A Walk Down Rushville

To My Loving Families:

My family of origin: Mom, Dad, Cheryl, and Carol, my sweet remaining sister, and my nieces Cara and Julie and theirchildren.

My family of marriage: My beloved Roy, Kristina, and Ryon, for allowing me to share their family unit through theyears.

My adopted family: The friends and neighbors who are like sisters and brothers tome.

Thank you to all for your love and support along the way. You are all my family and live in my heart.

"I am not what happened to me.

I am what I choose to become."

—Carl Gustav Jung

Contents

Author’s Note

Part I The Walk

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Pa rt II The Journey

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Part III The Discovery

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

When I was a child living in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, Saturdays were very special to me. At age five, while my parents slumbered till ten, I woke up early, ran out the back door, and headed down a small path to our neighbor’s house. I could smell the bacon within a few steps In less than a minute, I was standing outside the screen door to their kitchen, staring inside.

They turned to me without surprise as I said what I always said, I’m starved. Mary Jo opened the door, picked me up in her arms, put me in the captain’s chair at the head of the table, and fixed me a special plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. The food was delicious, but the love served up at that table would remain in my heart forever. That was my first experience of neighbors as family, but not the last.

Neighbors have always been important to me, and to this day, many of my best friends live within blocks of my home. I met them during walks, talking across the fence, or getting the mail. I still long for the connection to my family of origin, many of whom have passed, and I miss my only sister, who lives across the country. But my heart is warmed by the presence of my adopted or created family—the neighbors and the friends I’ve met.

Three things inspired me to write this book. First, the love and support of my family of origin and my grandmother. I couldn’t have had a better childhood and felt love around the dinner table. Second, the love and support of my beloved husband, Roy. Finally, the support of my neighbors and friends. They filled a missing piece in my heart when my family was gone or unavailable. They became my second or adopted family.

Skyler Bennett moves from a place of depression, pain, and fear to a fulfilled life surrounded by people who love her—her neighbors. She experiences the profound loss of her husband as well as the psychological loss of her family that does not support her, and then she is a witness to a crime. Her journey from Southern California to Edenton, North Carolina, and finally to Italy is a journey of self-discovery. It is also Skyler’s spiritual journey. Her heart became opened with each new experience and each new individual who showed up, offering her love.

In the novel, Skyler enjoys walking her dog in the neighborhood. She finds solace, surprises, and self-reflection in those walks. I titled my book A Walk Down Rushville since I take this walk every day on my own street. Walking has always been a way for me to work out what was confusing in my life and to experience peace. Ultimately, it connected me to the neighbors who would become part of my life.

For Skyler, the book represents her eventual walk down a path of joy, purpose, creativity, and love she experiences with her created or adopted family, as well as a walk away from loneliness, grief, depression, and sadness associated with her family of origin.

A huge lesson for Skyler is learning how to be open, vulnerable, and accepting of the love that’s offered to her. She has to say, Yes, I’ll open my door when the doorbell rings. Yes, I’ll talk to that neighbor when she walks by. Yes, I can trust again. I believe when the heart starts to open and says yes, again and again, the door to life opens.

This book is about how one woman says yes, finally understanding that when her family closed one door, her neighbors opened another one. It’s the story of Skyler’s courage to let love in and then to embrace, with new eyes, the beauty and joy of a life before her—a life rich with a loving family she could only imagine.

This book is for anyone who has lost family in any capacity and feels alone or without support. I hope readers will gain an understanding of the renewed spirit of one individual. As simple as it sounds, we have to be able to walk away from family if the hurt is too great or the abuse is ever-present. We cannot stay and wish that the communication will change in time. The change we’re seeking is actually the change within ourselves. We can always create a new family, a new pathway to express our love, and it could just be in our own neighborhood.

Part I

The Walk

Chapter 1

Rushville could be a street you’d find in any other small suburban neighborhood. This one, however, boasted the sounds and songs of the ocean waves, if you listened closely, particularly at 4 a.m. when the tide insisted you take notice. Distant, rhythmic—a light tympani drum lasting about three seconds. Skyler usually did notice, but not tonight. Her thoughts tumbled into dreams plagued with loss and loneliness. Awake after hours of restlessness, she turned to nestle a bit with the warm fur belonging to Mousse—her black Labrador snoring lightly next to her.

Maybe a walk would help. Lumbering from semisleep, Skyler glanced at the clock and grabbed the clothes strewn across the bureau. Another night without sleep and replaying scenes of an unchanging past and its consequences. This isn’t what I thought life would be at this stage.

Mousse roused, jumped down with attention, and was ready for the next adventure—no matter what time it was. She smiled at the inquisitive golden-eyed creature of love, so glad he was here with her. Pushing into her sneakers, a light-weight jacket in tow, she latched on his leash and stood outside on the small porch, breathing in the crisp air. They were both quietly gazing—she at the puffed clouds lazily drifting across the night sky, illuminated partially by the half-moon, and Mousse just gazing and waiting for what a dog’s mind could only imagine.

One of the few things that calmed her was walking—deep breathing, sky-gazing, and not thinking. It was her secret, these night walks, in this neighborhood of closely aligned homes and neighbors who seemed to want to know more. They were friendly enough, but she was not ready to make those connections. Her limbs moved slowly through the fatigue and into the night. Grief walked alongside her, taunting her thoughts that swirled with images of Tim and the life she’d had. She was captive to the night, the blackness, the void. Daylight only reminded her that she was living a reclusive life, and she wasn’t sure how to change that.

They walked straight to the ocean, a few blocks and a gentle slope westward. A light Santa Ana breeze hailed the early fall, which in Southern California meant the perfect temperatures night or day, along with a warm, dry wind at your back. Skyler welcomed this change from the seasonal fluctuations in North Carolina, where she grew up. She’d come to the West Coast to find her creative self and escape the twelve-hour work-to-live mentality for a life of creativity, balance, and meaning.

She was lucky to find a career in journalism and, specifically, feature writing. She always loved to write, but her shyness kept her away from the more gregarious, fact-finding, extroverted reporter world. Instead, she wrote about lives that she might never experience but desired—the human interest stories that usually had happy endings and were inspiring. In these years, it provided an escape from the present.

Her steps were deliberate, and Mousse kept pace. He sought her eyes at intervals and offered his vigorous tail wag, slapping back and forth at everything in its path. It was his dog swagger. Reaching the ocean, she grabbed a nearby bench, and Mousse jumped up quietly beside her, nestling his head in her lap. Skyler stretched out her feet, crossed them, and closed her eyes, placing her hands gently on the dog’s head. She took some deep breaths, trying to release her troubling thoughts. She imagined them tumbling through the waves, disappearing into the foam. This hour alone with the ocean was her refuge, her slice of peace in this haven she now called home.

Skyler had always been introspective and shy, but the grief of losing Tim, along with her absentee family, especially the lack of her mother’s love, pushed her from introspection to isolation and deep loneliness. Before her time with Tim, the last time she really laughed, totally let go of what people thought and enjoyed herself, was college in her early twenties.

She escaped the world of her family in those early days, but the wounds of a little girl never really healed. She knew those wounds were hidden deep inside, and they were why depression took a seat in her home during the last few years as an uninvited guest. She could name what was right in her life but knew there could be a whole lot more if only she knew how to get there.

It was a quiet walk back up the hill toward the small cottage-like home that was now hers alone. She found herself imagining the lives inside the modern, often quaint, and numerous cottage homes with neat yards of drought-resistant plants or small yards with snippets of grass. Are they happy? Then she heard the noise.

A human cry, a moan, a howling animal? It was high-pitched and irregular, but which house? She turned up a new block, and the sound intensified.

Hel… Hel… Help. She could barely make out a voice in the darkness.

Oh my god, she realized. Someone is crying for help. She stopped and listened again. She wasn’t automatically the first one to help others. She was the cautious one, waiting to see if someone else would step in and do the rescuing. She stood there and then started rocking on her feet, still afraid to move. A tightness gripped her in the gut, and she bit her lip, tasting the blood inside her mouth. Her breathing became shallow as scenarios rolled around her head—a break-in, a robbery, maybe domestic violence? She found herself in the middle of the block with three homes on the right side and one large mansion on the left. All were completely black and the street, half-lit by a distant lamp post, seemed eerily quiet with a foreboding stillness. Mousse tugged at the leash.

Skyler fought her inner instincts to run home and forget all about it. She heard a crack, something breaking—shattering glass perhaps. Listening with a heightened intensity, she heard it, a discernable but feeble voice, Help me!

Skyler quickened her steps, walking past the first home, when she saw a faint light coming from a downstairs window of the second house. What was it? She needed to know, and this need battled with her instincts to leave. Somewhere deep down, she knew she could not walk away. Skyler looked in all directions again. No one is here. No one.

Cautiously, she crept across the lawn of the first house, facing the light, and turned the corner. She pressed her hands, back, and head against the side of the house. Mousse was restless. She pulled up on the leash, giving the signal to sit, and the dog obeyed. Now, she couldn’t turn back. What am I getting myself into?

The light from the kitchen stove caught her eye followed by a shadow, a man in a hooded sweatshirt. She gasped and wanted to run, but fear kept her rooted in place. Skyler’s breath became shallow as her long-time asthma gripped her chest. Wheezing, she reached for her emergency inhaler inside her jacket and waited for relief. Her labored breathing seemed to worsen, but she couldn’t look away.

Beads of sweat formed on her temples and traveled quickly down her cheeks. Her pulse quickened. She clutched her chest in response. Frozen, she watched and waited. A flash of light hit the knife blade at just the right moment. A woman, barely visible, grabbed the edge of the countertop, slid downward, and then was gone from view. The assailant turned toward the light, stared down at the floor, and then glanced out the window. Skyler got a good look at the face of a murderer and committed it to memory—male with black curly hair. Time slowed as she watched him move, his muscular right arm bearing a tattoo that appeared to be an eagle. He took the knife and vanished into another room.

Mousse erupted with barking and pulled hard on the leash, unhappy with being restrained and picking up on her anxiety. The male figure appeared in another window, staring directly where she was standing, and then disappeared a split second later. He must’ve seen me.

Panicked, she bolted but tripped as she turned the corner of the house. Mousse’s leash had wrapped around her like a snake. Struggling in what seemed like an interminable minute, she unwrapped the leash and ran for her life. She heard a door slam behind her but kept running toward a side alley behind the homes.

Crouching behind trash cans, she hugged the dog by his torso. Quiet, boy, she whispered into his ears, and he leaned into her body, giving her his full attention.

Skyler’s entire body shivered from her clothes, soaked in sweat. Her chest pounded. She tried to catch her breath as seconds passed, and then her foot slipped on a small twig that snapped lightly. She righted herself and felt a jolt of adrenaline as she pressed her weight against the trash can for balance, staring at Mousse. The dog’s head lifted up, his eyes alert.

Shuuush, she whispered, and he became still.

She heard footsteps and saw his shadow a few feet away. He stopped. She prayed and covered the dog’s eyes with her other hand. Please, God, save us. She heard a few more steps as if he was crossing to the middle of the alley and held her breath. A cat bolted from behind a parked car. Skyler peered out just as a motion-sensor light lit up his face. He jerked back and then stared in their direction.

Mousse’s ears perked up, but his eyes were still covered. Shuushh. Please, Mousse, for once, please be quiet, and he obeyed. Finally, the man retreated, his quick footsteps echoing down the alley. He was walking away. She was safe. But what about the woman? Her hands were shaking, and her chest wheezed slightly.

She listened for a few more minutes and then grabbed her cell phone. She could barely see the phone app with the sweat that blurred her eyes and coursed down her face. After several tries, she finally was able to dial 911. Her voice wobbly and her sobs coming in waves, she gave the information but could not answer the question: Do you know if the woman is still alive?

I don’t know. She gasped. I just saw her drop down and out of view. Then, she gave directions to the house on Waverly Street.

We’re on our way. Stay on the phone with me, said the dispatcher.

But Skyler had already hung up the phone, her mind on the woman who was attacked. Was she dead?

Mousse, we have to go back. We have to go. She might be alive. Skyler broke into a run, and Mousse kept pace. Please be alive. Please be alive."

She reached the house in less than a minute and heard the siren in the distance. Bolting through the open front door, she held Mousse close to her side in the darkened entrance. She heard a feeble voice.

Uhhhh. Help. Uhhh. A faint sound became a low groan.

She ran toward the kitchen to find the woman’s crumpled body on the floor, her white bathrobe drenched in blood.

Kneeling down, she felt for a pulse. Remembering some rudimentary first aid, she could see a slight movement of her chest. She’s alive. Grabbing a dishtowel, she applied some pressure to an abdominal wound.

You’re safe. I called 9-1-1. They’re almost here.

The woman, in a semiconscious state, was mouthing something. Skyler leaned down.

He stabbed me. Still barely breathing, the woman’s head moved to one side.

The next minute, paramedics were behind Skyler. She moved aside as they took control—vital signs, wound care, oxygen. Within minutes, they had the woman on a stretcher and out the door. Sitting on the floor, Skyler stared at her hand coated with blood, noticing Mousse’s bloodied paws and his startled eyes.

It’s okay, boy. It’s all over now, she whispered as she stood up and tried to steady herself. She grabbed the side of the wall, holding Mousse tightly to her side.

You’re Skyler Bennett. You made the 9-1-1 call? A tall police officer startled her with his stern voice and bigger-than-life persona.

She looked down at Mousse and then up again. He was standing right next to her, but she never saw him approach. I’m Officer Connors. What can you tell us? He pulled out a small notebook and pen, stood under the light, and studied her for a few seconds with a stoic expression.

Yes, I’m Skyler. I made the call. She took a deep breath and then continued. I was taking a walk in the neighborhood and heard a wailing sound. As I got closer to the sound, I walked across the lawn to the house next door to this one. Then I heard the sound again, looked over toward this house, and saw him through the window. She stopped to gather her breath and looked down to see her hands shaking.

He was standing in the kitchen holding a knife. I saw the woman slouch down. I thought she was dead. Then I think he heard my dog bark, and he saw me standing there. I ran and he chased me. I thought he was going to kill me. I hid in the alley, and he finally ran away.

They were interrupted as an officer with two German Shepherds bolted past her into the house, and one more police car pulled into the driveway. Several more officers moved quickly from the car to the front and back of the house with searchlights. In seconds, they were headed down the street. She heard voices and the clicking of cameras as the crime scene tape was secured. They ushered her down the porch steps and then turned her attention back to the officer.

Do you think you could identify him? he asked.

Yes. I saw his face for a few seconds. He had a tattoo of an eagle on his right arm.

We’ll need to ask you to come down to the station and work with our sketch artist tomorrow. Anything more you can tell us now?

Medium height. Dark curly hair. Muscular build. But there is one more thing. She paused to recall the exact words. She said, ‘He stabbed me,’ before she passed out.

Skyler, you’re now a material witness to a crime, so your name will not be released to the press. We’ll be in close contact with you. Now, let’s get you back home. If he’s around, we don’t want him to see you, and your neighborhood is waking up. I’m sure you don’t want their questions. We’ll be sending an unmarked car in your neighborhood later tonight as well.

She nodded. An officer led her around the back of her house as a precaution and then to her back door. They both looked up, surprised to see a low-flying helicopter circling with a blaring announcement that a criminal was loose in the area.

Thanking the officer, she pulled Mousse inside, ran toward the bathroom, and collapsed against the wall. She sobbed, choking on tears and gasping for air as the torrent of emotions was finally released. She cried for the woman she never knew, her neighbor. She cried about what she witnessed—the knife, the blood, the man. Finally, she cried because, through it all, she had no one to comfort her. Mousse, curled in her lap, sensed it all. She pulled him close—hands, blood, fur, and tears.

The sun rose, and light filled the space where a woman and her dog grieved the events of the night. Soon, that grief was mixed with the events of her life.

Chapter 2

Dog kisses woke her. Confused, she looked around to see that she was still lying on the bathroom floor. With trepidation, she glanced at her face in the mirror. Her short-cropped gray-black hair was strewn with blood and sweat that crossed her forehead. Her usual steel blue eyes were dulled by lack of sleep.

She raised her hands and stared as they shook uncontrollably. Grabbing the side of the sink, she pulled herself into a standing position. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest tightened, allowing only quick shallow breaths as she recalled the horrifying memory of what happened. Skyler stripped off her clothes hurriedly, wanting to wash away the vision and ruminating thoughts of a crime, a woman’s face, and blood. Mousse stood up with a half-tail wag and watched as her ever-present sentry and protector.

She turned the shower on hot, stepped inside, and stoically watched the stream of water carry the blood down her body as steam enveloped her. She scrubbed dried blood from her arms and fingernails, and then she washed her hair twice. She’d just wanted a short, quiet walk by the ocean. Instead, she—Skyler, the quiet, secluded neighbor who preferred aloneness to the questions of strangers—was now a witness to an attempted murder. Great, she thought. What else?

In a daze, Skyler finally felt for the faucets, turning them off slowly, and then reached for her towel. Her arms and legs felt heavy, her motions slow as she dried herself off. Then she dressed sluggishly and looked down at Mousse.

Poor boy, you have blood on you, too. She walked with measured steps to the garage, grabbed a towel, and held it under warm water before washing off a few areas of his fur, probably where she’d hugged him.

Bing, bing, bing. Bing, bing, bing.

She jerked and then jumped at the sound of her cell phone. Her usual ringtone clanged loudly in her head. It was Julie. Somehow, her best friend always knew when something was wrong. She had known Julie for more than ten years. They used to be neighbors in the same apartment complex. Julie had also known Tim. She was a loyal friend, the only friend Skyler had.

Hey, Julie. Her voice shook slightly as she tried to keep her emotions at bay, but it was no use.

What’s wrong? You don’t sound right.

You won’t believe my night. I went out for a quiet walk with Mousse and heard this weird sound coming from a house on the street next to mine when I was walking by. As I came closer, I recognized it was someone saying the word help! I hid in some shadows of the house next door to it and saw this guy holding a knife and a woman who’d been stabbed.

Oh my god. Did he kill her?

There’s more to the story. The guy looked out the window and saw me standing there. We took off down the street. God, I thought I’d be next. Mousse and I hid in an alley until he finally left. I went back to the house and ran inside. She was still alive. I held a towel to her wound until the paramedics arrived. I think I might have saved her life. Who knows? She was alive when the ambulance took her away. I got home, and I’ve just been crying and crying.

"How horrific! What an ordeal.