**Updated** It Was the Best of Times; It Was the Worst of Times: Part 2

OK – If you haven’t read part one, now’s the time to do so.  It really isn’t possible to summarize – suffice it to say this chronicles a life-changing event. 

 

I knew something was wrong – I sensed it – right down to my bones.  This guy had my number; I would look at him and the hairs would stand up on the back of my neck – you know the feeling – like someone had just whistled past your grave.  He reminded me of my brother - and trust me when I say that that was not a good thing.  I told Mark and Kevin, and after that neither ever left me alone – not for one second; not walking to and from the job, not during working hours; and Kevin outright moved in with me.  Mark took to sharpening his buck right at the store counter, and Kevin always hovered protectively, never more than an inch or two from my side – he even went into the stockroom with me.  I may not have felt completely safe, but I knew these men had my back, and that can be a very comforting thing.  One night in my apartment, when Kevin and I were winding down after a particularly stressful day, I swore the knob turned on my front door.  Kevin wanted to look, but I held him back.  I could almost feel a brooding presence lingering outside.  Eventually, I heard one of my neighbors coming home late from a date.  His voice was distinctive – and he had someone with him, thank God.  My bad feeling eventually evaporated, though I barely slept that night.

After another week, the man stopped coming, and I could finally begin to breathe again.  My ever-present sense of danger went away; it was like the sun coming out from underneath heavy clouds.  Kevin and Mark maintained their vigil, for the most part; but it hardly seemed necessary now.  Whoever he was he had gone – no more coming in the store, or hiding in the bushes watching me walk home.  I relaxed, and began enjoying life again, sharing a joint with Kevin after work, getting buzzed on peppermint schnapps with Mark on a Sunday afternoon.  Life was good.  Then, after about 10 days of normalcy – the murderers sketch was released to the public.  I remember I was sitting in my mother’s living room at the time.  She had finally deigned to let me back into the house, after refusing me help when I’d begged for it.  I just stared at the TV, dumbfounded.  There he was – feed cap and all – the man who had been stalking me.  My stomach fell into my toes, and I broke out in a cold sweat.  I could actually smell my fear – acrid, bitter – and I felt like I was going to throw-up.  I forced myself to look again, just to make sure, then I picked up the phone, and called the local police. 

At first, I was put on hold.  I couldn’t understand why – I had clearly explained the reason for my call.  Finally, someone came on the line.  Unfortunately, he sounded very bored, and didn’t seem at all interested in what I had to say.  He listened for about 20 seconds and said, ‘Lady – that guy’s not in this area.  We’re sure.  You couldn’t have seen him.’  I insisted – said I was looking at the sketch on TV, that I had seen him up close and personal and I was certain it was the man.  ‘Lady’, the police officer got really testy, ‘I’m telling you, he isn’t here.  Please don’t call and bother us again’.  With that, I was hung up on.  I just didn’t get this cop’s attitude.  I knew he was wrong.  I knew the man who had stalked me was the person in the sketch, but what else could I do?  The police obviously didn’t want to listen to me.  I actually did try one more thing.  I had a relative who used to work in the D. A.’s office.  I was estranged from most of my family by this point, and wasn’t even sure he would talk to me, but this was too important to ignore.  So I fell back on that connection and called.  Once again I was treated like a backward child, patted on the head, given a lollipop, and told to go away.  I was angry, but I gave up.  I tried to convince myself they were right, but it was cold comfort.

Several weeks passed.  The media was no longer plastering the man’s picture all over the news.  There hadn’t been any murders now for some time, and it was assumed whoever the killer was he had finally moved away.  My devoted bodyguards eased off a little, comfortable that I was safe; so it happened I was alone, early one morning, right at the end of my shift.  I was tired and waiting for the relief pitcher.  The bell sounded on the market door, I looked up, hoping to see my replacement.  It was the girl who lived in the apartment next to me.  We knew each other just to say hi, pass each other in the hall, that kind of thing.  She seemed very nice – always bright and sunny.  A pretty girl, close to my age.  She got a soda, which really caught my interest.  Most people that early in the morning got either coffee or juice.  She paid for it, we chatted.  She was headed to the beach with some guy – a first date, I think.  I glanced outside, barely noting the car.  The man was invisible behind the windshield – I only got a vague impression.  She smiled, I smiled, and then the next shift arrived, late as usual.  Within seconds, my neighbor was gone, and I was headed home to some much needed sleep.

Her body was found in a secluded area near the beach, along with that of a young girl.  Both had been raped, tortured and then strangled or shot.  The murderer had been caught literally red handed.  It took them approximately five minutes to connect him to the other deaths.  He was also identified by the one surviving victim.  In tracing my neighbors final movements, they discovered I was the last person to have seen her alive.  So the police called, wanting to question me.  I made the mistake of telling my boss, because talking to the police would most likely make me late for work.  In a drunken bid for his 15 minutes, the bastard told the press all about me, playing it up for all it was worth.  So I arrived at work, only to be confronted by dozens of news trucks, manned by zealous reporters all shoving microphones in my face.  I bolted.  There I am, hauling ass down the middle of a busy thoroughfare, several enterprising news trucks hot on my heels.  I finally made it to Marks house, diving over the fence out of sight, begging for sanctuary.  Thank God, the reporters didn’t see where I went, though they knocked on several doors trying to track me down.  I hid out in Mark’s living room, removing to the safety of my apartment only under cover of darkness.  On my door were numerous business cards – CBS, NBC - all requesting an interview.  It was horrible.

I called my boss, reamed him a new one, and told him I was taking off till this shit passed – with pay.  The asshole felt so bad, he actually said yes.  Then my phone started ringing off the hook.  Day and night.  Reporter, after reporter, after reporter - I actually disconnected the damn thing – I just couldn’t stand the harassment.  One of the calls was from my soon to be ex-husband’s father, presuming to cash in on our connection.  The last time I had seen that son-of-a-bitch was as he drove away with his son, leaving me crying on the side of the road, my car in flames.  That he actually thought I would do him a favor and call him back still amazes me to this day.  And he wasn’t alone - even a few of the bigger names called; ones with their own TV shows.  I said no to the lot.  The last thing I wanted was to be associated in any way with this terrible thing.  I felt responsible, you see.  I figured when the killer couldn’t get me, he started stalking my neighbor.  It was actually the opposite, I later found out.  He had moved down to our area searching for fresh meat, something he evidently did whenever it got too hot.  According to the cops, this guy was a serial killer with victims dating back to the 1950’s.  He met my neighbor and the other girl he murdered where they both worked. While setting her up as a target, he had spotted me, and decided to ‘branch out’.  If it hadn’t been for Mark and Kevin – I still can’t think about it.

I had to testify against the bastard – face him in open court.  I was told not to mention the part where I called the cops to tell them he was in my area.  The police claimed they had no record of my call.  Right.  Bloody liars.  Frankly, had I been asked on the stand, I would have told the truth – all of it, no holds barred.  I’m sorry they felt embarrassed by their fuck-up.  I didn’t give a rat’s ass.  I had to live with the fact that my neighbor was killed, and I was not.  She might have lived, if they had got their heads out of their ass in time.  So as far as I was concerned they could handle a few home truths and not bitch about it.  But nobody asked.  I wasn’t even cross-examined, thank the Lord.  There were cameras in the courtroom, but this was before trial watching became a spectator sport.  No one noticed me arrive, and no one noticed when I collected my kit and fled the country afterward.  I went back to Japan, to where my almost ex was stationed.  It hardly seemed far enough away, frankly.  You know - every once in a while this thing comes back to haunt me.  The killer managed to get awarded a new trial, forcing all of us back into the circus.  Then a documentary was released on TV.  I sat nervously praying I would not be mentioned or seen.  I wasn’t.  My avoiding the cameras way back then had paid off.  Now, whenever his name is brought up, mine is never coupled with it.

Unfortunately, the asshole has been up for parole now for a number of years.  How this could be, I do not even begin to understand.  Evidently he has been a very, very good boy in jail, and, due to overcrowding, they were actually considering letting him out to make room for some poor druggie caught with a little too much heroin.  The insanity in this country sometimes knows no bounds.  According to the D. A’s office the man may have murdered more than 100 people over a thirty year span, but he gets time off for good behavior.  How fucked is that?  I don’t know if he already has been released – I’m to bloody afraid to check.  I fervently hope not.  He’ll start killing again if he is – I know it.  The guy just doesn’t have the same stops as everyone else.  There’s a demon inside him – one I could actually see - and it craves blood and pain and death. 

They say time heals all wounds.  Well I’m here to tell you it’s a lie.  Some stay fresh, burned into the bone, requiring very little heat to re-ignite both the wonder and the pain.  I will always remember that summer – always - the good and the bad.  It was the summer of my epiphany – everything changed; from how I thought, to the way I behaved.  I promised myself to never be afraid again.  Whatever life had to offer I would seize it with both hands.  No more walking in the shadows for me.  As the result of this promise, almost a decade of recklessness ensued.  You see, when death breathes on you - the tendency is to flirt with him a while – and this I did with a vengeance.  But that’s what can happen when life rears up and bites you in the ass.  Who I am today is a direct result of those experiences; and the people who touched my life – I will always see their faces, hear their voices – waking and asleep.  You see, I finally grew up that year – and that makes those memories both bitter and sweet.

And so ends that chapter.  I spent the next four years living in Japan.  It’s funny the shifts and turns a life can take, isn’t it?

****Update**** I received a call from my best friend tonight telling me she had recently watched a program on Court TV featuring this story.  Evidently the murderer once again came up for parole, and was (thank God) denied.  No interview with him was done, though; the reporter said he spooked their crew so much, no one would go anywhere near the fucker.  Like I said - no soul.  My friend said she watched closely - listening for my name, looking for my face; it seems Court TV played tapes from the trial.  Once again God intervened, and I was absent from the story.  She did say, however; that the DA finally acknowledged my phone call to the police (though I wasn't mentioned by name).  They actually admitted they screwed up. I must say I am happy as hell the bastard is still behind bars. 

Comments

[SB_Gypsy]

Wow

Another very deep story. Kudos, Kudos, Kudos.

Thanks for posting it.

[SB_Gypsy]

...and no wonder you get touchy when you think men are discounting you. ~Whew~

[Debby]

Brilliantaly written - just shaking my head at the system - first they want to make sure you don't tell anyone that THEY fucked up, and now THEY want to fuck up on their own by granting this monster parole - I will never understand!!

[Neil Shakespeare]

"When death breathes on you" indeed. Powerful stuff.

[Night Bird]

It was the summer of my epiphany – everything changed; from how I thought, to the way I behaved. I promised myself to never be afraid again.

And thank you for sharing that Chapter too.

[Alyx]

Wow, I used to work at a Stop N Go in No. KY and during the night shift I was stalked by a rapist. The milkman saved me.

I can imagine why the event would mess your head up. I am getting goose bumps just reading about it.