The One Who Got Away - L.A. Detwiler

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window, needing to get some air in this stifling room. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to counter the rising panic in my chest. I can sense the tour-guide woman and Claire exchanging some kind of look or communication behind me. The woman is probably trying to soothe the rising guilt in Claire for leaving me in a place that feels so suffocating. I look out into the morning, taking in the view of the courtyard, the U-shape of the building offering me a look at the inside-back wall of Smith Creek Manor. Another resident’s window sits across from me. I stare, the outline of a person – a man, perhaps? – standing in the window. Someone else is looking out into the courtyard as well. I should find it comforting, I suppose, that I’m not alone, that someone else is lost in thought at this place. My mind is numb, though. There are too many things to absorb, and I’m not ready to take it all in just yet.

      ‘Isn’t it a lovely view? I told you the view up here is just grand,’ the woman says. I hate that she’s trying to sell me on this place. I’m already here. Plus, there would be no selling me on this place. The view is claustrophobic, if you ask me. I can’t see the outside world, not really – just the grass, the air between the wings of Smith Creek Manor. It’s like I’m trapped by the stone building, the rooms of patients my only view.

      I look out, training my eyes on the roof, on the sky, on the great beyond. I wonder if I’m staring in the direction of Quail Avenue. My mind conjures up an image of the tiny house squeezed between the neighbours. I can picture that alabaster colour, those tiny shutters Charles painted in a stunning yellow. I yearn to feel the front door, my hand shakily touching the cold, harsh glass of the window instead.

      I peer down now, staring at the gazebo that rests in the courtyard way, way below. When my eyes catch sight of the ground, absolute terror seizes me, grappling with my heart like a clutching, clawing fist. What I see when I look out the window convinces me of one thing I’ve been fearing: I can’t do this. Not here. I’m not going to be safe here at all.

       Missing West Green Girl Found; Corpse Shows Distressing Signs of Tampering

      West Green, Crawley, West Sussex

      13 June 1959

      The West Sussex Constabulary has reported the discovery of the body of Miss Elizabeth McKinley of Greenville Avenue, West Green, around dawn yesterday, 12 June 1959. The body of Miss McKinley was uncovered in a skip at the current construction site for the new Crawley Hospital. A worker found what appeared to be a large trunk in the skip that seemed out of place. Upon opening the trunk and discovering what appeared to be limbs, the police were called to the scene to investigate. Detectives later arrived, and a chief detective is currently on the case.

      Several other trunks included the remains of what was determined to be Elizabeth McKinley after further investigation. Investigators also revealed the presence of bite marks on various limbs and pieces of the dismembered corpse. It seems that the bite marks were made postmortem.

      The deceased, Elizabeth McKinley, 19, daughter of Mr and Mrs Jonathan McKinley, disappeared from her home 26 May. Mr and Mrs McKinley had left to attend a dinner in Brighton. Miss McKinley had stayed behind due to illness. Upon returning home, Mr and Mrs McKinley found signs of a break-in, although no valuables were removed. Miss McKinley had not been heard from since 26 May by any family or friends.

      Searches have turned up few clues, the constabulary notes. West Green has been on edge since the disappearance of the girl that neighbours called ‘godly, sweet, and kind.’ Elizabeth McKinley was engaged to be married to Paul Hazenstab, also of West Green. Their wedding was to be announced in the coming weeks.

      Police are calling the death ‘a brutal homicide of the darkest kind’, in reference to the disturbing bite marks found on her thigh, chest, and left arm. The dismemberment of her body has also raised concerns that this was an act of revenge or hostility. Several West Green residents interviewed mentioned fears that a deranged killer is on the loose, but Chief Constable Warren of the West Sussex Constabulary wishes to reassure the residents of Crawley that there is not enough evidence at this time to establish a motive or to stir such fears.

      ‘We will be investigating,’ Chief Constable Warren noted, ‘and we will not stop until we find the savage murderer who took this sweet girl’s life in such a sinister way. We ask the people of Crawley to be vigilant and to report any strange occurrences.’

      Arrangements for the funeral of the deceased have not yet been announced as the investigation is still underway.

       The pencil between my teeth, I gnaw and gnash, closing my eyes and thinking about how it all transpired. A surge of warmth flashes through me as I recall the supple flesh between my teeth. I recall how my tongue danced at its surface. The gnashing of my teeth against her flesh quenched, if only for a quick moment, the primal urge within me. The suppleness of her arm, her chest, her inner thigh – all so satisfying yet also stirring of a deeper hunger.

       I’d known that first kill would be delectable – but I hadn’t realised just how so.

       I sit back in my chair, my fingers finding the tip of the pencil as my teeth incessantly chomp down, almost as if of their own volition.

       I’ve done it.

       I’ve accomplished the first.

       I’d always imagined the first to be the hardest when I’d gone over my plans. The logistics of it, sure. But also the feel of the life exiting a body. It had excited me, the mere thought of it driving me to a place of utter joy rarely known in all of my years of living. I’d worried, though, if it would meet my expectations. What if the taste of death wasn’t enough?

       It was a fear I’ve always battled with, a question that often held me back. But there was no more holding me down. I’d finally risen up. I’d finally done what I’d always needed to do, what I’d always been capable of doing.

       I’d found myself, my strength. A grin paints itself on my face. Brilliant. There is no other word for it. I’m finally brilliant.

       Bloody brilliant.

       I’ve done it, after all. I’ve finally achieved it. I carried it out, succeeded in the first step of the master plan. I finally feel a surge of life pulsing in my blood. It’s as if her death has incited a new energy, a new sense of life within me. It’s a foreign feeling, yet it’s one that I feel like I’ve always been craving. All of those years of being lost, of searching. I found it. It’s paradoxical yet it completely makes sense. I finally feel excited about something. Dazzled by the feel of death, I now know I can be the one to wield so much power. I can choose when and how they leave this world. And I get to be there in the final moments, to see them beg, to hear their desperate pleas for another day. My lips curve into a crooked grin.

       I’m the one in control. Who would’ve ever expected it?

      They wouldn’t have. It’s always the quietest sheep, the ones on the outskirts, that surprise you the most. Aren’t you surprised now? I think, my mind flashing over her stoic face. She would be so surprised now. My hand rubs my forehead, leaving the pencil.

       I had been patient, my plan reviewed over and over for months before claiming the first one on the list. I’m no fool. I’m not. I’m sensible and smart. I’m capable. I’d taken my time after picking the girls. I have my list of chosen ones. I know the order, the plan. I won’t ruin it or rush it. I’ll be successful. I’m no quitter. I’ll do it right.

       I’d been observant for months. It isn’t hard to learn about others if you just pay attention. Few people pay attention, I’ve come to realise. But I do. I always do. I watch. I study. I learn routines and entrances. I examine the possible entry routes and the escapes. I peruse timetables and plans to find just the right time. It has to be exact.

       I’d determined Elizabeth would be first because she was the least exciting. She was a quiet, submissive girl. I knew she wouldn’t resist much. Which I knew wouldn’t be as satisfying

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