Stevens Chevy - Never Knowing

I was so scared I couldn’t answer. From the corner of my eye I saw Lauren take Melanie’s hand and leave the kitchen.

“Where’s your mother?”

When I still didn’t answer, he shook my shoulder.

“She’s … she’s sleeping. I forgot about the stove. But—”

“You could’ve burned the house down.”

He released my shoulder, but I could still feel where his hand had been. I rubbed at it. His voice was mean and hard as he pointed down the hall. “Go.”

But I didn’t tell John any of that now.

“I was happy sometimes. My turn. Why do you want the girls to stay with you?”

“Because I get lonely. Did you wonder about me when you were younger?” He started to say something else, then stopped and cleared his throat, like he was uncomfortable. “Am I what you wanted for a dad?”

He couldn’t be serious. But he was.

“I wanted to know who my real father was, what he was like, yeah.” How was I going to answer the second part? “You … you have a lot of the qualities I would’ve liked in a father.” As I said the words, I realized they were partly true — he had given me something I’d wanted from my dad most of my childhood, something I didn’t want to admit I still needed: attention. Change the subject, Sara. “Why do you always kill people in the summer?” He was quiet for a little while. Then, his voice cautious, he said, “The first time it happened, I was hunting. I came across this couple in the woods and they were … you know. The man saw me.” His voice sped up. “And he comes at me, and he’s swinging. So I have to fight back, and we’re down on the ground and he’s hitting really hard with these sucker punches, and he got a couple of good ones in, but I had my knife and smack it goes in right up under his rib cage.” “So you killed him?”

“One more thrust did it. But the girl, she’s screaming. Then she sees me looking at her and she starts to run — I only ran after her because she ran. So she’s running harder, but I just wanted to explain that it’s not my fault, it was self-defense. Then when I caught up to her…” A long pause, then he said, “Maybe a father shouldn’t talk to his daughter about this kind of stuff.” I didn’t want to hear any of what he was telling me, but I said, “It’s okay, John. It’s good to talk about it.” I kept my voice casual. “What happened?”

“I didn’t want to do it. But I had her pinned down and she kept screaming. I wasn’t feeling well that day — it was really hot out. But after she was dead I felt better.”

He paused, waiting for me to say something. But I was mute.

“I stayed with her for a while. But when I left, the noise came back, so I visited her again and it went away. But then they found her.…”

I pictured a decomposing body in the woods, John staring down at her. I closed my eyes.

“So you started making the dolls?”

“Yeah.” He sounded relieved, like he was pleased that I understood. “With your mother I didn’t get to finish.” His voice turned angry. “I had to do it again with another woman, then the noise left. That’s when I knew for sure.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “But I’m glad I didn’t finish or I wouldn’t have you.” This time I was the one who changed the subject. “This noise, John. Do you hear voices?”

“I told you, I’m not crazy.” He said it like I was the crazy one. “My head just hurts. And my ears won’t stop ringing.”

Then it clicked.

“Do you get migraines ?”

“All the time.”

“They’re worse when it’s hot out, aren’t they?” Now I was the one who sounded excited.

“Yeah, that’s when they’re really bad.”

How did I miss this? All the signs were there. His groaning, the slurred voice, his irritation with noise. Heat-induced migraines.

“I get them too, John.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they’re awful. And they’re worse for me in the summer too.”

“Like father, like daughter, huh?”

His words snapped me back to reality. This wasn’t a bonding talk with a long-lost father.

“They started when I was a teenager,” I said. “When did they start for you?”

“When I was kid.”

“Do you take anything for them?” If he had a prescription the police might be able to track him down that way.

“No, my mother made me things for my headaches. She said the pain was spirits haunting me.”

“Do you think if you kill someone the spirits go away?”

“I know it. But I should go. I’ve got to watch my minutes. We’ll talk soon.”

He had to watch his minutes ? Was that why he usually cut his calls short? I almost laughed.

“Okay, take care.”

After he hung up, I realized what I’d just said. Take care? It was just habit, something I often said to friends or family, but John was neither. Was I getting so used to talking to him that my subconscious no longer knew the difference?

When Billy phoned to tell me John had called from off the island, somewhere north of Prince George, before vanishing into the mountains, he sounded excited about how much I’d gotten him to reveal. I was excited too. So much makes sense now. All the literature says serial killers often feel euphoric after they’ve murdered someone, and for John that probably manifested into a belief that it made his headaches go away.

Billy also said that the first time John killed someone he was probably in his late teens. Since it was likely his first sexual experience too, it would’ve been even more intense. His mother, who abandoned him, probably spent his childhood filling his head with myths, which could easily explain why his kills are so ritualized. Serial killers tend to create elaborate fantasy worlds to protect themselves from isolation. I can only imagine what a young boy left up in the mountains who has to hunt to survive starts daydreaming about.

When Evan called that night I tried to share everything with him, but his answers were short and he asked me about other things, like work, or Ally, or whether I’d sent out the e-mail wedding invitation yet, which was odd because usually he’s the last to nag about stuff like that.

I said, “I haven’t had time to go through my e-mail addresses, but I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Haven’t had time or didn’t want to?”

“I ran out of time, Evan. I was kind of busy, remember?” Realizing how bitchy I sounded, I softened my voice. “I’ll do it tonight, okay?”

We lapsed into silence, then I said, “It totally makes sense why he doesn’t have any boundaries. He probably didn’t get much socialization. And I bet if I looked up the weather around each time John attacked someone, there was a heat wave that summer or barometric pressure change — that can really affect migraines. You know how hot it gets in the Interior.” Evan sighed. “Sara, can we talk about something else for a change?”

“Don’t you think it’s interesting he gets headaches like me?”

“It doesn’t change his being a killer.”

“I know that, but it helps me to know why he kills.”

“Does it really matter why? He just does it because he likes it.”

“Of course it matters. If we know why, we have a better chance of—”

“We? You know you’re not a cop, right? Or did you join the force while I was gone?” He was making a joke, but I sensed an undercurrent of tension. Anger rushed through my system.

Stop. Think. Breathe . He was just taking shots because he was upset. Don’t react. Go to the root of the problem.

“Evan, I love you more than anything. I hope you know that. This John stuff just takes up a lot of time. But it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you.”