Murderer Unknown

Cameron was eager to start over. His life was tragic. He knew it, everyone did. He wanted desperately to move on where no one knew him. Somewhere he could just be “Cameron.” He did not want to be the son of the psychopath murderer. He did not want to be the tragic boy who had lost both his parents in one fatal swoop when he was ten. He wanted to move on, move forward. He could not do that here. He had begged the social worker for years to let him move on or at least get out of this town. Sally had done what she could, but not many families were beating down social services door looking for a ten-year-old tragically orphaned by a murder-suicide. Even when he had a shimmer of hope that he would be given a second chance, his name would ring a bell for the prospective parents. One Google search later and Cameron was the last kid anyone wanted.

It would be different now, he told himself. He had finally turned eighteen and was intent on putting the tragedy behind him. He had worked through his denial, his anger, his grief. Cameron was ready to do something with purpose, with meaning. He gave Sally a short hug and said his goodbyes. “At least let me help you find a job out there, an apartment, something…” Sally said trailing off. Cameron smiled, “I have some money saved from working last summer. I’m going to just wing it, I’ll be fine.” With no more than another nod he slowly got into his old beat-up truck he had scraped up just enough money to buy. He went to the nearest gas station and put the last of his money into the gas tank. He hated lying to Sally, but he could not be in this town one more minute. He would drive until the gas ran out and figure the rest out on the way.

His truck spurted to an abrupt stop. Out of gas, he thought. Cameron got out of the truck slowly, slinging his small backpack over his shoulder. All his worldly possessions: a change of clothes, an old pocket watch, and a driver’s license Sally helped him get. Cameron pulled himself together and began walking, passing a giant billboard, “One mile to Goodland.” As good a place as any to start over I suppose, Cameron thought and walked towards his future.

The town was small, but it seemed like a good place for a fresh start. Surely this town was remote enough to not have heard of his story, or at least have forgotten about it eight years later. Either way, Cameron was thankful he had changed his last name as soon as he had the chance. He was nobody now, and that is exactly how he liked it. He walked into a small store on main street with a historic feel. The woman behind the counter looked like she could have owned this place for fifty years or more. Cameron walked to the counter and smiled politely. “Good morning ma’am. I am new to town and looking for some work. Do you happen to know of anyone that may need a farm hand or handyman around town?” The woman was pleasant but seem to hesitate some as well. “How did you end up in Goodland?” she asked. “I just needed something different,” Cameron said plainly, “I worked all last summer on a farm. I’m strong and able.” The woman seemed to size him up a bit. Cameron thought she must have deemed him harmless because she said, “My name is Helen, I think Mr. Carter was looking for a farm hand. Let me give him a call.”

About ten minutes later she reappeared from the back. “Mr. Carter said he is pretty desperate so he will give you a shot, what’s your name son?” she said with a smile. “My name is Cameron; I really appreciate it.” She stepped closer and handed me a small piece of paper. “This is his address,” she said, “But if you head down this main street and make the first right past the post office he is a mile down on the left. He has a big red barn you can’t miss it.” I left determined, happy, maybe this would work out. I started my walk out of town, and I hoped this could truly put my past behind me.

Mr. Carter was true to his word. He gave me a shot. I slept on a make-shift cot in his barn and the next morning he put me to work. I worked hard too. We put his cows out to pasture, mended several yards of fence, tended to the rest of the animals, and repaired the barn roof all before noon. Mr. Carter sat back in his tractor seat drinking a tall glass of lemonade his wife had brought out when I saw her rounding the front of the tractor with a matching glass for me. “Thank you Mrs. Carter,” I stammered quickly before downing the entire glass. I had told a mere glimpse of my story to the Carter’s the night before leaving out the most tragic details. They offered me a small place in the barn, to share their meals, and fair pay in exchange for my help. I knew I had lucked into the opportunity of a lifetime. Mr. Carter and I headed back out to finish the days work while Mrs. Carter kept herself quite busy making dinner.

Several hours later we walked in sweaty and tired. “Go ahead and use the guest quarters to wash up for dinner Cameron, it should be ready in about twenty minutes,” Mrs. Carter smiled. I bounded upstairs ready to take a hot shower to wash away the day. True to her word twenty minutes later the farmhouse table housed fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn on the cob, and fresh sweet tea. We passed all the food around and I piled as much on my plate as would fit. This was better than anything I had seen in a decade. I ate until I felt like I could not eat another bite. Mr. Carter looked over and chuckled softly, “That’s going to be hard to work off tomorrow morning.” I laughed too, “It was worth it.” Mrs. Carter came out of the kitchen once more, “One more surprise.” She brought in a giant chocolate cake three layers high. “Would you like a slice of cake Cameron?” she said sweetly. Cameron’s face went pale and ashen. “No thank you, I think I’m going to say goodnight,” he said quickly and ran to the barn for bed. The Carter’s sat at the table enjoying their cake puzzled at Cameron’s weird reaction.

When Cameron drifted off to sleep he already knew what was in store for him. He began to have that nightmare he had hoped was buried long ago. The night his parents died. He remembered it so vividly. He had gotten home from school and his mom was making dinner. His parents had been fighting for as long as he could remember and the night before his mom had finally kicked his dad out, they were done. She came into the living room where he was watching tv. “Dinner is ready, go wash up your dad will be here any minute,” she said softly. “Dad? He is coming to dinner?” Cameron asked. “Yes, go get washed up,” she said shortly.

Dinner was awkward and long. No one spoke, only the clinging of forks and scraping of knives echoed through the dining room. Then, Cameron’s mom had brought out chocolate cake, his favorite. Once a large slice was placed in front of each of them, his mother started to speak calmly and slowly. He still remembers how much her tone had chilled him. “I am done. This is over. I wanted Cameron to have one more dinner with us all together, but this is it. I don’t want to do this with you anymore. This is the last time, it’s goodbye.” Cameron looked at his father who had already been eating his cake. He placed his fork down softly, got up from the table, and walked right out the door. Cameron watched his mother take a bite of her own piece. So calm, so collected, so indifferent. She got up from the table hugged Cameron tightly and resigned herself to bed. Cameron looked down at his piece and with his appetite completely gone, pushed it away and climbed the stairs to his own room. It was not until the next day he would discover what his mother had done.

Cameron’s nightmare continued running through the next days events. The police showing up to tell him his dad had wrecked his truck just up the road. He had passed out at the wheel. When Cameron went to wake his mother, she was unresponsive. It was not until later they concluded that she had laced the cake with poison. My favorite, Cameron thought, she put poison in my favorite dessert. She had intended to kill them all. The nightmare continued as always. Cameron felt the rage boiling inside him. He needed to wake up, to free himself from this torture. As always though, the nightmare continued. The anger was in full force just as powerful as the day it happened. He felt the constraints and the breathlessness of rage.

Cameron woke up soaking wet and shaking. He sat up to take in the barn around him, but instead found himself looking at the interior of the farmhouse. “What am I doing in here?” he wondered aloud. It was dark, but he could see the outline of the couch in the living room and a slight crack in the ajar door of Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s bedroom. This was not the first time he had sleepwalked. He took in a ragged breath praying the damage was not like the last time. He braced his hands on the walls of the hallway to pull himself up. As he stood slowly working through the muscle pain of the previous day’s work, he found his hands slipping down the wall. How much had he sweated, he thought? Hoping not to wake them, and that they would not mind him using the shower again, Cameron tip-toed past Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s room. When he reached the shower, he turned the water on, undressed, and stepped in to wash the sweat away clinging all over him.

Cameron’s scream could have been heard ringing throughout the house, but no one else would ever hear it. The shower water ran bright red. Cameron fell twice trying to run to the vanity. He found the light and stared at a stranger in the mirror. A stranger covered in blood. Throwing on his shorts, Cameron moved quickly to Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s room praying so heavily that he was wrong. The door creaked open slowly as Cameron pushed his body through the threshold. He reached for the light with his eyes closed and flipped the switch. Counting in his head ever so slowly he opened his eyes in , one, two, three…… It was a grotesque sight as Cameron looked upon the Carters’ bloodied bodies slain in their own bed. Cameron stood at the foot of their bed, observing several of his own bloody footprints all around their room. He sat down slowly landing in a puddle of blood. Not again, he thought.