One day soon, you’ll hear a car pull up to your curb, an engine cut out.  You’ll hear footsteps coming up your front walk.  Like they did for Edward Wayne Edwards, twenty-nine years after he killed Timothy Hack and Kelly Drew, in Sullivan, Wisconsin.  Like they did for Kenneth Lee Hicks, thirty years after he killed Lori Billingsley, in Aloha, Oregon.

The doorbell rings.

No side gates are left open.  You’re long past leaping over a fence.  Take one of your hyper, gulping breaths.  Clench your teeth.  Inch timidly toward the insistent bell.

This is how it ends for you.

“You’ll be silent forever, and I’ll be gone in the dark,” you threatened a victim once.

Open the door.  Show us your face.

Walk into the light.