Thursdays In The Valley – Part 23

Murderer . . .

. . . Remember.

A knock at the door.

I somehow find my way from the floor to the door . . . not quite sure how or why it happened but suddenly I find myself with one hand on the knob . . . the other on the deadbolt. The deadbolt isn’t even locked . . .

“Can I come in?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Umm, I wanted to see you. You left so suddenly tonight, is everything ok?”

Not yet . . .

“Well what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, can I come in?”

“Yeah, come in.”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah, what the fuck you think I’m saying, come in already.”


“Can I sit down?”

“Yeah, of course, sit wherever you want. Make yourself at home.”

She looks down questioning . . .

“What’s all that broken glass? Everything ok?”

“Ohh, that’s just something that happened the other night. It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, everything is fine, why do you keep asking me that?”

“I don’t know, I’m just worried about you I guess.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”


“What do you mean why?”

“Why? Why shouldn’t I worry about you?”

“Maybe you weren’t listening, I didn’t say you shouldn’t, I said you don’t have to. I can’t control what you do, just try and influence what you don’t need to do.”

“Why don’t I need to worry about you?”

“Because you don’t. I’m fine. Always have been . . . always will be.”

“You don’t seem fine to me. I think something is wrong.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? “

You’re a killer, just look at you . . .

“Shut the fuck up. God damnit, it wasn’t my fault.”



“No, what wasn’t your fault?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. What time is it?”

“I don’t know, it’s late, where’s your clock?”

“I don’t have one, don’t you have a watch?”

“Nope, don’t believe in them. I guess I could check my cell phone.”

“Na, forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“You say that a lot.”


“That it doesn’t matter, you’re always saying that.”

“It doesn’t. This is all mine, I own this, it’s nothing to do with anyone else.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“I told you, I was worried about you. I am worried about you.”

“You need to walk away.”


Silence . . .

“I’m not walking away, I’m here. I think you need to talk to me.”

Silence . . .

“You know, I know a little bit about what happened to you. Not the whole thing, just bits and pieces. What I heard might not even be true, I’d like to hear it from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, you know.”

Look at her, she knows you’re a killer.

Everybody knows what you’ve done.



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