Georgia’s face screwed up into a grimace as she watched the men outside her window. When would they be done with the work next door? It was so gross, having that mess spread out all over the lawn.
And the gawkers! Freaking tourists, Georgia sniffed in disdain. They never had this many people driving down their street on any day, much less working-week days. They just came to drive slowly past, probably with their camera phones dangling from extended arms held out the car window for a souvenir snapshot of the spectacle.
Sure, take pictures, you freaking ghouls, Georgia thought to herself, take your damn pictures and get off my street!
And it wasn’t like any of them would really know what had happened at the house next door, anyway. Not like Georgia. She knew, but she wasn’t telling. Not like anyone would listen to her.
Granted, there had been a lot of screaming, in the wee hours of the dawn light, and then the noise from the gunfire, and the light and roaring sirens careening through the streets of their suburb… typical small community, right?
Yeah, whatever. Georgia turned to look down the street further, trying to see if she could find that one face… HIS face, in the crowd gathered below. As if she had a searchlight shining, there he was. Standing at least 3 people back from the front, trying to hide himself in the crowd of onlookers. But Georgia saw him, knew he was there. And knew what he’d done.
And as if he’d heard her speak aloud, his eyes rose to the window where she stood, searching, seeking. Georgia stepped quickly back from the glass, not wanting to have his eyes meet her own.
“I will tell them”, she spat out harshly, fists clenched in anguish and fury, “I will find a way to tell them what he did!”
Georgia glanced back out the window at the working men in the yard. They were almost finished, and were loading everything up in the back of the ambulance. Not that the ambulance was going to hurry, but it was procedure, Georgia guessed.
“Hey, Jerry! We’re ready to go, I think. We’ve just got this last one to put in the body bag, and we can let the coroner take over, hunh?” One of the paramedics called out to the other as he zipped up a black bag around Mr. Monty Smith, mercifully shutting him away from those awful onlookers. He wouldn’t have to deal with the humiliation of being on display for the neighbors anymore.
Too bad about the Smiths, Georgia thought wistfully, Tonya and Monty had just celebrated their 25th anniversary last week, and their son, Mark, had been home for a break from college for the festivities. She’d been invited to the party, and had enjoyed it immensely, even to going over to thank them and to offer her help to clean up. Well, the clean up would be the county’s problem now, Georgia mused.
Three body bags were loaded into the back of the ambulance as a lone paramedic finished working on the last victim. Georgia’s eyes glinted as she watched him zip up the bag and get it ready for transport.
I will find a way to tell them what he did.
And the body of Georgia Fenton was carefully lifted up and placed in the ambulance for the trip to the morgue.
But the spirit…. waited, and watched the county crew move onto the grass, hoses and black garbage bags in hand, cleaning up the lawn where the bloody carnage of the night before’s massacre waited for them.
The morning after could be a real bitch.