Fifty yards past the house, Scott sat and rested his back against a telephone pole. The Jenkins house was quiet and dark. There were no vehicles in the driveway. There was no sign of kids at the house at all—no blow up pool to wade in, no swing set, no bikes leaned against the garage or tricycles left in the middle of the sidewalk. If he had just glanced at the house, he might have guessed a childless couple lived there.
There were no survivors that day, and no one saw him do it, so I don’t know for sure what time it happened. The question is, can I afford to wait until that day and stake this place out? I’m sure I can find a stealthy place in those trees. I could hide there and wait for him to come home. Or, I could try and find a time when he’s home alone and do it then. If I have the guts to do it that way. The problem is, things don’t always happen the same way. Do I have a right to kill him before he’s done anything?
Just then, a light green Dodge pickup rolled up the road and turned into the driveway. The driver’s head turned toward Scott.
I know it’s probably not possible, but it feels like he’s watching me, all the way up the road and into his driveway. I’m probably just freaking myself out.
The pickup sat quietly for a few long moments with the engine turned off. Finally, the driver’s door opened and Brock Jenkins stepped out. He wore blue jeans, a denim shirt, and a trucker’s hat. He carried a black lunch box in his right hand. He walked slowly to the bed of the truck and leaned against it. He didn’t seem perturbed, but he stared steadily in Scott’s direction.
It made Scott’s skin crawl. He had to fight the urge to stand up and walk away.
Jenkins finally turned away and went inside.
This is probably my shot. Looks like no one else is home. And I don’t have my baton or knife. Even if I wanted to, could I get into hand to hand combat with him and subdue him? Likely not. And, if I did, how would I handle it from there? I’ve got to get a better plan put together.
Scott stood up, brushed the dirt off his jeans and walked back up the road the way he had come. He passed the Jenkins house on his right. He forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead and to keep his pace casual. He even attempted a soft whistle, but his mouth was too dry to pull it off.
If he had looked, he wouldn’t have seen anything inside the house. It was still dark behind the sunlit glare of the window and the curtains were pulled. Standing behind those curtains, holding them a few inches to the side, Brock Jenkins watched Scott until he was out of sight.
Chapter Twenty
The month of June dragged a bit for Scott. He made a mental note that for most events, he wouldn’t need so much lead time to do his research and get set up. He realized he had been a little overly cautious on this first time.
He still went by the library most mornings, but he mostly gave up on reading the local paper, looking for mentions of the Jenkins family. He drifted into the books section and got lost there instead.
He chose not to go back to Greenbrier Lane again. There was no sense in tempting fate, and his silent run-in with Brock Jenkins had unnerved Scott a bit.
I don’t want to give him credit for some kind of supernatural powers, but it almost felt like he knew who I was and why I was there. That’s ridiculous, of course. How could he?
Brock Jenkins worked as a mailman and Scott considered tailing him on his route. Again, he chose to keep his distance. He didn’t want to raise his suspicions.
On the 4th of July, Scott woke up with a nervous stomach. He sat on his bed in his small rented room, going over his notes again and again.
I’ve been pointing to this day for so long, it seemed like it would never arrive. Now it’s here and I feel so uncertain about what I’m doing.
The week before, Scott had decided he wouldn’t be able to kill someone before they had shown they were still going to carry through with their crime. His plan, then, was to leave his room in the boarding house with no intention of ever returning. He would throw everything he owned into his pack and retrace his steps out to the Jenkins house, save the family, then hit the road.
He remembered that Brock Jenkins had gone to a barbecue at a friend’s house before returning home. To Scott’s mind, that meant that the attack must have happened sometime in the afternoon or later. His plan was to walk past the house and get far enough away that he wouldn’t be seen by anyone inside. Then, as casually as possible, he intended to slink off into the woods and work his way back to a point where he could scout the Jenkins house unobserved.
If I stay alert, I’ll be close enough to stop anything from happening. First sign of trouble, I jump out and put him down however I can. Hopefully, I can slip away before the police are called. If not, I’ll just be a passing stranger who saw trouble breaking out and came to the aid of a woman and her children. It might be a little tougher to explain why I was armed with a baton and knife, but hey, it’s a tough world out there, right, officer?
Scott stopped at the grocery store and bought some Gatorade and beef jerky to get him through the long hot day. He tucked it into the top of his pack and began the walk toward Greenbrier Lane. As he walked through the downtown area, he saw flyers stapled to telephone poles advertising the 4th of July Extravaganza. A community picnic was scheduled to start at 6:00, and fireworks were set to go off a little after 10:00.
With any luck, I’ll have this behind me and I’ll be well out of town by the time the first boom happens. I just want to get off the beaten path somewhere. I can lie up in some farmer’s field for the night and put some real miles under my boots tomorrow.
Scott walked by the Jenkins house a few minutes before noon. On this day, there was plenty of activity. A pretty young woman sat on the front steps with a chubby baby boy on her lap. The older girls were spread out in the yard around her. The woman caught Scott’s eye as he walked by. She smiled and raised a casual hand in greeting.
Scott gave a small wave back, but didn’t slow his pace.
Looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Scott’s heart beat a little faster.
He walked on past the house a full quarter mile, then turned and walked slowly back. His head swiveled left and right, doing his best to see if anyone was watching him. He didn’t see anyone anywhere, so when he approached the tree line that ran alongside the Jenkins house, he dropped into the ditch. He eased his way into the trees, which were sparse near the road, but thickened the farther in he walked.
There was no trail through the woods, so Scott picked his way slowly.
Don’t need to sound like there’s a moose loose in here. There was no pickup truck at the house, so he’s off to the barbecue. Feels like things are lining up exactly the same way they did last life.
Scott hiked through the trees until he estimated he was approximately as far back as the Jenkins house. As quietly as possible, he moved toward their yard. As the greenery started to thin out, he was able to push a small sapling aside and saw that he had overshot the house by a few yards.
Good enough. From here, I can see them, but I don’t think there’s any way they can see me.
He glanced around, hoping for a friendly stump he could sit on to pass the time. No such luck.