Inhospitable Place - 3. Chapter 3

A heavy thump on the door startled me out of my sleep. It wasn’t a knock, like the one you’d get from a neighbor wanting to borrow a cup of flour, or a mailman delivering a package. It was a loud strike. As my eyes adjusted to the morning light, I wondered if I had perhaps dreamt the sound. I’d been sleeping such long hours lately; it wouldn’t be strange for me to have a bizarre dream. But just as soon as the thought passed through my brain, it happened again. Even louder. My heart rate started to accelerate. The recent newspaper headlines ran through my mind. I looked for Bruno, but then remembered Derek took him for a two-day camping trip with a few of the other shelter dogs. “It will be good for his health,” he said. I was on my own.

I looked at the empty wine glass next to my bed and rubbed my temple, trying to get rid of the pesky hangover headache so that I could face whatever was happening at the door. *THUMP* I jumped up at the sound. It was early afternoon, serial killers don’t knock on front doors at this hour, I told myself.

Nevertheless I got out of bed and as inconspicuously as possible tip toed from my bedroom to the door. I peeked through the peephole. A wave of relief.

I quickly undid the lock. On the other side of the door stood my sister, Francesca.

“For fuck’s sake, you scared the daylights out of me!” I admonished her.

“I’ve called you for days you jerk. I haven’t even gotten a text back,” she barked back at me, and I felt a sliver of guilt. I wasn’t the only one who lost their mother, after all.

“I know, I’ve just…been busy,” I replied. She took in the state of me—tattered bathrobe, messy hair, dark undereye circles—and raised her eyebrows.

“Doing what, exactly?” she asked, sarcastically.

“Will you get in? You’re letting all the warm air out,” I changed the subject, then noticed a suitcase in her hand. “Are you staying?” I asked, confused as she passed by me and dropped the bag on the floor.

“Of course I’m staying. There's a serial killer in your vicinity, Louis,” she said, as if that was supposed to explain something.

“Don't you think I know that?” I asked.

“I don't think you're taking it seriously, otherwise you'd already be out of here.”

“I live here, what do expect me to do?”

“Have you seen pictures of the victims?”

“No, because I'm not perversely obsessed with all things morbid and morose, like someone else in my family,” I replied, annoyed. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not leaving here until he’s caught,” she stated, and made herself comfortable on our living room sofa.

“Uhh, you know there’s a large percentage of serial killers who have never been caught, right?” She looked taken aback for a moment. I went on. “The Zodiac Killer. The Bible Belt Strangler. Long Island Killer. The list goes on.” She picked something of the couch and examined it in the air.

“Did you…did you get a cat?” she asked.

“A dog, actually. Bruno.”

“Oh my God, you’ve managed to become a pet parent and not tell me!” she screeched. I sat next to her and caught her up on everything new with me—which wasn’t much, apart from Bruno, becoming friends with my neighbor vet, and trying to keep myself from falling apart. Afterwards I made us some lunch.

“How’s Hunter,” she asked. I could tell by the way she said his name that she still hadn’t warmed up to the idea of us together. That she was upset I moved out here with him.

“He's fine,” I replied, “works long hours, I rarely ever see him.”

“You guys just…it all happened so fast. I dunno,” she said, playing with her fingers.

“I know you’re not a fan of him, but I don’t think you’ve had enough time to make that decision. You’re right, it all happened so quickly. I just met him and we were getting to know one another when mom…passed. And he’s been there for me, Fran. He’s held me together through this year. I don’t know what I would have done without him,” I explained, and she nodded her head.

“Well, whilst I’m here I suppose it won’t hurt if I try to get to know him better,” she said, and I smiled and mouthed a ‘thank you’.

After we finished lunch we gave our dad a call to update him on Francesca’s plan to stay with me for a while. We then made our way to Target and purchased an inflatable mattress, and some toiletries. When we got back to the apartment, I could tell that she still had something to tell me. Something important.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked. She looked at me and bit her lip, as if contemplating whether it was a good idea to tell me. When she made up her mind, she opened her bag and took out a piece of paper. She put it down on the table in front of me. It looked like a passport picture.

“Victim #1, Sean Williams. 23-year-old Caucasian male. 5’10” and weighs 160 pounds. Brown hair, green eyes.”

“Okay, and?” I asked, confused. She took out another picture and placed it next to the first one.

“Victim #2, Anthony Myers. 25-year-old Caucasian male. 5’10” and weighs 155 pounds. Brown hair, green eyes.” I shrugged, what was her point. She took out two more pictures.

“Victim #3, Jason Henders. 23-year-old Caucasian male. 5’9” and weighs 155 pounds. Brown hair, green eyes. Victim #4, Aaron Winters. 24-year-old Caucasian male. 5’10” and weighs 160 pounds. Brown hair, green eyes.”

“What’s your point,” I asked, getting agitated. She took out the last two pictures and silently placed them in the line-up. They fit in perfectly with the previous four.

“Do you not see a pattern? Louis, you could easily be amongst these pictures. These men…they all look like you.”