Steven Paxton was asleep when the siren of the police car woke him. It was probably just Sheriff Baird chasing down a speeder leaving Earl's Tavern, he thought to himself. Rolling over in bed, Steven stared through the darkness of his bedroom at the glowing red numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand. It was almost two-thirty. Steven was hoping to fall back to sleep quickly when he heard more sirens. It sounded like two or three police cars; maybe an ambulance too. Now he was curious. Nothing exciting ever happened in Putnam Falls. Certainly nothing to warrant this much commotion in the middle of the night. As he listened to the sirens fade in the distance Steven tugged the blanket higher around his chin. He shut his heavy eyes. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't concern him, he reminded himself. But soon it would.
The next morning Steven was in his room, lying on his bed, reading when he heard the phone ring. It was December twenty-seventh. There just over a week before college would resume after Christmas break and he was enjoying the time off.
"Steve, the phone's for you!" Mary Paxton called up to her son from downstairs.
Steven rolled over and picked up the phone beside the digital clock. "Hello..."
"Holy shit, Steve, did you hear what happened last night?" It was Brian Marsdon, Steven's best friend since childhood. He was excited -- the most excited he had seemed since he was fourteen and discovered his father's cache of Penthouse magazines in a closet.
Steven heard a click has his mother hung up the downstairs phone. He sat up in bed. "No, what happened?" he asked, more curious than excited.
"Man, someone killed Mrs. Lawton last night," was Brian's grim reply.
"Oh fuck..." Steven gasped, feeling sorrow well in his chest.
Mrs. Myra Lawton had been Steven's and Brian's grade two teacher. The boys had known each other just a year and were only seven back then. That was twelve years ago, but at that moment it seemed a lifetime away to Steven. Mrs. Lawton had retired at sixty and for the past seven years she had lived alone since the death of her husband from lung cancer. Her house was less than a mile away and Steven passed it often on his way to Brian's. Now his sadness over the murder of the kindly old lady was mixed with questions.
"Not just killed her," Brian continued, his voice softer now. "I mean, the word that Dad used was 'gutted'. He said it was the worst thing he's seen in all his years as a sheriff's deputy."
Gary Marsdon had been a deputy with Putnam Falls Sheriff's Department for almost ten years. He had always been friendly to Steven when he visited Brian and never seemed what Steven considered to be a 'typical cop'. Steven knew that Mr. Marsdon hoped some day to become sheriff and he would make a good one. He had a reputation around town as being a fair and conscientious police officer, in addition to being a loving husband and father.
"Fuck," Steven hissed into the phone as gruesome images filled his mind. "Do they know who did it?" he asked.
"Uh-uh," Brian grunted. "Dad was working the night shift when the call came in around two. You don't know any of this, okay? 'cause Dad could get fired for telling people, but he told me and Mom that they found no fingerprints; no murder weapon either -- just Mrs. Lawton in her kitchen. Dad said that she'd been... well... man, you don't wanna know... It was pretty gross." His voice faded out until only his breathing was audible.
"But who'd want to do this? Everyone liked Mrs. Lawton. And she wasn't rich, so it's not like they went there to rob her." Steven furrowed his brow as he spoke.
"That's just it," Brian said. "Dad said that nothing was taken. Her purse was on the kitchen counter and there was some money in it -- not much -- but whoever killed her didn't take it."
Steven stared at the floor as he listened to his friend, trying to piece together in his mind the information he'd been given. He shook his head, then brushed sandy-blond bangs of hair from his eyes. "It just makes no sense," he said. The corner of his mouth turned up as he thought.
"I know," his friend agreed. "That's what Dad said. There seems to be no motive, outside of some monster deciding to kill a harmless old woman. I hope they catch the bastard and send him to hell for this."
"Yeah... hopefully they will."
There was silence on the phone before Brian spoke again. "Hey, what are you doing today? I'm not up to much, but I thought we could hang out and watch a movie or something," he suggested.
A faint smile formed on Steven's face. He was not in much of a mood to have fun anymore, but didn't feel like being alone now either. "That sounds good," he said. "I'll be over in about an hour."
The crisp December air bit through Steven's green pullover as he walked down Gibson Street. There had been another snowfall three nights previously and mounds of it lined the sidewalk where the plough had pushed it aside from the street. He tugged at the zipper of his black nylon jacket, closing it up around his neck as the cool breeze blew his hair about. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket and turned left on to Mason Avenue.
Almost as soon as Steven turned the corner he noticed two cars from Putnam Falls Sheriff's Department in Mrs. Lawton's driveway. A man in a uniform and wearing a Smokey the Bear cap was on the snow-covered lawn taking photographs. He saw another uniformed officer enter the front door. Yellow crime scene tape was wrapped around trees and shrubs, cordoning off the area. Steven paused a moment on the sidewalk, surveying the scene. He noticed Gary Marsdon talking with someone who was probably a reporter. His thumbs were hooked in his Sam Browne belt. Gary looked up and nodded at Steven. He gave a wave to Mr. Marsdon, then with a sigh and a heavy heart he continued along towards Brian's house.
Steven found that Brian was in as dour a mood as he was that afternoon. The two friends watched a movie in the living room while Brian's mother busied herself elsewhere. Once the movie had finished the conversation returned to the murder of their former teacher the night before. Brian promised to share anything else that he gleaned from his father, but at that moment he had already told Steven all he knew. Steven appreciated his friend's sharing of information and promised not to tell anyone what he heard -- not even his parents.
It was getting close to five o'clock when Steven left Brian's and was walking back down Mason Avenue. To his left he could see a faint hue of orange from the setting sun through the overcast. As he approached Mrs. Lawton's house he felt the muscles in his back and neck knot. He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself to once again pass by the scene of the old woman's grisly murder. In the distance he saw the yellow bands of police tape fluttering in the breeze. They reminded Steven of the yellow ribbons tied around trees, placed by people who anxiously awaited the return of loved ones fighting wars in foreign countries. His mouth turned into a grimace at the thought of Mrs. Lawton never returning to her home.
When Steven was abreast of the cement walkway leading to the white front door of his former teacher's home, he stopped. There were no cars in her yard now. Besides the police tape, the only evidence of any activity there were footprints in the snow carpeting the lawn. His hands clenched into fists, deep in the pockets of his jacket. He felt a tear run from one of his hazel eyes and wasn't sure if it was out of sadness or because of the wind, or both. He wiped it away and swallowed hard.
He began to walk on, then as the side of the small white house came into view, Steven paused. He noticed something hanging from a small open window. Dusk was falling and Steven squinted, trying to discern what he could see being blown about by the cold wind. He stepped closer, now realizing that the open window was one belonging to the kitchen where they had found Mrs. Lawton, sprawled out on the floor and eviscerated. Dangling from the window and wafting back and forth was a curtain. It was white, with pale yellow stripes.
"That's odd," Steven said to himself.
Taking a look left, then right, Steven stepped on to the lawn and began walking through the snow towards the open window. There were no cars going by and soon he would be hidden by the shrubbery, so he was not concerned with being seen. Besides, it was growing dark and he had not entered the area bordered by the yellow tape. He followed the trail of prints in the snow made by the boots of the sheriff and deputies, closer to the open window.
Once Steven was in front of the window he discovered that it had not been inadvertently left open. The pane had been broken, probably by Mrs. Lawton's murderer. The curtain dangled through it, nearly brushing across his face. As he was examining the broken window and trying to imagine the events there not yet twenty-four hours ago, Steven heard a crunching sound of someone approaching through the hard snow to his left. Every nerve in his body fired and his heart began to climb up into his throat. He clenched his fists.
When he whipped his body around in the direction of the sounds he gasped. Standing in the shadows, just beyond a stand of spruce trees, was a shadowy figure. Steven's heart pounded and he pulled his fists from his jacket pockets. When the intruder spoke, Steven felt somewhat relieved and curious.
"What are you doing here?" the silhouetted person asked. It was a woman.
"W-what are you doing here?" he stammered, now less fearful.
The sound of snow crunching underfoot returned as she stepped closer to Steven. Now he could make out her features. She was around Steven's height, maybe five-foot seven, with curly black hair. Her corkscrew tresses moved in the evening breeze and hung down slightly past her shoulders, resting against her purple nylon jacket. Her lips moved into a smile and there were faint lines at the corners of her mouth. She appeared to be about thirty. Steven thought that her eyes looked brown, or maybe blue. It was hard to tell with so little light.
"Probably the same thing you're doing here," she replied shrewdly. "Just having a look around."
