I walk across my lawn thinking this time it will be different. This time he’ll be standing there exactly like he used to, his canvas sneakers slowly sinking into the mud as he waits for me. I want to laugh at the matted hair slipping over his eyes in the rain, but I’m wishing and spitting in the same hand. You can only imagine which will fill it first.

My name is Jill Beirne and I am twenty seven years old. I have lived in Rocksville all of my life. The tiny little town is tucked away in a secluded corner of the Catskill Mountains of New York. With a population of about one hundred or so people we don’t really pop up on many maps of the area. My mother died one night when I was eight. My Aunt took me in and I lived with her up until five years ago when I moved into my mother’s old house. When I graduated college I couldn’t bear to see it empty any longer. My graduating class had twelve people in it, three of which were good friends; my best friend Fiona, my boyfriend Simon, and Kimberly who actually managed to move away. The rest of the class all know me. Every one of us grew up together, had class together, were babysat by the same sitters, and hung out in the same places. Although I might not have been the best of friends with everyone there was always a closeness you could never quite get rid of.

Two years ago someone went missing. It was a young woman named Delilah Bachman. I remember when I was fifteen I used to circle her picture in my yearbook. I didn’t dare draw a heart in case anyone would figure me out. She was all smiles and sly winks. The kind of girl you can’t help but love at one point in your life, even if you are a year younger and a girl. I loved her long, black hair. It was so smooth and sleek compared to my frizzy rust red mop. I liked to sit next to her and watch the tiny doodles appear over her notes. Delilah was an amazing artist. I tried to sketch her once to no avail. I couldn’t capture that light in her eyes that mad me was to have a penis so she’d pay attention to me. I was such box of rocks back then. Delilah considered me a decent friend, but I was never close enough to her to be invited to the sleep-overs or the keggers secreted away in the woods. The closest I ever got to her was when she kissed me at Leon Rainiers eighteenth birthday. I think she was stoned, but at the time the feeling crawled through my veins like pure nervous energy.

The sunburnt afternoon in July when George Schneider and Fiona James found Delilah’s naked corpse laid out on the roof of her brand new Thunderbird I felt strangely empty. Fiona said she was tied down like you would secure a mattress. I balled up a shaking fist and hit her. I nailed her right in the jaw. Afterwards I collapsed in her arms and cried for two hours straight. Fiona sat there on the sidewalk while Mr. Cuderson, the owner of the only deli in town, called my aunt.

Rocksville has seen three more disappearances since Delilah. Two bodies have been found. Vicky Kudrick was discovered by Marilyn Hegedus who thought Vicky was buried up to her neck in the paddock behind her barn. Turned out the rest of Vicky was found three miles to the south on the horse trail leading away from the barn. Vicky was two years younger than me. I never really knew her all that well, but it was still a shock. She had dated a few guys in my class and I sometimes envied her taut body as she cuddled with the soccer players or stood arm in arm with Henry Aarden the class artist. As with Delilah, hers was a closed casket funeral. That was about a year and a half back.

Six months ago a thirteen year-old by named Sammy was stapled to his tree house. The killer pinned Sammy’s shoulders, hands, feet, and testicles with old railroad spikes to the peeling green boards that faced his parent’s bedroom window. Sammy’s parents have since moved away. My Aunt Clara claims that Sammy’s mother committed suicide, but then again my Aunt Clara happens to be a gossip and I happen not to pay her much attention. That’s the way things go in this tiny, back-stabbing, I know what you did this morning town. I can’t take a crap without my Aunt hearing about it.

The last person to go missing was Simon. We had been dating for about six years. I was in my last year of college then, working on my Bachelors degree in English. One day Simon drove two hours to my school to see me and during that weekend we had the time of our lives. Over the next year we saw each other every week. He seduced me with candle lit dinners in my dorm room and naughty notes discovered when I least expected them. I thought we would end up married. I thought we would have children. I thought it would last forever.

Four weeks ago he went out for cat food and orange juice. I had just stepped out of the shower when he stuck his head into the bathroom.
“Hey babe. Going to the store. Need anything?” He eyed me with prankish intention.
“No I’m good. Just remember Proto’s dinner ok?” I replied toweling off the remainder of the water.
“Sure he can’t go without for a while? I swear that cat is developing a beer belly.” Simon shot me a crisp smile and smacked my ass with a towel. “Stay that way till I get home.”
“Yeah, sure.” I kissed the tip of his nose and with that he was gone.

Ellen Carter’s father was the one who came across town in the pouring rain at three in the morning to tell me that they had found Simon’s Jeep. He stood on my doorstep in his soaked uniform choking on his words.
“Jill, I’m so sorry.” When Simon was younger, Officer Carter had been his scout leader. We are all knotted together with the same had-worked ropes of life. Officer Carter was also the one to call my Aunt that night when I collapsed in his arms. I cried later in great heaving sobs. My body shook every time I took a deep, wet breath. Aunt Clara’s chamomile tea cleared up my sinuses a bit, but I didn’t sleep until the next afternoon.

One Friday I went to church. I didn’t really plan on going. Each week had passed with the hope that Simon would show up on my doorstep, but after a month I began to lose hope. Church just seemed like a last resort. It was so strange to see Father Joe after all those years. I stopped attending mass when my mother died. She lay in a coffin in front of the altar at St.Mary’s Church the last time I saw Father Joe. His wide blue, blue eyes sadly considered my anxious hands as they plucked and pulled at my black skirt. I was uncomfortable in the itchy stockings and my eyes burned so badly. When I looked up at him he smiled. I never understood why, but he smiled very sweetly like he knew something I didn’t. I hated him then. I knew I shouldn’t. I just wanted to. I needed someone to hate at the moment. I wanted to hate the driver of the Toyota who while drunk had mowed down my mother’s bicycle, but he wasn’t around for me to direct my anger at. He died a few feet from my mom; behind the wheel where his internal injuries caused him to drown in his own blood. His coffin was sent to Louisiana so that his grieving family could look one last time on his corpse and comment on how young and handsome he had been.

Father Joe hugged me as I entered. He didn’t bother speaking. I worried that he might. He took my hand and led me to a pew. We were the only ones in the church that day. He kneeled next to me and as we prayed I was able to look over the man I had been so angry at with a child. Father Joe had changed. His now gray hair was hurriedly crawling back from his brow, revealing layer after layer of worry lines. I don’t believe I ever knew his age, but I’d put him at a good seventy-five now. He looked it with his eyes closed, lips moving silently in prayer. It was only when he opened his eyes that I could see the young hope still reaching out of his gaze. We stood and this time I smiled. I don’t remember anything ever being said between the two of us that day.

As I left the church I saw George Schneider across the street in his garage. He was furiously vacuuming the trunk of his car. I’ll never understand what possessed me to stroll over to him.
“Hey George. How are things?” George nearly knocked himself clear out as his head snapped up and struck the lid of the trunk.
“Aw fucking Christ in hell! Aw jeeze. Jill, what are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me!”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to. You ok?”
“Yeah, Fuck.” He rubbed the sore lump beginning to rise on the back of his head and grimaced at me. Standing that close to him I could smell the stink of the garage. Most of it was the usual mixture of paint fumes, oil slicks, gasoline, and sweat, but I noticed something else. A pungent metallic smell. Thinking about it, I figure it could have been the trunk of his car. I’m not really sure. George slammed the trunk shut with a grunt. “I gotta get going inside. See you later” He waved me off and started lowering the garage door. I stood in his driveway for half a minute wondering what I should do. I ended up going home.

In my kitchen I am god. I come from a long line of proud cooks. That night I planned on treating myself to a small steak in Jack Daniels sauce with sautéed mushrooms and super garlic butter mashed potatoes. The act of crafting a meal always puts me at ease. I started the potatoes because they would take the longest to cook. While they boiled I opened the package of steak and it hit me. They say the strongest mechanism for memory is smell. Whoever they are, they’re right. The scent of blood slapped me in the face. My god, Georges trunk oozed with the stench of it. Why hadn’t anyone else noticed. I sat down on the black and white tile floor of my kitchen and heaved. The panic started crawling in from the edges of my eyes, flooding down into my heart. George? But wasn’t he Simons best friend? Why? Could I be wrong? My terrified brain shot unreasonably back and forth between accusations and disbelief. Maybe the stress of having my boyfriend vanish had finally gotten to me. I peeled myself off the floor and took long, drawn out breaths. The only thought in my head was: What if? What if it was George? What if Simon was still alive? The police hadn’t found his body. What if Simon was in George’s basement at this very moment?

Anyone would have been hard pressed to stop me that night. I must have been crazy. I slapped on some dark clothing and drove Simon’s jeep to Main Street. I parked in the Church’s parking lot and slipped quietly over the pavement. If Fiona had seen me she might have made a flippant comment on the mighty ninja on her quest to rid the world of evil and save her true love with the power of stupidity. I’m glad she wasn’t there. It was bad enough that I crept behind George’s garage and fumbled at the handle of the back yard gate.

The backdoor to George’s house led to a small mudroom next to the kitchen. It was easy enough to slip inside. No one in Rocksville ever really needed to lock their doors. Around the doorframe I could make out George standing at the kitchen table. The floor was covered in muddy newspaper. I looked closer and realized it wasn’t mud. The table was dripping blood. The smell of it almost made me retch on the spot. I think that was when I snapped. Like a Valhallan Valkerie I swooped down and landed a side kick to George’s kidney. He screamed as he went down brandishing a large butcher knife. I remember thinking: Oh crap. Here’s where he kills me.
As I raised my arms to clobber him George kicked me in the shin.
“Jesus! Jill what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? What do you call that then?” I pointed to the kitchen table without looking. George glanced at it and appeared even more confused.
“Are you a raging vegetarian or something?” I stared at him in horror. Was he eating his victims? Sick! “Look I know it’s not deer season, but I can live without the avenging animal rights act. Ok?” Stunned, I turned and really looked at the gore on the table. A small buck lay gutted and half butchered amidst the blood and scraps of skin.
“That’s not Simon.” I said in a small voice. George instantly came to my side.
“You thought that was Simon? Oh wow. I can’t believe this. Jill are you all right? Should I call a doctor or something?”
“I just thought I could find Simon. I wanted to…I miss him.” The tears leaked down my face. I’m such a crybaby. George pulled me against him and tried to comfort me.
“It’s ok Jill. I understand. I’m not mad. I felt the same way when Delilah and Sammy were dead. I mean Sammy was like a little brother and Delilah, well you know.” His voice sounded so flat in my head. All I could do was let the tears drip off my chin. “When I heard what had happened I drove through town looking for someone, anyone, that I could blame. I needed to hurt someone you know? I don’t blame you for kicking me. I’m just glad I didn’t fall on that damned knife.” I chuckled with him and he helped me to my feet. “Go home Jill. Take a shower, get some sleep, and we can talk tomorrow if you like. I’ll make you some venison stew.”
“Ha-ha. Ok. Thanks a lot George. I’m really sorry. I feel like such an ass.”
“Well I always told Simon you had a cute one.” I gave him a dark look, but he just smiled.

George may have irritated me at the last moment, but he was right. A scalding hot shower took all the fight out of me. My heart had been like a speed addict hopped up on pixie sticks before I stepped into the steam. After I soaked the anger out of my skin my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten. I cursed myself for leaving the potatoes on the stove the whole time. Everything was ruined. I threw it all out and made a ham and swiss on peasant bread with deli style mustard. Clambering into bead I mused how Aunt Clara would have scolded me about eating in the sack. I took great pleasure in getting crumbs on the comforter. Take that Old bat. Don’t get me wrong. I love my Aunt. She’s really great. Clara Susan LaRoque, a strong New Orleans granny who could out talk any of these “New York Ninnies” as she liked to call them. She moved to Rocksville thirty years ago and has since become a cornerstone to this little town. Aunt Clara took me in when my mother died. She paid for my grief counseling and spent the last nineteen years raising me as her own. I can’t say much for how she spends her free time, but when it comes to caring Clara’s top notch. When the last bite of the sandwich disappeared between my lips, I swept away the crumbs and cuddled in for the night.

The clock blinked ten AM when I woke up bleary eyed to the ringing. My phone protested angrily at me as I tried to re-orient myself. I had been in the middle of a horrible nightmare that had something to do with a peeved deer. I answered and found Fiona’s sarcasm on the other end.
“Flying ninja death kick huh?”
“Oh for heavens sake Fiona, I don’t even get a hello first?”
“Whatever, look what are you doing today? Do you want to go to chucks?”
“I actually have plans to see George today. He said we could talk. He’s being really nice to me with Simon gone and all.”
“That’s because Geoooorge wants to fuck you.” She spat out the sentence like it had offended her. Fiona had a bad attitude sometimes. I never really liked her when she acted like this, but she was one of my better friends.
“Come off it. I think he’s being honest. He was really close to Sammy and Simon was his best friend.”
“Don’t forget everyone’s favorite, Delilah.”
“Well I know they had just broken up, but he still seems upset about her too.”
“Yeah. You go spend your day with Georgie then. I’m going to Chucks. If you get bored of the great white poacher catch up with me ok? I want to hear all about you two.” I hung up and sighed. What a pain. Fiona tended to be insensitive when it wasn’t convenient for her. Sometimes I seriously wondered how I stayed friends with her for so long. I guess it just came from growing up together. When we were kids I remember her being gentler. She often protected me from bullies and the like. Sometime in high school she suddenly grew cold. Where once we were inseparable, pretending to be sisters in elementary school, all at once she couldn’t be bothered with caring.

I live about four miles from George’s place. The distance doesn’t usually warrant a car, but today it was just too hot not to. I cranked the air conditioning on high and enjoyed the chill that ran through me as the cold hit my bare shoulders. I have to admit the tank top I was wearing was a bit silly with its picture of a pink penguin plastered between my breasts, but the thought of wearing sleeves that day had really put me off. The houses lining the blocks between us proudly displayed flags of all sorts. Flags are sort of a town tradition. Holiday flags, the American flag, flags with teddy bears on them, anything really. I still had my mother’s periwinkle blue flag donned with a waving kitten flying from my front porch. I didn’t have the heart to take it down even when Simon moved in.

I had called George earlier and told him I’d come over around twelve. It was eleven forty-five. I’m not usually so early and I felt kind of weird showing up to his place then. I didn’t want George to think I was interested in him at all. I pulled into the church parking lot instead. The Church has been air-conditioned for the last ten years now and it is conveniently across the street from Georges. I decided to go in and give my car a break.

Father Joe was standing at the front pew with a man in a dark suit. I stayed near the entrance and tried to not be noticed. I guess it wasn’t a good idea to listen, but I couldn’t help myself. The man’s deep voice carried in the empty church.
“Now the younger sister was how old?”
“Fifteen. I tried to encourage her to go to the police, but she was so angry.” Father Joe sighed and fidgeted with the rosary in his left hand.
“I’m sorry we had to do things this way. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, yes. I just hope I helped. I can’t give you anything more than that the rest is between her and God.” I realized they were wrapping up and slipped into the bathroom. Peeking out through the little bit I left open I watched the man leave. He was about six-one with a lean build. The suit fit him perfectly. I caught myself admiring his pale grey eyes and strong jaw. I felt awful for looking at him so with Simon missing, but I have to admit he was really hot. I would have hid in the bathroom for the next ten minutes except that Father Joe came and knocked on the door. I opened it with a surprised look on my face hoping I convince him of my innocence somehow.
“Jill. How much did you hear?” I panicked. Do you lie to a priest or what?
“Not much. I just came in to cool off. I figured Aunt Clara would be happy to hear I was in here twice in one week.
“You keep this quiet. Not that many people know and I’d rather not have everyone questioning whether or not they can talk to me anymore.”
“All right. Can I ask you something?” He looked hesitantly at me.
“What is it?”
“Whose little sister were you talking about?”
“What? You don’t know? I thought she would have told you at least. Look I shouldn’t say anything, but talk to Fiona.”

Confused, I watched him walk to the back of the church and disappear through a door. I couldn’t fathom what had just happened so I escaped to the late summer day still boiling outside. I knew Fiona’s sister Shana from when we were kids. She was a slim ten-year old. Not the strong, wide frame of Fiona. They both shared their mother’s mass of curly blonde hair. Fiona always cut it short enough to create little spikes all over her head, while Shana left it to grow long like some fairly tale princess. I never spent much time with her, but I remember Shana with a perpetual smile on her lips. She moved to her fathers place in California when I was in college. I never really asked why. I wondered if something had happened.

Outside the humid air stuck to my skin. I thought briefly of just calling the whole thing off and going home, but George happened to be standing on his front porch trying to manage some groceries and the open his door at the same time. I trotted over and grabbed one of the bags. “Let me help you with that.”
“Oh Jill. I didn’t see you there thanks. I wanted to get a few things for lunch, but shopping took a bit longer than I thought. I ran into Roger Lisken at the store.” George took the groceries into the kitchen. I took a moment to check out his living room. It had been a while since I had seen the place. “You know Rogers’s wife is pregnant?”
“Yeah. If the kid comes out anything likes its dad, it’ll be a moose.” Rogers Grandfather left him the house nine years ago. The last time I visited was when I was twelve. The living room had changed little. The same old sofa sat in the corner opposite a brick fireplace. I remembered a night I spent sipping hot chocolate here after school when a blizzard closed down all of the roads. George’s grandfather had been a strange man. I saw him a couple of times in town wandering around like he was lost and picking fights with strangers at the local diner. Yet, he was always kind to the kids. Whenever George’s parents went out of town he stayed with his grandfather. Before high school I spent many afternoons playing in his backyard. Some of the wooden play sets in the park were built by him. A lot of people just blamed his problems on Alzheimer’s. I took a picture off the mantle and reminisced over the image of a younger Mr. Schneider.
“Jill, you ok in here?” George jarred me back into reality and I placed the picture back where it belonged.
“Sorry, it’s just been a while.” George smiled at me and nodded.
“Yeah, too long. I wish things hadn’t gone so sour in high school, but you know Fiona. If I broke up with her then I broke up with the whole group.”
“Huh? I thought she said she broke up with you.” He smiled again.
“Yeah she would, wouldn’t she?” He laughed and went back to the kitchen. I followed, drawn in by the scent of stew coming from the slow cooker. George handed me a bowlful and a thick slab of warm bread. “I picked the bread up at the bakery just now. Try it in the stew. It’s really good.” I dunked a piece in and relished the spicy flavor. “I know it’s a bit warm out for this stuff, but the venison is really great this way. I could have made steaks. Would you have preferred steaks?” I laughed.
“No, no this is great. Thanks a lot. You didn’t need to go to all the trouble.” George grabbed a bowl for himself and sat down opposite me at the table. “So how have things been?” I asked.
“Getting better by the day, but we’re not here to talk about me. Come on Jill. I know the group you hang with. I bet you haven’t had anyone to really talk to.” I looked away and sighed.
“It’s been tough. I tried talking to Fiona about it when Simon first disappeared and she was comforting for the most part. Lately though she’s been sulky. I think she’s really angry that I’m over here right now.”
“Well screw her. You’re not her property. She should be there for you.” He looked genuinely angry. I was startled at how quickly he reacted.
“She has been.” I defended. “She spent all weekend at my house two weeks ago. She did all the cleaning I’ve been neglecting and we watched a bunch of Charlie Chaplin films until two a.m.” I could feel a whine begging to rise in my voice. It signaled the start of a good cry. I forced it back with a mouthful of stew. Why was I suddenly so defensive of Fiona? George glowered at his food as if grinding over his own thoughts.
“I just can’t see why you put up with her. Sure she pretends to give a shit at first, but what has she done for you lately? You’re still hurting and she’s giving you a hard time. It’s so like her. She started out sweet when I was dating her and then suddenly it was like she was angry at me all the time. I didn’t do anything to her. Sure, she wasn’t my ideal woman, but I treated her right. You believe me right?” He looked at me expectantly. I didn’t know what to say. Fiona told me about how George kept eyeing other girls while they were dating. She even suspected him of having a crush on me for a while. Fiona always said she felt like a stand-in for the girlfriend George really wanted.
“Uh, well I don’t know George. I don’t want to get in the middle of an old feud” Another shot of anger crossed his eyes and then as quick as it had appeared it passed.
“Ah you’re right. It’s old news. You’re smart, you know that Jill? That’s why I always liked you best. You never got involved in all that high school drama. I don’t know how you and Simon ever hooked up.” I suddenly didn’t like where this conversation was going at all.
“What do you mean?” I asked with menace in my voice.
“Well, just that it always seemed to me that Simon moved a little quick with you. He’d always come home from seeing you at school bragging. I never thought it was right. You’re too…”
“Too what? What the hell are you talking about George? Simon is my boyfriend. I love him. How can you talk about him like that. He’s your best friend.”
“That doesn’t make him a saint Jill. Do you know why he went to see you that first time? huh? He went because I told him I was interested in you. He went to fuck with me! He poured it on and you accepted it. You don’t understand. I haven’t said anything because he was my best friend.” Shocked silent for a moment I stared in horror. He looked close to crying as he buried his face in his hands. “I just wanted you to know, ok? Maybe you won’t have to hurt so bad now. He was a jerk and he’s gone. I’m sorry. I know I should have told you before, but I’m here now. I want to take care of you.”
I stood and shouted at him. “You think this is helping? What the fuck is wrong with you? He isn’t like that. Fuck you George!”
“Jill wait. Please…” I didn’t let him finish. I rushed out of the kitchen. I stumbled over the coffee table as my eyes filled with tears. George ran to help me up, but I pushed him away. “Just leave me alone!” I screamed. He stood back and watched as I escaped.



Chapter 2

Hate is a terrible emotion and I boiled with it. George proclaimed his “interest” in me and I spat it back in his face. I couldn’t believe his gall. Simon could have very well still been alive and there he was hitting on me in his awfully twisted way.

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