GOOD CITIZEN
By DS Levy
One rare, spring-like day in early March, Lenora drove to the state forest to get away. It had been a bad week. Out of the blue, Lester had started calling again, begging for money. He’d even called her at work—something she’d told him never to do. One more call, and she could lose her job.
She took the trail leading up to the old trestle bridge. Everyone in Millersburg knew about it: a rickety wooden structure sixty feet above a narrow ravine without a guardrail. It had been abandoned years ago by the freight company. Despite its danger, people still walked across it. After she crossed it, she would take the trail that veered off to the cemetery—quiet, isolate, safe.
As she neared the bridge, a figure came into view, hunched and limping slightly. He wore a bulky black jacket and blue jeans. At first, Lenora thought he wore a brown hunting cap, but as he got closer, she realized it was a wild mat of hair.
Their eyes met.
Lenora turned around and headed back toward the parking lot, picking up her pace. Pebbles crunched beneath her gym shoes. Twigs snapped behind her. Was he following? Her heart pounded. Rounding a curve, she glanced back. Through the bare trees, she caught flashes of dark clothing.
He was still walking but not gaining.
She exhaled. Maybe it was nothing.
Up ahead, two girls appeared—thirteen, fourteen years old. One was tall and thin, wearing ripped jeans and a maroon hoodie with the word “LOVE” printed across the chest. The other was shorter and stockier, in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt with a large, rainbow-colored butterfly. They looked sun-flushed and windblown.
The shorter girl held up a phone, filming her friend, who posed and flipped long red hair from her face like she’d done it a thousand times.
Lenora hesitated. Should she mention the man? But what would she say? That he looked suspicious? Of what, exactly? Lester had looked normal too, once. Before the sneering, the manipulation. He wasn’t a criminal—just a jerk.
As they passed, the shorter girl said shyly, “Hello.” The taller one looked away. Lenora smiled and said hello back. Behind her, she heard a giggle. “Look at this,” one said.
They were clearly best friends. Afterward, the folks in town would say they stayed together because of that. They hadn’t abandoned each other.
The next day, their naked bodies were found near the cemetery. Throats slit.
That morning, Lenora stared at her phone. She dialed the hotline. Hung up. Tried again. Let it ring. Then ended the call.
Driving out of the park the day before, she’d thought about the girls. Thought about the man. But had he really seemed threatening? She could hardly remember his face.
Maybe she was being paranoid.
For weeks, she avoided the news. Every headline was about the girls. People speculated why they went to the bridge: to meet a boy from online, to take Snapchat photos, or just to escape boredom. Everyone had their theory.
But Lenora couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Two weeks later, she made the call. The detective was calm, kind. Lenora answered as best she could, which wasn’t much. He thanked her. Said she’d done the right thing. Promised someone would follow up.
No one did.
The next day, local and statewide news reported that thanks to a good citizen, investigators had new leads and a vague suspect description. Cable networks and crime podcasters seized on it. In town, people gossiped—at the café, the post office, the hardware store. They wondered aloud who had come forward with information, and why it had taken until this moment to share it.
Questions Lenora couldn’t answer. Not even for herself.
DS Levy lives in the Midwest. She has had work included in Wigleaf's Top 50 2021, and Long List 2022. She was a finalist in the 2022 Jeanne Leiby Memorial Chapbook Award at The Florida Review.
