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Walking near the place they found Carol’s body, Peter doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Somehow, being on the trail where he and Ollie hiked makes him feel closer to his dad. He looks over the woods, so similar to the places he spent summers exploring as a kid. The same places Ollie hid his secrets.
In some twisted way, Peter envies his father. Even now, in a prison jumpsuit with decades of prison time behind him, he’s a man who knows exactly how to get what he wants, no matter how foolhardy it seems.
Oliver Roberts isn’t just a crazy homicidal maniac. He’s a man no one pushes around. Someone people will always remember.
Peter kicks a rock. He’s been so many people in his life, he can hardly remember himself. How could he possibly expect anyone else to reminisce about him? Maybe it wouldn’t be terrible to be more like his father.
His unsettled sigh is absorbed by the wind blowing through the trees. Peter has to figure out how to get out of the mess of life he’s stuck in. He thinks about going after Elsie. Would it be poetic, reenacting his mother’s murder with a former lover? After all the woman had done, he doubts anyone would blame him if he showed up at the news station and went on a rampage.
The forest floor stretches out in front of him, and he tries to imagine Elsie sprawled across it. He can’t decide if she’d look better with a knife sticking out of her chest, or a noose slung around her neck. Peter shrugs the image off, uncomfortable with the make-believe violence.
Even though he hates her, he doesn’t think he could kill her. He wouldn’t be able to bear watching the light fade from her eyes. It would be like reliving his mother’s death all over again. He doesn’t want anyone to die. Not even Elsie.
But he can’t stop thinking about what his dad said. About being able to connect. If only he knew what it was like to stalk and kill his own prey. He tries to think of some other way to experience whatever warped sense of accomplishment his father keeps talking about.
A horrible thought cycles in his mind. Peter has never felt accomplished at anything. Really, what does he have beyond a life consumed by death?
Peter wanders deeper into the forest. He might be able to claim responsibility for someone’s death through inaction. Refusing to save them would be easier than forcing their last breath. He’s practiced that countless times. After all, isn’t that what he did whenever his father invited one of those people over for dinner?
As Henry watched them spooning heaps of his mother’s mashed potatoes into their hungry mouths, he’d known deep down they’d never be seen again. Maybe he hadn’t known exactly what would happen to them, but he knew they’d only share a meal with his family once. He knew his friendly, outgoing father was only pretending to be a kind Samaritan.
But he’d never whispered warnings or showed the strangers to the back door when Ollie wasn’t in the room. He’d just let them sit there, thinking they were lucky to be spending time with a quiet, Godly family.
Peter looks down at his hands. He’s already a killer. He’s been assisting in murders for as long as he’s been old enough to set the table.
He thinks on his father’s suggestion to make a secret prize contest. The thought of orchestrating a scheme for some kid to open up a box and die seemed unfathomable. But it was like Ollie said. He wouldn’t have to kill a kid. Maybe he could give genuine prizes to friendly people and save death for weird cat ladies and basement dwelling bachelors. “Sure,” Peter mutters to himself with a nod.
Could waiting for someone to game the system work? Find some dick trying to pull one over on him? Peter mulls the idea over for a long while. The ease of it evaporates. Do kids even get prizes in popcorn boxes anymore? If they do, wouldn’t the box have some factory seal? Peter doesn’t know how to make sure the only person who dies is someone who deserves it.
Exhausted, Peter slumps against a tree. The damp ground seeps its moisture through his jeans. Soon, he’s wet and shivering, thinking about Carol. Ollie had picked her up at some shop in town and they’d gotten into a debate about religion. She was one he’d invited over for dinner, so she could see the peace and love of a faith-based family firsthand.
How anyone so preachy could convince perfect strangers to come to a family dinner was still beyond Peter. He couldn’t even convince his coworkers to go out for drinks after work, even if he offered to pay the tab.
But Carol had come. She’d smiled when Henry told her about school. After dinner, she’d remained seated at the table to discuss theology with Oliver over coffee. Peter remembers telling her it was nice to meet her before going up to bed.
The next time he’d seen her, Carol’s face was staring back at him from a missing person’s flier at the grocery store.
Tears fill Peter’s eyes and he lets them fall freely since no one is around to watch. He cries for all the people still stashed away, waiting for someone to stumble across them. He cries for his mother, who died because she loved Henry so much. She wanted to make Oliver stop killing so her boy could have a normal life with sleepovers and backyard birthday parties. Peter cries for his dad, who was so invested in saving lost souls that he couldn’t stop killing them.
The only person Peter doesn’t cry for is himself. He won’t pity his own life. Not today. For once, he will stop blaming everyone around him for the misery that plagues him. After all the years of trying to be normal, Peter will give in and embrace who he really is.
He just needs to find the right way.