Conversation with a Serial Killer | Book 2 Epilogue

Anthony

“I want a divorce,” Linda—currently Osborne—said, her voice unwavering. 

She had dressed for the occasion. Ironic, considering she wanted to end our marriage. She wore my favourite sundress, probably intended to make me regret losing her. If so, she failed to achieve her objective. I had felt indifferent towards her for a long time.

“I thought you might.”

She gripped the fabric on her knees, crumpling it. “Can you blame me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

I had not seen her in a while, so I suspected she had been playing with this idea. Since my capture, my wife and my darling went through hell. After the police had arrested me, they both discovered the charges—five murders, one kidnapping and an attempted murder. A lot to take in when you thought you knew someone.

Linda glanced around the visiting room, self-aware of the lack of privacy. The basic setup of nine tables with twenty-seven uncomfortable metal chairs was not inviting. Together with the half-windows, set with wired glass and metal bars outside, they were a stark reminder that we were in a prison.

The murmurs of the people surrounding us made my mind drift for a moment. I wondered what the others were discussing. Perhaps they were talking about how much they missed each other. How they wished their loved one was free again. No such sentiment awaited me.

I marvelled at the fact that Linda held out as long as she did. Our marriage had been dead for years. She had tried to get my attention back for a while, even after I had completely checked out. She picked up on my fascination with a particular lady who held a special place in my heart.

Nadine Sullivan, a famous true crime podcaster with millions of followers worldwide.

Linda also started listening to the podcasts. I mistook her for a fan when she dyed her hair a fiery red, like Nadine’s, until I realised she had caught on that my admiration had turned into an infatuation. Her desperate yet futile attempt to save our loveless marriage failed.

Her hair was back to blonde now. I did not remember the greyish streaks. The trial took its toll on her, too.

“How is Elaine?” I asked.

My little girl was just ten years old. The only ray of sunshine in this now hopelessly dark world. l, of course, had myself to thank for that, but I had dragged the apple of my eye down with me. When I was finally caught, and on the brink of my own demise, she had pulled me back.

After the police had identified me, they started a nationwide manhunt. They had finally found me in Linda’s brother’s hunting cabin. Trapped and about to take my own life, the police brought Elaine up to talk to me through a megaphone. I caved.

Now I contemplated whether it had all been worth it. Elaine might be better off without me than to carry the shame of having such a father.

Tears welled up in Linda’s eyes. “That’s all?” She clearly expected a bigger reaction out of me concerning our impending divorce. I could not bring myself to care.

She gave up and answered my question instead. “She’s coping, no thanks to you. She’s taking the move hard.”

As expected, my family was no longer welcome in the neighbourhood. The entire community shunned them. Linda sold the house, registered in my name only, with my permission and planned to move out of town, which broke my heart since it meant I would see Elaine less.

“I understand,” I said. “Why have you not brought her with you? I could have talked to her to—”

“Because she doesn’t want to see you!” Linda shouted.

The other inmates and their visitors sitting at the tables around us, even the corrections officers, all looked up, startled by her sudden outburst.

Oh? That was the first I heard of this. Elaine always seemed unhappy when she visited. I assumed it was hard for her to see me in prison.

Linda moderated her voice and continued. “Honestly, Anthony, what did you expect? She’s still grappling with the severity of your offences. Even I can’t wrap my head around it yet. Can you even comprehend what it was like, hearing everything recounted in detail during the trial? She thinks you’re a monster. And so do I.”

I knew Linda did, but Elaine? Why did she come by at all?

“She only visits you because of Charlie.” Linda replied, as if reading my mind.

“Greyson?” My voice came out raspy.

Detective Chief Inspector Charles Robert Greyson was my last near-victim, and the person who identified me. He was ‘the one that got away’, so to speak.

“Yes, that Charlie. Are you surprised? He’s the only person still checking up on us, actually, besides victim support. Elaine has grown very fond of him. He drops in on occasion, and his visits really help her come out of her shell. And he’s given me his personal phone number, keeps in touch and told me to call him if anyone harasses us. He’s a wonderful person; I’m glad you didn’t kill him.”

Surprise did not adequately describe how I felt about this revelation. Stunned was the more suitable word. He barely escaped with his life. Why would he want anything to do with my family?

“Both Charlie and Nadine have been a big help. Nadine’s even been assisting us financially, with health insurance and Elaine’s education. As I’m sure you know, money has been tight. They’ve been here for us, no questions asked. They didn’t need to be, but they have,” Linda continued.

That floored me. I never considered myself a sentimental individual. Yet here they were—my feelings.

First and foremost, came confusion. I did not understand why either stepped in when I lost my freedom. As far as I saw, they had no reason to. Secondly, I struggled with apprehension. I worried about a possible catch. Were they trying to gain some sort of power over me? Or was my family in danger? And lastly, gratitude. If Charlie and Nadine really did this as a selfless act, I should be thankful.

“Are you listening?”

Linda’s words brought me back from my ruminations. My blank stare betrayed that I was not.

“I’m leaving,” she announced. “I won’t be back unless it’s with my lawyer.”

She stood up, the legs of her metal chair scraping on the floor, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

After one last look, which I could best describe as disdain, she marched out.

I would not miss her, though I worried about how often I would see Elaine once she left town. Perhaps I should talk to Charlie. Apparently he influenced such matters.

As I sat there, slowly watching the people file out after visiting hours had ended, an idea formed in my head. Equal parts mad and logical, it would probably not work. But I smirked with glee at the thought alone. It was worth a try. After all, the one who got away was always special.