Crime Writer Margot Kinberg

Shane hadn’t seen the house for over thirty years. It had new brown siding, and the window treatments were different. But it was the same house, with the same steep driveway and covered front porch. He stood looking up at the house for a few minutes, remembering what it was like to live there. His parents hadn’t known or cared very much where he was most of the time. So, Shane had pretty much been on his own.

For Shane, there were no fond memories of growing up, and certainly not of living on this street, not with Brian Shoemaker living next door. Brian was a bully and a sneak thief, and Shane had been glad to see the last of him after high school. Everyone, including Shane’s parents, had told him to give Brian a break. “His mother just up and left last year, you know.” As far as Shane was concerned, that was no excuse. He hadn’t had a great childhood, either, but did he go around beating kids up and stealing their things? No. Oh, well, forget about that now. It was time to go.

Shane took a final look at the house. There was the window of what used to be his room, looking out over the garage roof. More than once, Shane had climbed out the window and sat on the roof, watching the world go by. Suddenly, a voice made him turn his head.
“Shane? Shane Dougherty? Is that you?”
“Brian?”  What was he doing here?
“Yeah.” Brian shuffled awkwardly closer to Shane. “It’s been a while,” he said, looking away a little.
“It has. You – you’re still living here?”
“Yeah.” Brian gestured towards the house next door. “It’s mine now.” Then he went on. “Um, sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Yeah, thanks. You know, cancer.”
“I heard. So, are you moving back?”
“Here? No. Just looking at the house.”

Shane looked again at the garage roof. Then, to his surprise, he heard himself telling Brian, “You know, I used to sit on that roof.” He pointed to the window near it. “That was my room, and I used to get out that window. Kids!”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“Yeah, I used to watch everything from up there.”

Shane looked at Brian. Then he looked up at the garage roof again. A flash of memory hit him – something he hadn’t thought of in years. The window at the Shoemakers’ house, right across from Shane’s own window. It had been raining a little, but Shane didn’t care. He just wanted to get out for a bit. He was sitting on the damp roof and there was something about that window. Two people – Brian and Mrs. Shoemaker. He didn’t hear anything because the window was shut, but he could see. It looked like they were fighting or something. Then a flash of something in Brian’s hand.
“I always thought it was a dream,” he mumbled to himself.
“What?” Brian stepped closer.
“Oh, nothing.” Shane stepped away. Brian gave him a strange look, but he nodded without saying anything. He looked down and then up again. “Look, I know I was an asshole as a kid. I’m sorry.”  A little surprised, Shane just nodded. Then Brian went on. “You want to come over and have a beer? No hard feelings?” He put his hand out. Shane took it. “Let’s go,” Brian said, waving towards the house.

A few minutes later, Brian and Shane were in Brian’s kitchen, holding bottles of Coors Lite. Shane wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he waited until Brian spoke. “So, you married?”
“No, you?”
“Was. I’m single now. Easier that way.”
Brian put his almost-empty bottle on the worktop. “You want to see the place?”
“Um, OK, for a minute. I don’t have a lot of time.”
“It’s not that big a place.”

The two men walked through the ground floor of the house. Again, Shane had that clear memory, or dream, or whatever it was, of sitting on the roof and looking across into the Shoemakers’ house. This time, he didn’t say anything, but he sneaked a look at Brian. Feeling a sudden shiver, he took a fake look at his watch. “I need to get going now,” he told Brian. “Thanks for the beer.”
Brian stepped between Shane and the door. “You don’t need to go yet. We should talk.”
Shane swallowed. “About what?”
“About what you saw.”
“What I saw? What do you mean?”
“I watched your face. You were there that night, weren’t you? You saw it from your roof. You know I did it.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I got to go.”

Brian stepped closer to Shane, and his voice hardened. “I did what I had to do. She was going to send me away to some special school. No way in hell was I going to go. She wouldn’t listen to me.”
Shane tried to circle around back towards the door, but Brian grabbed his arm and shoved him against a wall.

Brian froze at the sound of someone knocking at the door. He dropped Shane, who slumped towards the floor. Then he opened the door, and two burly young men stepped in. “He hurt you?” one of them asked Shane as the other grasped Brian’s upper arm.
Shane rubbed his shoulders and throat. “Not really,” he gasped as he stood up. “Who are you?”
“Oh, we’re with Hillview Home. Mr. Shoemaker here is a resident.” Hillview was the psychiatric home about two miles east of town. “He’s not supposed to be unsupervised, but a couple of times he’s slipped away. He used to live here as a kid. It’s his sister’s place now, but he likes to come back. Go figure.”
“What’s – what’s his….”
“Oh, he’s convinced he killed someone and keeps raving about it. They’re giving him therapy.” The two men stood one on each side of Brian and walked him out of the house.