The shower went cold, Growler cursing and stepping back out of the water stream. He’d hoped that a long hot shower in the Raineys’ basement would refresh him but it wasn’t having that effect, just as ending their lives hadn’t particularly satisfied him. He’d been obsessing on vengeance for seven years but tonight’s installment was turning out to be like the cocaine and pills and booze he’d been indulging since getting out of prison a week ago: momentary relief followed by an even larger hunger.
When the water turned warm again, Growler stepped back into the stream. The maddening irritant of not knowing why he’d been betrayed was even worse than before … who told Lawrence and Judy to perjure themselves at the trial, what happened to Hope’s pictures? The police said no photographs were ever found, had Uncle Penny hidden them to ensure Growler’s conviction?
The hot water ran out a second time, Growler stepping back again, cursing again, taking it personally that the shower was doing this to him. Nothing ever worked out, the whole world conspired against him, son-of-a-bitch anyway, that little beetle gnawing its way into his brain asking why, why?
The hot water returned, Growler dipping his head into the comforting stream as if to receive a blessing. Getting out of prison and discovering the elephant was gone had been the final betrayal that put Growler where he was tonight, that made him the murderer he was accused of being seven years ago.
“Decapitations are this man’s signature,” the prosecutor had told the jury.
“Decapitating animals,” Growler murmured as he brought his hands up in a prayerful pose under his chin and folded his shoulders inward to take fuller advantage of the hot water washing away his sins. He used to cut the heads off dead animals he found, he never killed them himself, certainly didn’t murder Hope … he loved her.
He was tired. He needed sleep or needed more pharmaceuticals to continue postponing sleep … so incredibly tired.
This time when the water went cold it took Growler’s breath away and he leapt from the stall looking around for something to use on the shower head, to bust it apart, to punish it for mocking him. Then he heard the washing machine running and realized it had been robbing the shower of hot water … he’d put his clothes in to clean them of all the blood. Growler stepped back to the stall and sheepishly turned off the shower.
When the washing machine stopped spinning he transferred his clothes to the dryer. It was cold and damp down here in the basement, Growler hopping up on the dryer and hugging himself for warmth. He tried halfheartedly to jack off but nothing came of it, too frigging tired, then went back to scratching at that unreachable itch.
Uncle Penny must’ve convinced the Raineys to lie at the trial, Judith and Lawrence worked twenty years for Growler’s uncle and would’ve done anything for him. But if they’d taken the elephant they wouldn’t still be living in this little house, this crappy bungalow with shit-colored shingle siding. No, Kenny Norton, Growler’s former best friend, was the most likely suspect in the theft of the elephant because Norton was the only other person who knew about the scam, he must’ve gone looking for the elephant after Growler was sent to prison. And now Growler was looking for him … but Kenny had moved a lot in the past seven years and had left a cold trail.
When he closed his eyes they stung, Growler had been over these possibilities a thousand times, ten thousand times. And although his innocence in the death of Hope Penner no longer mattered, because as of tonight he was a murderer, what still mattered hugely was the goddamn elephant. His share of three million dollars would finance a way out of the country. Who took it?
Paul?
The dryer clicked off. Growler hopped down and took out his clothes, they felt comfortingly warm as he slipped them on. Having stashed the Raineys’ bodies in a closet upstairs he’d brought their heads with him down here to the basement … not sure why though. They were on the concrete floor, Growler lifting both lids to put Judith Rainey’s head in the dryer, Lawrence’s in the washer. He set the machines to their longest cycles but before closing the lids Growler stepped back to the shower stall and retrieved a container of shampoo, the contents of which he squeezed into the washer. The name of the shampoo amused him, Head & Shoulders. Or in this case just Head. It wasn’t that difficult being a homicidal maniac.
Growler closed the lids and turned the machines on, the washer sounding okay but the dryer making a terrible racket. He rubbed his weary face and felt along his teeth with an index finger which he then sniffed … time to go home to Cul-De-Sac.