The Killings - Ed. One

This is an artistic interpretation of the events surrounding the Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka murders. Told through a series of short stories, through different people’s perspectives, through 1964 to present day. Some of the names in this piece have been changed from the actual names of the people involved and some of the events have been changed. This story contains graphic content and may be disturbing. I write this with no harmful intentions.

June 1964

Her swollen feet are aching; she can’t wait for everyone to leave so she can lie down in her bed. Shifting her weight to rest them on the coffee table in front of the green and beige couch, she notices how the room is dark.There must be a summer storm rolling in, the television flickers as the sun sets early. I don’t know why they’re all still here, we finished eating hours ago, blew out the candles and everything. From the couch she could barely see them in the dark seclusion of their chair, though she only stretched her eyes to see. She loathed them. Letting her hand touch her swollen belly, this one would be different. This one was made from love, not that I’ll ever tell him that. Keep her. Even if she is my first born. Disgusting bitch, to be that way with her own father. Well at least she had a nice birthday; no one came over for my birthday.

She fantasized about getting up from that couch and peering over the ridge of the old chair. But she knew what she would find and at the thought she could feel the heat of her blood. Slapping and screaming at both of them for doing this to her. But she only gazed at the television soundless, as his family drunkenly chattered over the sound, her hand on her belly. I’ll call him Paul.

December 1980

It was late but he lay awake, starring at the posters above his bed, he ran his hand through his blond shaggy hair. He could hear him down there. Fucking that whore. At least she’s taking it herself now and it’s not all on Carly. He grabbed himself under the covers, listening to the familiar sounds. Then, he heard something abrupt. She was fighting him off. Stupid bitch. He grabbed at himself harder, listening to her fury.

He stopped when he heard running up the stairs, outside of his room. The door swung open. She ran around his room, screaming and gathering clothes from his drawers, her night gown still twisted so one breast hung out from the thin fabric. Paul looked at her as though she were crazy. “We’re leaving.” She said. “Get up.”

“Mom. We’re not going anywhere. You’re just having a fight. Calm down.”

Her eyes moved wildly. “He’s not even your fucking father Paul. You can stop defending him. Fuck you’re stupid.” She moved about the room.

The footsteps came from down the hall. He moved in slowly. Calmly. Twisting his fist into her hair he pulled her out into the hallway. “Go back to sleep Bastard.” He shut the door. Paul lay back and finished himself off.

November 1989

Cheeks wet; a steady stream still falling down from her eyes down to the hospital gown. She starred off in a stunned panic. She could hear her mother’s shoe’s clicking down the hall. Her parents and the doctor stopped outside the door, her mother whimpering. She could imagine her collapsed in her father’s arms. Hearing the details of her injuries.

“The Police will want to speak to her soon” the doctor finished answered only by sobs from her mother and she assumed a tearful nod from her father. Then they turned into the room, she closed her eyes to pretend she was sleeping. This night would never be undone, but she could put off the look on her father’s face a little longer.

They sat in silence, save for the occasional gasps of air from her mother’s muted tears. She lay with her eyes closed until she did surrender to sleep. It wasn’t long though, till she woke from her mind’s replaying of the night. She woke trying desperately to wrench his hands off of her. She had just got off the bus from her shift at the coffee shop. She waved to the bus driver as she usually did, dropped off only a block from her home. It was as if he had come out of thin air when he grabbed her from behind and led her stray into the park’s opening, where she had played hide and seek with her friends as a young girl. With his knife to her throat, he ripped her work pants down to her knees. In the moonlight she looked back and all she could see was his fair hair as it flipped against her shoulder. And she awoke.

May 1990

“Helen, come in here a minute.” Henry yelled peering at the local news while finishing his lunch.; one of the perks of working so close to home, time with his beloved wife, Helen. Usually they would watch the noon news together and have their lunch but today she was too busy putting together Rachel’s, their daughter, costume for the school play this evening.

“What is it dear?” She came into the living room wiping a stray strand of hair from her brow.

Henry swayed his hand at her as he turned up the volume and she sat down next to him on the couch. The newscaster was welcoming them back from a short break. “Police will be giving a comment later this afternoon as another attack by the Scarborough Rapist took place last night. Police say that the 19-year-old victim was able to give a detailed description of the man and will be releasing a composite portrait within 24-hours. Up next, summer is just around the corner and our own Jackie Bellatar will be showing us how to make the most of your grill...” Henry turned the volume down.

“I don’t think we should let Rachel walk home tonight after the play. I know we said she could.” He shook his head slowly looking at his wife. She cuffed his hand lightly, reassuringly. “You’re right, dear. It’s not safe anymore.”

December 1990

There. She thought fixing her long blond hair in the mirror and giving the place another look over, knowing they would be arriving any moment. She looked over at her fiancé with satisfaction. “I think we’re good.” She smiled at him. Even while he cleaned up a crime scene she couldn’t help but think how hot was her husband-to-be. There was an excitement now as well as the nerves. Perhaps this could be how it could go from now on. They could do it together, her and her king, and as long as they never kept them alive it wasn’t cheating. He could hardly care for them the way he cared for her if he just let them die.

It would be perfect. It would be lying to say she didn’t enjoy the conquests as well, but it was her jealousy that would drive a divide between them. At least this way they were doing it together. It was thing, not .

“Don’t be stupid. Fuck, Karla. You’ve got to look more upset. They’ll be here any minute and you don’t look like your little sister just .”

She pouted a little; she’d thought she’d done so well. He came to her side, comforting her. “I’m sorry. That was hot as fuck, and I love you all the more for it. But you need to look sad for now.”

She nuzzled into his arms by the front door, her ego bruised. She looked up at him teary. “Ok Paul.”

“That’s perfect!” he said looking down at her.

The wrapping at the front door startled them from their embrace and police looking through the glass window saw the young couple consoling one another after a horrifying night.

June 1991

Kyle sat wrapped in a blanket while the police spoke with his father. The block of concrete they had found was being pulled from the river. He couldn’t understand what they had found. How did the block have hair? He kicked some dirt watching them pull it out of the water. Mostly he was upset that this meant their fishing trip was over. A lady officer tried to check in on him as the hour dragged on. She was tall and pretty he thought. She sipped a cup of coffee with the familiar logo on it. Everyone likes that stuff. She tucked the newspaper she was carrying up under her arm and knelt down to talk with him. Two older police officers passed by them to their cruiser. “It’s definitely human hair, there seems to be an orthodontic piece sticking out too.”

“No need for you to listen to all this.” The lady cop stood up and looked around. Pulling the newspaper from her arm she handed it to Kyle. “Here, this will give you something to do. I think there’s some comics in the back.” She winked at him and ran after the two officers.Kyle flipped through the paper to the back where he thought the comics would be. But his news navigating was not so great and he ended up in the announcement section. Bored he flipped through the births, deaths and weddings. Today June 27, 1991 the families of Paul and Karla celebrate the joining of the two in holy matrimony. Kyle closed the paper.

September 1995

"All eyes were glued to the television screen behind the bar in the diner. A looped video played over of a young blonde woman with her eyes swollen shut; black green and yellow stretching passed her temples. They showed pictures of a young couple on their wedding day, looking happily in love; even. And you could feel the growing wave spread across the diner, the feeling in your chest and stomach, when we’re made to face the real horrors of this world around us. Or at least that’s what I felt."

"Thank you Bernie. As you can see, emotions are running high today in Oakville as details emerge revealing information on the trial of Paul Bernardo. Most shocking, the involvement Karla Homolka with the rapes and murders of at least three young women, including Homolka’s younger sister. Homolka was originally the key witness in this case, but that has changed since the viewing of the tapes the two made together during the horrifying acts. The public is outraged and baffled by the plea bargain still standing, despite the growing evidence. We’ll have more on this story this evening at six. Back to you Bob."

July 2005

Transcript from Homolka Interview.

Obtained from the Globe and Mail

Published Monday, Jul. 04, 2005 11:30PM EDT

This information is open to the public.

I do not own this transcript or the rights to it’s contents.

Napier: So, you know the media were really waiting for you outside the prison. They were even camped outside the detention centre at Ste-Anne-des-Plaines. Do you understand why people are so interested in you?

Homolka: Yes, and no. Yes, because I've done terrible things, that's for sure. And I am a woman and it's very rare for a woman to do the kinds of things I have done. And no because there are a lot of people who get out of jail every day who have also done terrible things. But I think I understand more than I don't understand.

Napier: It's been 12 years. We heard you under cross-examination, we heard you through affidavits and through the voice of your lawyers, but never from you directly. How come you decided today, two hours after being freed, to finally speak to us in the media and through us, to the public?

Homolka: It was a very difficult decision to take because I am a very private person and I don't like to talk about my feelings. I want to keep things to myself but it is not possible. So I decided, with my lawyer, that this was the best thing to do because I don't want to be hounded and I don't want people to think that I am a dangerous person who's going to do something to their children. I think it's time I talk.

Napier: When you decided to speak, you chose to speak in French. Why in French?

Homolka: Usually I don't watch the news or read the newspapers, but each time I watched the news in French and especially Radio-Canada they were not as sensational. They don't shout, it's serious and I want to re-start my life in French.

Napier: You've chosen Quebec because you think we judge you with more clemency here?

Homolka: It's certain that the mood in Quebec is not like the mood in Ontario. But I have a support network here that is very important.

Napier: Is it also because in English Canada, the Karla Homolka-Paul Bernardo affair was covered on a daily basis and all of the details were made public? It was very spectacular at the time, especially in the English media. In Quebec we were not as familiar with the details, horrible details, of your case before the courts. Isn't that partly why you chose to live here in Quebec where you are not as well known as you are in Ontario?

Homolka: Not really because everybody is starting to talk about the details. And if anyone wants to know the details, it's very easy to find them out. Yes, it's true that I am less well known here and that is an advantage for me. I think I can re-make my life.

Napier: It's easier to live here. Do you think it's possible for Karla Homolka to re-make her life even in Quebec, to start over or continue a life anonymously, peacefully, quietly after all this media coverage and what you've done?

Homolka: I hope.

Napier: You think it is still possible?

Homolka: Well, everything is possible in life.

November 2015

“Twenty years later and the past still haunts me. “

“Did you read it?”

“The book? No!”

“I mean the article, I know you wouldn’t have read the book.”

“Yeah I read the article. Makes me sick. A Mad World Order. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Who knows. When I first saw it I thought he was going to be writing about what happened, that pissed me off enough, but then it was this fucking dribble.

“Alright I’m done. I can’t even deal with this. Sometimes, believe it or not I almost forget that this happened to my family. That this, that that.. that..”

January 2016

Lynden sat quietly eating the grapes Mrs. Babineaux had given to her after her lunch, with her friend Anna and Lynden go to school together and Mrs. Babineaux was watching Lynden for the morning.They both ate grapes and watched the television both giggling in sync. Their show was ending and the noon news began. Lynden looks to the clock with anticipation, as her mother is to pick her up at noon. Anna still eats her grapes and watches the television; her mother says the news is important. Lynden hears the familiar sound of the car door moves to the window to look for her mother’s car.

“Hey Lynden. Look at this.” Anna waves her friend back over.

Confirming that her mother had arrived, Lynden went and sat back down with her friend.

“Look! This lady looks like your mom.” Anna pointed at the news broadcast, showing a photo of a woman with blonde hair and bruised eyes on the right, and another photo of the same woman on her wedding day. The caption beneath read Update surrounding the infamous Ontario Rapists/Murders.

“No she doesn’t.” Lynden squinted at the screen. Behind her she heard the front door opening and Mrs. Babineaux welcoming her mother.

“Lynden,” Mrs. Babineaux called to her. Looking passed her into the living room, she shuffled into the room and changed the channel ushering Lynden up.

#TheKillings