All Good People Here

by Ashley Flowers

the people of Wakarusa were churchgoing, law-abiding, capital-G God-fearing people, the Story was always adorned with pearls of sweetness to coat its sharp edges: Bless her heart, but…I’ll be praying for them, because did you hear…? Lord have mercy on their souls.

This life—her family, their farm and house—wasn’t what she’d wanted, wasn’t even close, but it was more than she’d ever had before, and so she held on to it, hands tight.

She spotted the writing on the wall before she even made it down the last step, her breath kicking out of her lungs. Scrawled in blood-red oversized letters read three horrific messages: Fuck Your

Here something was horribly, horribly wrong, and all she’d been able to think was What will the neighbors say?

The etymology had gotten lost to history, but conventional wisdom was that the Native American Wakarusa could be translated to “knee-deep in mud.”

Both the old name and the new struck Margot as uncanny in their appropriateness. One evoked the killing of innocent girls, the other insinuated just how hard it was to leave. Though to Margot, the mud seemed more like quicksand. The more you fought it, the more it pulled you under. For years she thought she’d escaped, and now here she was, back again.

Krissy couldn’t have known then everything that kiss would lead to. If she had, she never would have done it.

Just before she opened her mouth and said yes, Krissy made a silent promise. If Billy hadn’t understood that what she’d come here tonight for was money for an abortion, she wouldn’t tell him. Nor would she tell him the other thing. The cost of this marriage, she knew, would be keeping those secrets. She just hoped it would be worth it.

As Krissy followed Billy and Detective Lacks into their house, she thought back on that moment by the pond, the moment that changed everything. For seven years, she had kept that promise to herself, holding her secrets tight inside her. Now, the stakes were higher and she had so much more to hide.

“I’m worried about her. She’s been asking a lot about January. I’m afraid she’ll find out what really happened.”

It was the same complicated feeling Annabelle Wallace must have had this afternoon. Despite everything her brother had done to her over the years, despite the fact that she knew he was being accused of murder, Annabelle had defended him because he was family. If it turned out Margot was wrong and Luke was a killer after all, she would hate him. She’d excommunicate him from her life, and whenever she’d think of him, she’d be filled with rage. And still, he’d be her uncle. Underneath all that anger and hate, she knew she could never quite stop loving him.

“I think I can clear Krissy’s name,” Margot said. “Because I know who killed January. And Natalie Clark. And this little girl from Ohio named Polly Limon. His name’s Elliott Wallace. And I think I know how to find him.”

Well shit this girl has been accusing everyone in this town! Haha Glad shes got it figured out now.

Margot thought of Krissy, of Natalie, of Polly, of all the girls in Elliott Wallace’s box and all the girls across the world who’d been trapped alone in rooms with men just like him and others just like Billy, men who, in one way or another, threw girls away.