders begin after that?”

“No,” he replied.

“Then go back to before the murders,” she instructed. “Go back to the beginning. How did it start?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” he began.

“You owe me this,” she reminded him. “If you ever cared about me, at all, you’ll come clean with me now.”

“Will it change how you feel about me?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “It won’t bring back any love for you, if that’s what you mean. You destroyed that yourself. It might help if I understand, though. If you try to convince me that you’re not a complete monster, then maybe you can leave this life with some shred of humanity intact. Perhaps if you tell the truth and reveal the real you instead of hiding behind a mask the way you’ve done for God knows how long, you’ll find some satisfaction in knowing the reasons behind your actions. Instead of taking it all to the grave, maybe some good can come out of releasing it now.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding like he wasn’t sure whether he should agree with her reasoning or not.

“Are you ready?”

“Let’s do it,” he replied, giving in. “It may take some time. Just because I’ve already confessed doesn’t mean that it comes out of me any easier than before. I haven’t talked about it for awhile.”

“It’ll come back to you,” she said, feeling like a psychologist all of a sudden. “Just start where you feel comfortable. Start at the onset of your crimes, if you’d like. The important thing is that you describe it to the best of your abilities.”

He began after what seemed like an eternity of silence from inside the cell. He spoke in stilted sentences at first, not really knowing how to communicate it properly yet. She listened, forcing herself to endure the rehashing of old memories, some good and others bad. It was time to go back and relive it. She just hoped it wouldn’t cost her sanity to do so. She felt as if she was about to lead a psychotherapy session with this convicted murderer.

She was about to hear the confession of a man she had once trusted but who had completely extinguished that trust five years ago when the detectives had come knocking at her door. She remembered the exact day. It had been May 15, 2002. She’d been doing her laundry, minding her own business. Back then, she didn’t have much to worry about. Things had changed on that day, however. Her life had come crashing down in ways she never expected. That was when the police came to question her and her husband. Some horrible things had been happening in their county. Never in her darkest dreams had she thought that it had anything to do with her. The months that had followed that initial questioning were the worst and longest of her life. She had realized that dreams weren’t the only things that could come true and that God wasn’t the only one running the show.

That morning in May had marked the beginning of the end, and not just of her marriage but of her trustful nature. The police had told her they were investigating the murder of a twenty-six year old woman who had disappeared months earlier from her home in La Habra. They had also questioned the whereabouts of her husband on the night of January fourth. That had been the night Jennifer Brown disappeared. For Susan Winn, that had been when the nightmare started.