Page 13 of The Neighbor
There has to be one bag of chips or something in this house. It’s not like I’m some health food nut who only eats things that are good for me. Didn’t I buy some Doritos at the store the other day?
I open cabinet after cabinet but find nothing. With each one I close, I look back to see if Caroline is still standing at the front door or if she’s moved farther into my house. It’s very presumptuous of her to simply walk into a near stranger’s home. I mean, I just officially met her today, and I never gave her any impression that she should come up here with me.
Christ, did I leave my computer on? What was I searching for this morning before I left to go to the party? My mind races as I try to remember. I did some work, performing a search on a prospective employee for one of the insurance companies I freelance for and then I filed my report with the supervisor there. Did I do anything else? Anything involving her?
“It’s okay if you don’t have anything. You look like you’re on some quest over there, and I feel bad you’re having to do so much just so I don’t look like the neighborhood slacker.”
“No, it’s okay,” I answer as I close yet another cabinet door in my fruitless search.
Jesus, who knew I had this many cabinets? There’s got to be something here. What about something sweet? No, chocolate will melt in this heat.
Then I remember that bag of hard candies I grabbed a few weeks ago after reading that article that claimed they helped people focus when they have to spend long hours in front of a computer. I put them away after buying them and never attempted to find out if that theory was true because a day later Caroline moved into the neighborhood.
Crouching down, I fling open the cabinet door under my silverware drawer and there’s the bag with all the brightly colored candy balls wrapped in cellophane. Perfect!
I hold the bag up and call out, “I found something. I hope you don’t mind being the person who brings hard candy to the party.”
When I stand up, she’s smiling at me. “That sounds fine. I’m going to get the reputation of being the neighbor who always brings sweets to the parties. First the lemon bars and now the candy. I’ll have to make sure to change things up for the next one and bring some salty snack like chips.”
Happy to be able to get her out of my house before she sees anything, I hurry toward her with the two bags of snacks in my arms. She likely saw little more than the décor of my living room and me scrambling to find an extra bag of food, so that’s good. Next time I need to remember to lock my door behind me.
When I reach her, she’s as sweet as the candy in my hands. “This is so nice of you. I’m going to owe you for this, I think.”
I pounce on that idea to introduce the possibility of being invited to her house. “It’s okay. Next time I’ll get to see your house. I’m sure it’s nicer than mine. I haven’t done anything since I moved in. This place is the same way it was when the former owners lived here. I bet yours isn’t like that, though.”
As she takes the bag of hard candy out of my hands, she shrugs. “A little, but I’m getting to it, slowly but surely. We better get back to the party. Kimmy’s going to think we all abandoned her.”
Caroline bounds out of my house, and I shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it before I leave. She didn’t say no to my inviting myself to her house, but I’m not surprised by that. She’s friendly and neighborly, so why would she?
But you know what they say. Be careful with strangers.
Then again, I guess I wouldn’t be considered a stranger anymore. Good. I’ll use that to my advantage.
6
I siton the curb across the street from the tent as the sun goes down. It’s been a full day of excitement, far more than I expected at one of these neighborhood parties. Then again, suburbia is known for all its seedy goings-on behind the scenes. Everyone thinks neighborhoods like this one are genteel and proper because when they look at the beautiful homes and perfectly manicured lawns, all they see is something pleasant.
The truth is far uglier than anyone can even imagine.
The looks on all my neighbors’ faces when Suzanne caused that scene earlier this afternoon tells me they’ve bought into the lie about where we live too. They’ve convinced themselves that people only lash out in big cities, that no one in such a lovely setting like Raven Terrace could ever behave so boorishly.
Of course, they accept her husband’s philandering. That’s something that happens with men. The old boys will be boys excuse. Or maybe they’ve rationalized him cheating on her with the justification that she’s not home enough because she works too much. I can see Harold telling Marilyn poor Jared wouldn’t have to cheat if his wife was around more.
It’s all so perfect on the outside in our little cul-de-sac that the ugliness that exists within the walls of our beautiful houses is hard to believe.
Then again, would they ever imagine in a million years that they’re living right next to a killer? Of course not. Killers live in big cities and look entirely different from them. Or killers all resemble the characters in movies who terrorize with chainsaws and guns.
How shocked they’d be to find out killers don’t look like that at all. Those creations from a moviemaker’s mind aren’t anything like me. I’ve never even seen a chainsaw in person, much less used one. And a gun? Never touched one in my life, although my father had one in the house when I was growing up.
No, you see if you want to kill another human being, you don’t need anything but your two hands. That’s how I always do it. Two hands wrapped around a slender neck squeezing until I see all the life drain from my victim’s eyes. No loud bang. No terrifying sound of a chainsaw. Just silence in my head and the sound of another soul taking their last gasping breaths before they fall silent too.
Lost in thought about that truth, I don’t notice someone’s sat down next to me until I feel the touch of a hand on my shoulder. Ripped from my memories, I turn to see Caroline on the curb beside me.
“Wild day, huh? I thought you might like some company, but if you want to be alone, I can leave. Marilyn and Harold have already gone home.”
It takes me a few seconds to process what she’s saying, but finally, I nod and give her a smile. In truth, I really don’t want to spend any more time with these people, but Caroline isn’t simply a neighbor to me.
She’s a project that as of today seems to have some real possibilities. Now that she’s planted herself right next to me onthis curb, I’d be stupid not to take advantage of this chance to find out more about her.