Sympathy for the Devil

Every town has one. Fairview is no exception. Call him the boogeyman, the dark man, the evil one, or Norman Ford. You see, Norman killed his wife. Not to get explicit, but the corpse was almost unrecognizable. Pushed her down the stairs and stabbed her until there wasn’t anything left. But because of some unorthodox way the police gathered evidence (I don’t know, I’ve never been a legal expert), the judge threw the whole case out. Norman now lives alone in a house by the lake. A couple of months back, a few kids set fire to the shed in his backyard. Norman didn’t press charges. Last Halloween someone killed his cat, Norman didn’t press charges.
I watch you Norman, do you know that? I watch you walk up and down the streets at night. Why do you give bread to those homeless vagrants? Those same “high class intellectuals” that run this town abhor even simple contact with these individuals. People like Jimmy Goldberg; I think I saw him punching one of them in the chest. Did you know that Norman?
Do you know I saw you take in that dog? That McDougall mutt. The one old Harry kicked out of his house last week. Do you know I looked in your window and saw you feeding that mongrel? I saw you petting him, cuddling him for God’s sake! Why Norman? Does it make you feel better about yourself? Do you think it makes up for the unspeakable act you committed? Do you also know I follow you to the cemetery every night, and see you visit your wife’s tombstone? Why do you weep, Norman? She’s dead and buried and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it. Nothing at all.
A robbery occurred last month at the convenience store and Sheriff Goldberg was so sure it was you even though you were having lunch at that diner you always go to. Didn’t they knock down your door and drag you out by the legs, Norman? Didn’t they? They were all ready to lock you up and throw away the key before your waiter corroborated your story. A fire burnt down the Myers mill on Monday, killing the two owners, and the Sheriff was all out to shoot you over it until video evidence pointed otherwise. Yesterday, a fifteen year old boy named Jimmy Myers went missing. Did you know that, Norman? Do you know that even as I speak, Sheriff Goldberg, Mr. McDougal and even Mayor Howard are making a posse to invade your house, kill you, and rescue that kid from whatever hellhole they think you have him trapped in?
I have a secret, though. I know that you didn’t rob that store, or burn that mill or take the boy, Norman. Do you want to know how I know that, Norman? Are you sure? I robbed that store, and then burnt that god forsaken mill down to the ground and I danced on the ashes of those who lived there. I know everything about you, Norman; from the day you were born until the day you’re going to die. I know what and where you eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I even know what brand of toothpaste you use. Crest Cavity Protection. Good brand. What I don’t know, however is why do you give your food to those worthless beggars and that pathetic mutt, and why do you weep at the grave of one which you helped put there? Why, God dammit, why? Sorry, I lose control sometimes. My mother, before she perished in that mill fire, used to scold me for outbursts like that. My own father used to call me insane and locked me in my room whenever we had company. The great cotton king, Samuel Myers, tried his best to hide his only son who he thought had a few bats in the belfry. Well, how do you feel now, Dad? Slaving away in whatever pit in hell Satan forces you to, burning for all eternity! I’m not crazy. You know that, Norman, don’t you? That’s one thing you have to understand about me, Norman, I’m not crazy. I’m going to find out why you weep, Norman, you mark my words. I’m going to find out everything that I don’t already know about you. Then, well… we’ll have some fun then won’t we?
Every town has one. In Fairview’s case, that just happens to be me.