The Perfect Crime

I can't believe I'm going back to that place. The place where everything happened. The place where I killed a man.   

I'm a journalist for a mystery blog in Atlanta. Somehow my boss found an article from 20 years ago about the disappearance of a man named Taylor Wilkenson in a small, un-named town in West Virginia. He also found out that that wretched place was my hometown. Obviously, since I lived there at the time of the disappearance, I should know who to talk to to get information. "Maybe you'll solve the case," he said, "I mean, come on, 18 people live there. Shouldn't be that hard." I don't need to solve the case. Taylor didn't disappear, he was murdered. And I was the one who did it.  

As I took the long way to the place I used to call home, I thought about that night. I shouldn't have taken the long way. I thought it might prolong the inevitability of the flashbacks I was sure to have... but I was wrong. Without the traffic and flashing lights to distract me, my past came out to play.  

It was the end of senior year, I do believe. Which made it around March of 1989. Taylor was the type of guy the ladies liked and all the guys despised. He was nice and chivalrous and what the kids nowadays would call a simp. He had graduated high school a year early and immediately left for college. He was only 3 years my senior but by the time he got back after a couple years of college, he looked 10 years older than he was. That's one of the reasons why I never went to college. I figured if Mr. Straight A's couldn't handle it, how was I, an 18-year-old drunkard who only passed because I paid the nerds to do my work for me, supposed to do well? Why waste the money? Anyway, I talked to Taylor only a couple times, but it didn't take much for me to hate him. He just had that face and that voice that made me want to sock him in the jaw. And I did, once. And that punch led to many more which led to Taylor Jonathon Wilkenson lying on the ground, eyes wide and expressionless, with his neck bent at a very wrong angle.  

It wasn't just Taylor's voice that made me hit him. I had been drinking, my girl had just called it quits and I was looking for a fight. It wasn't Taylor's fault at all. I just saw his face and heard his voice and I snapped. My fist connected with his nose and I heard a crunch. I knew I broke it. And a small, sick, sadistic part of me took pleasure in it. I swung at him again. This time I hit his jaw. He swung back hitting the left side of my face. I don't really remember what happened next. Maybe I was blinded by rage or the alcohol made me forget, but the next thing I know, he's on the ground, very obviously dead.  

Most people who kill someone probably panic. I didn't. I spit on his body, grabbed my beer, and went to get my car. There was no chance of anyone finding him this late at night, not in this dung heap we call a town. Somehow, I got his body in my trunk and drove to Old Man Perry's land. Nobody would find his body here. It's way across town from where we were and the old man doesn't use this land for anything. Even if I didn't bury him, the chances of pretty-boy's body getting discovered were slim to none with overwhelming odds in my favor. I dug a hole, put him in it, covered him up in dirt, and was across town in my bed pretending to be asleep before my Ma came to get me up. I admit I was a little nervous when she mentioned that I came home late to get my car, but I played it off as being the designated driver. She nodded and said something about being responsible, but I was too relieved to hear a word she said.

For the next couple of months, everyone was out searching for that pompous brat. I pretended to help. It may have only been to lead them astray, but it seemed like I cared. THAT'S what matters. I really should've shot for a career in acting. If only people could've seen my performance. I laughed aloud at the memory. I would've won all the Oscars. I even had the NERVE to look his mother dead in the eye and say, "I'm so sorry for your loss. Your son was an inspiration to me and many others in this town. He'll definitely be missed." That hag cried, too, saying what a sweet boy I was and that she'll never forget my part in trying to locate her dear, dear, lost son. I almost laughed then and there. I can imagine her face if she found out that I snapped her son's neck about a mile from her home where she was sleeping soundly next to her, just as oblivious, husband.  

When they went to look at Old Man Perry's place, I suggested we split up, cover more ground. Everyone thought I was just trying to find the poor guy for his mom. I "searched" the area where I buried him and, as expected, I found nothing. They believed me without a doubt. These people didn't even think about the possibility of the guy being murdered. It was laughable how gullible these people truly were. Everyone knew everyone here. And everyone knew that not many people liked Taylor Jonathon Wilkenson. Maybe that’s why nobody said anything about murder. Nobody wanted to be blamed.  

I never told a single person about this. No one suspected a single thing. I considered this my greatest accomplishment. I got away with murder. I killed someone in cold blood and got away with it. And now I'm being sent to find out where Taylor went. It was funny once you really thought about it. I smiled to myself. I can just show up, talk to Mrs. Wilkenson, pretend to snoop around, and tell my boss that I got nothing. This was the perfect crime