Read Online Family Murders: A Thriller by Henry Carver - Free Book Online
Authors: Henry Carver
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willing to lambast the Fallows clan in print months after the trial had ended, declared with some theatricality that he had "witnessed the birth of a sociopath. That boy has been nurturing a seed of something inside him for a long time, and at the end of last year, I saw it come into bloom."
At least it seemed theatrical in retrospect. Reading between the lines, one could get a sense of a town that needed to either do some serious soul-searching or forget it ever happened. Towns are like the people who live in them—most choose the latter.
***
Angela sat back in her chair, unable to believe the town in the story was her town. It had been almost two years since Ted had decided he wanted to move back. She knew plenty of people who had lived their whole lives there, whose parents and grandparents had, and no one had ever breathed a word of it, as gossip or anything else. Angela supposed the story couldn't go on for ever. As far as headlines went, "Child Murderer Still On Loose" was pretty embarrassing.
But that was the gist of it: Eric Fallows was still out there. Maybe that's why no one wanted to talk about it. They were afraid to summon him, like saying Bloody Mary three times. It would be different if he was rotting in a cell; it would all be in the past. Instead the whole thing still lived and breathed in the present. Eric still lived and breathed in the present, out there in the world somewhere.
"No, not somewhere," Angela breathed. "He's here."
"He's home."
Friday, October 12th, 1990
9
Angela woke Friday morning to the sound of breathing coming from behind her.
She had spent nearly three hours in the library the previous day. After driving home she had called to make sure Julie was safe, then carefully locked herself in. Special attention was paid to the new deadbolt she had installed in the door to the addition. Then she collapsed into bed.
She had nightmares, but never woke up.
When she did come around, it was to the prickle of hot breath across the back of her neck. Her stomach dropped; her eyes snapped open like over-tightened window shades. For a few seconds she couldn't move, couldn't do anything other lay on her side and stare at the wall. She was an ostrich again, head buried in the sand.
It only took a few seconds for her mind to conjure a horror tour: Eric bending over the bed, feet wrapped in garbage bags, smelling her hair; Eric wearing black leather gloves and testing the edge on a fillet knife; Eric under the covers with her—behind her—naked.
The rhythm of the breathing brought her back to reality. It was measured and slow, the breathing pattern of someone who was asleep.
Or someone who was pretending to be.
Either way, Angela realized, this was as good a chance as she was going to get. She steeled herself, then leapt up and pressed her back against the wall, twisting her head wildly from side to side, scanning the room. If someone was coming for her, at least it wouldn't be from behind. There was someone there, on the far side of the bed, rustling and…snoring. Angela picked up a small statuette with a heavy base off her bedside table, raised it over head, and—
—and realized she recognized the snoring. She reversed her weapon, used the statue side to flip back a corner of the covers.
Fucking Ted! He was here, at home, sleeping next to her. Angela remembered her certainty that Ted's return home would assuage her fears. She thought of all the nightmares she'd had, all while sleeping next to him.
"I guess it only works if I know you're there," she said out loud. And she did feel better now. The light coming through the uncovered corner of the window was bright and clear and still. Pre-hurricane weather in her experience, but even so, it was a better looking day than she had seen in a long time.
With a start, she realized it had only been three days since an almost carefree family dinner. She looked down at her husband. In some ways, she had missed him so much, needed him so much.
At least it seemed theatrical in retrospect. Reading between the lines, one could get a sense of a town that needed to either do some serious soul-searching or forget it ever happened. Towns are like the people who live in them—most choose the latter.
***
Angela sat back in her chair, unable to believe the town in the story was her town. It had been almost two years since Ted had decided he wanted to move back. She knew plenty of people who had lived their whole lives there, whose parents and grandparents had, and no one had ever breathed a word of it, as gossip or anything else. Angela supposed the story couldn't go on for ever. As far as headlines went, "Child Murderer Still On Loose" was pretty embarrassing.
But that was the gist of it: Eric Fallows was still out there. Maybe that's why no one wanted to talk about it. They were afraid to summon him, like saying Bloody Mary three times. It would be different if he was rotting in a cell; it would all be in the past. Instead the whole thing still lived and breathed in the present. Eric still lived and breathed in the present, out there in the world somewhere.
"No, not somewhere," Angela breathed. "He's here."
"He's home."
Friday, October 12th, 1990
9
Angela woke Friday morning to the sound of breathing coming from behind her.
She had spent nearly three hours in the library the previous day. After driving home she had called to make sure Julie was safe, then carefully locked herself in. Special attention was paid to the new deadbolt she had installed in the door to the addition. Then she collapsed into bed.
She had nightmares, but never woke up.
When she did come around, it was to the prickle of hot breath across the back of her neck. Her stomach dropped; her eyes snapped open like over-tightened window shades. For a few seconds she couldn't move, couldn't do anything other lay on her side and stare at the wall. She was an ostrich again, head buried in the sand.
It only took a few seconds for her mind to conjure a horror tour: Eric bending over the bed, feet wrapped in garbage bags, smelling her hair; Eric wearing black leather gloves and testing the edge on a fillet knife; Eric under the covers with her—behind her—naked.
The rhythm of the breathing brought her back to reality. It was measured and slow, the breathing pattern of someone who was asleep.
Or someone who was pretending to be.
Either way, Angela realized, this was as good a chance as she was going to get. She steeled herself, then leapt up and pressed her back against the wall, twisting her head wildly from side to side, scanning the room. If someone was coming for her, at least it wouldn't be from behind. There was someone there, on the far side of the bed, rustling and…snoring. Angela picked up a small statuette with a heavy base off her bedside table, raised it over head, and—
—and realized she recognized the snoring. She reversed her weapon, used the statue side to flip back a corner of the covers.
Fucking Ted! He was here, at home, sleeping next to her. Angela remembered her certainty that Ted's return home would assuage her fears. She thought of all the nightmares she'd had, all while sleeping next to him.
"I guess it only works if I know you're there," she said out loud. And she did feel better now. The light coming through the uncovered corner of the window was bright and clear and still. Pre-hurricane weather in her experience, but even so, it was a better looking day than she had seen in a long time.
With a start, she realized it had only been three days since an almost carefree family dinner. She looked down at her husband. In some ways, she had missed him so much, needed him so much.
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