The Good Neighbor - Bettes Kimberley A. (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

“What?”

“He killed him. He killed her too.” Tears welled in his eyes. I just couldn’t seem to process what he was saying. This was all so unreal to me.

In the background, I saw the chair-bound man raise his head. He slowly turned his head and looked at me. My heart sank.

He shook his head and nodded, indicating that the real killer was the man standing before me now, pleading for me to leave the room.

Over and over, he repeated, “He killed him, he killed Bernie. He killed Jill. He tried to kill me, but we fought and I managed to tie him down. But we have to hurry.” While he chanted this, my gaze remained locked with the helpless man bleeding from the temple.

Seeing that something had caught my attention, he turned around and glanced at the man in the chair. Quickly, he turned back to me and tried to lead me out of the room.

“Please, go call the police. Tell them to hurry!”

“Okay. I’ll go. I’m going now.” I turned to leave.

Satisfied that I was leaving, he turned and walked farther into the room, toward the bound man.

Seizing the opportunity without much thought at all, or so it seemed at the time, I quickly and quietly turned back to the room. I stepped inside and grabbed a very heavy iron bookend from the bookshelf just inside the door. In one fluid movement, I picked it up and swung it as hard as I could at his head. It was a solid connection.

After the sickening sound of iron hitting bone, came the sound of a body hitting the floor. I watched briefly as he fell beside Jill. He landed so close to her body, the red of her blood mixed in with the red of his hair.

I dropped the bookend and rushed over and began to free Owen from the chair.

“He’s the killer. He killed Bernie and Jill,” he said slowly.

“Are you okay?” I asked, still working on the rope.

“Yeah. He hit me pretty good there.” I finished freeing him and he reached up and touched his head. I watched him wince and felt terrible for him.

He stood slowly. He stepped over Jill’s body and felt for a pulse on Andy.

“He’s alive. We have to tie him to this chair in case he wakes up before the police arrive.”

Owen didn’t have the strength to move Andy, and I wasn’t strong enough so he remained on the floor. We decided that even if he woke, Owen could deal with him.

I felt sick. It was bad enough that Andy and Owen were in the shape they were in and that Andy had killed Bernie and Jill, but the thought that we were in the same room with Jill’s body was too much. And knowing the Andy had killed her only made it worse.

79 Louis

As if he could feel me staring at him, he turned his head and his eyes met mine through the window.

I still stood there, like a fool, with my cup of tea caught in the air between my mouth and the saucer. Realizing how silly this was, I set down the cup.

I grabbed a rolling pin, planning to beat that dog with it for digging in my back yard. I carried it with me as I stomped my way out the door and across the back yard to where the dog stood, covered in mud.

As I approached him, his tail wagged. Little bastard. Digging up my yard.

I changed my mind about beating the dog when I saw what he’d been digging. I changed my mind about the dog altogether, as a matter of fact.

Sticking up out of the ground was a hand.

80 Carla

Owen hugged me. It was a tight embrace. The kind you give someone who just saved your life.

“You do need to go call the police,” he said as he pulled away from me.

I nodded and started to walk away. But then I heard Andy speak.

“He killed him, Carla. He killed Bernie. He tried to kill me because I knew. He probably killed your aunt. He killed Jill.” His voice cracked.

I looked at Owen, who looked hurt that anyone could even suggest such a thing. He shook his head. “I didn’t, Carla. I would never.”

I looked from Owen to Andy and back again. They both looked sincere. They were both in bad shape.

Andy said, “It’s true.”

After a moment of silence, I said, “I’ll go call the police.” I exited the room. They both knew that. What they didn’t know was that I was just outside the door, listening.

I was always amazed at the things you could learn from being a fly on the wall.

As I listened to the conversation taking place between the two men inside the room, I felt my heart shattering, my soul ripping. I could actually feel myself going hollow inside. I hated the feeling. It was new to me and I never wanted to experience the feeling again.

I’d heard enough. I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath and went back into the room, where there stood a killer and captive.

81 Jenson

I watched the police pull into Louis’ driveway. I wondered what was going on over at his house, but didn’t figure it was any of my business. If this was the reason for my horrible feeling, then it wasn’t near as bad as last time.

The police officers didn’t seem to be in any hurry, so it must not be an emergency. They hadn’t run the siren or flashed the lights. It was a lone car with two officers. Surely, an emergency would warrant more pizzazz than that.

As I watched Louis open the door for the officers, I realized that my feeling hadn’t gone away. The last time, it had gone away as soon as the accident was over. Whatever was the cause of the feeling today wasn’t over yet.

I remained seated at the window, waiting.

82 Carla

I’d never really thought of myself as a brave person. I’d had to be brave for my kids a few times with spiders and bogeymen, but that was about it. No, I’d never had to face down a murderer. With any luck, this would be the last time.

I walked into the room praying that this went well.

Owen was standing beside Andy, who had regained consciousness. They both looked at me when I entered the room.

“Did you call?” Owen asked.

“Yeah. They’re on their way,” I replied. It was a lie.

I walked around Jill’s body to the men. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit. I realized I was holding my breath. I took a deep gasp, my last one before I became a killer.

I stepped closer to him. He looked at me. It would be the last time.

I put my hands behind me and leaned in closer. With his eyes locked on mine, he didn’t see it coming.

I brought my hands around quickly and stabbed him. With an eighteen inch long aluminum knitting needle in each hand, I stabbed one in each side of his neck. I pushed them as deep into his flesh as I could, to do as much damage as possible. I had them each about one-third of the way in him before he reacted.

He instinctively grabbed the needles.

He yelled, he cursed, and he cursed more when he pulled the needles from his neck.

I’d always told my kids that if anything should ever happen and they were to be impaled, they shouldn’t remove the object which had impaled them. They wanted to know why. I’d explained to them that removing the objects from their body would allow the wound to bleed. This would surely cause them to bleed to death, which is what was happening now.