The Laundromat Murder

I talked to the police last night… they thought I was insane… which is about par for the course. I told them everything - every grisly detail. How he dragged her inside the laundromat, screaming. How he lifted her up and choked her against the machines… and then how he threw her to the ground as she sputtered. She tried to crawl away - he grabbed her unkempt blond hair and smashed her head with the door of a washing machine. She was crying, and everytime she sobbed he’d hit her again. I told them how he finally got bored and slammed her to the ground. I shivered as I did that night when I recounted how he took out his knife and ran it down her thigh, drawing blood to the surface as she whimpered. I remember how the noise got muffled as he put his left hand over her mouth, her arms limp from fighting. When he stabbed her, the scream died in his hand. He drew the knife out of her side and stabbed her again, this time in the leg. He kept doing it, each stroke faster and faster until her eyes glazed over and he was lacerating a dead piece of flesh. Then I told them how he dragged the body out through the back door, out of sight. How he returned to clean up the mess, and how I cowered behind the row of dryers, trying to silence my breaths, hoping against all hope that he had not seen me. 

A few minutes later, he’d walked back out the front door, and he stopped dead in his tracks. I had forgotten to move, and the front of the store was made of glass. He saw me convulsing behind the dryers and he… we stared at each other, and then he walked away. When I’d regained my senses, I ran out of the store, leaving my clothes to soak. That’s when I went to the police the first time. 

I tried to explain everything to them in a hysteria, and they shook their heads. “If there was a murder at the laundromat, surely the owner would’ve seen it.” I don’t know why they didn’t believe me. It was late… probably around midnight, and they wouldn’t get out of their chairs at the station. 

“Why would I be lying about this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

They exchanged dark glances. “We’ll check the security footage tomorrow… if there’s something on there, we’ll call you.”

“Tomorrow?” I exclaimed incredulously, “That guy could be miles away tomorrow!”

“We’ll check the tapes tomorrow,” said the deputy firmly, “Now you have a good night.”

I was disgusted. I stood outside in the cold night air for some time, trying to figure out what to do. If I had a car, I could go over one county and talk to their police department… but I didn’t, and it was midnight. Perhaps I should just go home. And I did, walking down the cement sidewalks, trying to look everywhere at once for this man who had just vanished into the night after committing a murder. 

I think I got home without being followed, but it was an incredibly dark night and it’s a small town. I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I saw her being thrown against the machines… I saw her blood seeping slowly out of her thigh, and then gushing out of her side. When my fridge stopped running and I was left in complete silence, I heard her screams muffled by the man’s fleshy palms. At three in the morning, I jumped out of bed and went to the bathroom to vomit. I put my hands on the sink and stared at the wall; I don’t keep mirrors in my house… I always felt like my reflection was still looking at me when I turned away. So I had them removed a few years ago. 

I’m not sure if I slept at all last night… if I did my dreams were full of this man’s face… there was light pouring out of the laundromat, and yet even when he took his black mask off I couldn’t discern his features. When the sun rose, I tried to force myself to eat something, but just the thought of food made me gag, so I decided to write to you in this little journal. If no one else will believe me, at least I have you to rely on.

What if this man comes back? What if he comes to find me? I’m the only witness to the crime… he must have followed me home. Do I dare leave my house? I’m going to have to at some point, if only to get my laundry back. Though that needn’t occur for a few more days at least. I have enough clothes, and enough food in the house, to last at least a week.

***

It’s been a day since I last wrote to you… I managed to get some sleep last night, but every creak in the floorboards - every pop in the heater, was that man coming to strangle me in my bed. I swore I even saw him once in the corner, a towering amalgamation of shadows, and I screamed, turning on the light. But it was just my coat rack. Since then I’ve kept the lights on in my house. I don’t care what the neighbors think. The police never called me back - they must not have found anything on the security tapes. How is that possible? I guess the man erased the footage when he dragged the body through the back door. I think I saw something like that on CSI once. I wonder if they ever did an episode on a witness getting murdered. 

***

Today I went to the police station again. They were all sitting around a circular table playing poker. One of them groaned as I walked in, which sent a shiver of fury up my spine. 

“Y’all find anything from the security tapes?” I asked as politely as I could.

“Didn’t we say we’d call you if we did?” asked the deputy, shuffling a pack of cards.

“Well yes, but-”

“And did we call you?”

“No-”

“So why would you think we found anything?” Another officer snickered and shook his head. The deputy leaned back in his chair and smirked under his thick brown mustache.

“Look, if you think I’m lying,” I said in barely tempered rage, “Then… then let me take you there! Let me show you how it actually happened!”

“Why on Earth would I do that? I’m comfortable right here.” The deputy put the cards on the table and another officer cut the deck.

“Because,” I spluttered, “How can you just… be so calm! A woman was murdered in the damn laundromat last night!” I felt like yanking my own hair out.

“A woman whose description ends at ‘blonde, brown eyes, average height, and sharp features’. It’s a small town, I know, but you described about 20 women right there… and ain’t no one reported missing a couple nights ago-” The deputy began dealing the cards.

“Maybe she lived alone-”

“Jesus Christ,” said one of the other officers, “It’s a town of 743 people… don’t you think we know the people ’round here? No one of that description lives alone. The closest is Candice Washburn, who lives with her brother out on the western side of town. This ain’t a place where people generally live alone.”

“I live alone,” I said quietly.

“Well, ain’t that a shocker,” chuckled another officer.

The deputy put his hand up and said, “Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it didn’t happen. I went down to the place m’self - had to get a load of whites done, and I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. You said he smashed her head in with a laundry machine? Well I checked every machine and there wasn’t a blond hair to be found. You said he cut her and stabbed her multiple times? There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere in the place. Then you said he dragged her out back? I checked the whole place - there wasn’t a body to be found.”

“Well, he probably hid it like an expert-”

“No!” said the deputy, slamming the deck of cards on the table, “I don’t know what your game is here, but you better quit it real soon or else there’s gonna be a problem. There’s no evidence. You got it? Not one shred of it. Good Lord, you’re lucky I even went down there in the first place… the way you’ve had us twisted around in the past.”

I flinched at the mention of my prior instances of running into this very police station and hollering about my lost dog, who died years ago, or the person who's been stealing my mail, which turned out to be no one, as I stopped the mail myself. I tried to compose myself as I said, “I know I’ve been crying wolf for a while now… but this is it! This is real! Some woman was murdered last night, and you’re all just sittin’ here playing poker! This guy could be out there right now! Hell, he’s probably looking for me since I’m the one who saw him!”

“Uh-huh, and what’d he look like, again?” asked the deputy.

My heart plummeted, “Look, I told you a couple nights ago… I don’t know what he looked like! It was a dark night-”

“Were the lights in the laundromat turned off?” asked an officer, lighting a cigarette. I shook my head and he said, “Then how did you not see any of his features as he walked by the front of the store after committing said ‘murder’?”

“If I could just-”

“For God’s sake, just give it up already!” cried the deputy, “We know you just want attention! A couple years ago, this story may have worked, but now… you should see yourself out, before I have one of my boys take you outside.”

I chewed my words and decided to leave, all dignity forgotten as I pushed on a pull door and hit my head, earning a hearty laugh from the cops behind me. My heart was thundering in my chest. The late autumn breeze, which had picked up as the day progressed, cut through my light coat, and I remembered my heavy coat was still in the washing machine. Without hesitation, I decided to go to the laundromat at that moment, to see if that man was doomed to haunt me forever… or if I really had just imagined it all. 

When I saw the store across the street, I froze. The harsh white lights inside shone off of every machine. I imagined the man hiding somewhere in there, just waiting for me to come back and get my clothes, which I spotted in a washer near the back right of the store. Why such a small town needed such a large laundromat, I did not know… but a gust of wind set me in action; I moved towards the door. 

I pulled it open gingerly, trying not to make any noise. Once inside I stood still for a few seconds, trying to discern any unnatural noise within. I could only hear the high pitched buzz of the lights. I didn’t know who ran the place, but the register was empty, just like it was a couple nights ago. My steps started out small, but soon I was running around the place, checking every corner and behind every row of machines for a man with a knife. Only after I had completed four loops did I stop to catch my breath. My laundry basket was still there, so I picked it up and walked over to my machine, which was at eye level. 

I stopped in my tracks.

On the glass front of the washing machine, I saw my reflection for the first time in a long time, and I remembered what that man looked like, every feature now clear as day in my mind. Then, the memories came flooding back, but this time I was not cowering behind a row of dryers. This time I felt the woman’s stubbly ankles as I pulled her inside the store. I felt the rush of blood as I threw her against the machines, and I felt the sharp satisfaction of banging her head in the washing machine every time she had the nerve to sob or beg for mercy. I felt the leather hilt of my knife and her soft lips under my palm as I stroked it down her thigh. Her eyes were so wide, and they fluttered a little as I drew the scantest amount of blood from her leg… when I stabbed her, I locked my eyes into hers as I saw them scream along with her muffled mouth. I yanked the blade out and did it again… and again… and again… until her jaw went slack under my hand. Then I dragged her body out the back of the store to the garbage. I stuffed her and my mask in a bag and threw her at the bottom of the dumpster, making sure to rearrange the other trash to hide her. I remembered going back into the store and meticulously cleaning every spot - removing every hair, wiping up each spot of blood until the place was immaculate. Then I washed myself off in a sink and cleaned the knife, throwing it in the dumpster as well. Lastly, I went into the security room and replaced the footage from that night with some from a different night, deleting the evidence. 

As I walked outside the store, I stopped and looked in near the back right where my clothes still sat. I saw my own face reflected in the storefront, and it looked terrified. This was the face of a man who cowers. I set my jaw and moved on into the night. 

Only then did I become aware of what had happened. Halfway to my walk, I had… I don't know what happened, but I forgot all about committing the laundromat murder. Instead, I was the face in the glass - I was the witness. I turned right around and went back to the laundromat, hiding behind the row of dryers and shaking, trying to ease my tumultuous mind. Somehow, I thought explaining what had happened to the police would help, so I ran back out into the night and over to the station, all memories of being the perpetrator erased in my head, and replaced with the memories of a bystander. 

I snapped back to the present, staring at my reflection in the washing machine. I felt strangely calm. I put the clothes in the dryer, threw in a dryer sheet and set the machine to heavy load. It would be done in 70 minutes. That was plenty of time. I zipped up my jacket and walked out into the afternoon. I raced home and grabbed a new mask and knife. I decided to write these last thoughts to you, my only confidant. There’s still 40 minutes left on the dryer, and I have a deputy to visit.