I’m slowly moving on from vehicular homicide so I suppose that’s something to be proud of. I’ve moved on to kitchen appliances which has been making me nostalgic for the last few days. Kitchen appliances were the first weapons I started with. To be specific, an Oster Granger Steak Knife, something I took from my friend’s mom when I was over at her house. The 90s were a little more relaxed in how teens interact unsupervised.
This coming from the woman who can name three(?) of her children’s friends. We’ll call them Edith, Emmett, and Christopher. I’ve only met them a handful of times, and usually just in passing as they head out the door with Sandra or up to Jason’s room.
You know, Jason used to be more of a social creature. He would be outside with his friends any chance he got. He would miss curfew more than once and I would constantly be calling his girlfriend’s house to get him home. He still has a girlfriend and he still has friends, but he prefers to hang out with them in his room or online.
As a woman who thrives on anonymity and regularly blogs, I don’t condemn internet interactions; I’ve just noticed that he’s become a lot more…intrapersonal? I don’t think that’s the right word. I can’t think of the right word. He’s doing a lot more on his own. And that’s not bad. Just different.
But anyways, when I first started killing, I used this steak knife that I stole from my friend’s house. I was too scared that my mom would notice anything missing from our kitchen so I used someone else’s. Eventually I moved on to other appliances – blenders were part of my experimental phase in college; too messy for practical use – but I will always cherish the steak knife. Not the original one, of course, I got rid of that a long time ago.
I found myself going back to the classics this week: first by accident, and then because it felt natural. I worried that three dead bodies all killed in a similar manner might tip the authorities to the possibility of a serial killer but James moved one of the bodies. He drove all night and dumped it in another town so that authorities wouldn’t make a connection. Two victims killed with two different knives in two different ways won’t raise too many eyebrows in this town. That’s why I chose this town. It’s so big, it can’t see the big picture.
20 years, I’ve been committing murder; and the only people to ever learn my secret are my daughter, my husband, and my stalker. My sister is a whole other matter because she was there from the very beginning. The rest of them seem to protect me in their own way.
James is silently watching my back, while Sandra is keeping her brother’s innocence safe. Daniel is…obsessively following me, supposedly to clean up after my messes. I think he’s just lonely. Charlotte confided in me that she’s thinking of leaving him. She thinks he’s having an affair – or at least, he isn’t telling her the truth and he’s never around anymore. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was all my fault. Mostly because I can’t stand to lose a friend to this feud. It’d be pointless. It’s over now. Daniel’s actions are his own and even if I instigated this recent change, I have no control over the outcome.
There’s no sense in confessing old crimes. That much, I know.
So for now, I bide my time with Daniel and continue a friendly relationship with Charlotte and hope that nothing can be traced back to me.
What could go wrong?
Crap, now that I’ve said it, I’m screwed.
As always, dear readers,