Read The Stranger Beside Me for Free Online Page A
Authors: Ann Rule
in. I was not an exception. I had lost my only brother to suicide when he was twenty-one, a Stanford senior about to enter Harvard Medical School. I had tried vainly to convince him that life was worthwhile and precious, and I had failed because Yd been too close to him and had felt his pain too acutely. If I could save someone else, I think I felt that it might help me to expiate some of the guilt I still carried.
Ted listened quietly as I told him about my brother, of the long night's wait while sheriff's deputies looked for Don, finally finding him too late in a deserted park north of Palo Alto, dead of carbon monoxide poisoning.
In 1971 my life was not without problems. My marriage was in deep trouble, and I was again trying to cope with guilt. Bill and I had agreed to a divorce only weeks before he'd been diagnosed as having malignant melanoma, the deadliest of skin cancers.
"What can I do?" I asked Ted. "How can I leave a man who may be dying?"
"Are you sure he's dying?" Ted responded.
"No. The first surgery seems to have caught all the malignancy, and the skin grafts have finally held. He wants to end the marriage. He says he wants to, but I feel as if I'm really running away from a sick man who needs me."
"But it's his choice, isn't it? If he seems well, and if your being together is an unhappy situation for both of you, then you have no guilt. He's made the decision. It's his life, and, especially when he might not have that many years ahead, it's his right to decide how he wants to spend them."
"Are you talking to me as if I were a crisis caller?" I smiled.
"Maybe. Probably. But my feelings would be the same. You both deserve to get on with your lives."
Ted's advice proved to be the right advice. Within a year, I would be divorced, and Bill would remarry, would have four good years doing what he wanted.
THE STRANGER BESIDE ME
27
What was happening in my life in 1971 is unimportant to the story of Ted Bundy, save for the fact that Ted's incisive viewpoint on my problems, his unfailing support and belief in my capabilities as a writer who could earn a living on her own, demonstrate the kind of man I knew. It was that man I would continue to believe in for many years. Because I had opened up my life to him, Ted seemed to feel at ease in talking about the vulnerable areas in his world, although it was not until many weeks after I met him that he did so.
One night, he moved his chair through the alcove that separated our desks and sat beside me. Behind him one of the posters that were plastered over most of the walls in our offices was in my direct line of vision. It was a picture of a howling kitten clinging to a thick rope, and it read, "When you get to the end of your rope ... tie a knot and hang on."
Ted sat there silently for a moment or two as we sipped coffee companionably. Then he looked down at his hands and said, "You know, I only found out who I really am a year or so ago. I mean, I always knew, but I had to prove it to myself."
I looked at him, a little surprised, and waited for the rest of the story.
"I'm illegitimate. When I was born, my mother couldn't say that I was her baby. I was born in a home for unwed mothers and, when she took me home, she and my grandparents decided to tell everyone that I was her brother, and that they were my parents. So I grew up believing that she was my sister, that I was a 'late baby' born to my grandparents." He paused, and looked at the sheets of rain that washed over the windows in front of us. I didn't say anything; I could tell he had more to say.
"I knew. Don't tell me how I knew. Maybe I heard conversations. Maybe I just figured out that there couldn't be twenty years' difference in age between a brother and a sister, and Louise always took care of me. I just grew up knowing that she was really my mother."
"Did you ever say anything?"
He shook his head. "No. It would have hurt them. It just wasn't something you talked about. When I was little, we
Ted listened quietly as I told him about my brother, of the long night's wait while sheriff's deputies looked for Don, finally finding him too late in a deserted park north of Palo Alto, dead of carbon monoxide poisoning.
In 1971 my life was not without problems. My marriage was in deep trouble, and I was again trying to cope with guilt. Bill and I had agreed to a divorce only weeks before he'd been diagnosed as having malignant melanoma, the deadliest of skin cancers.
"What can I do?" I asked Ted. "How can I leave a man who may be dying?"
"Are you sure he's dying?" Ted responded.
"No. The first surgery seems to have caught all the malignancy, and the skin grafts have finally held. He wants to end the marriage. He says he wants to, but I feel as if I'm really running away from a sick man who needs me."
"But it's his choice, isn't it? If he seems well, and if your being together is an unhappy situation for both of you, then you have no guilt. He's made the decision. It's his life, and, especially when he might not have that many years ahead, it's his right to decide how he wants to spend them."
"Are you talking to me as if I were a crisis caller?" I smiled.
"Maybe. Probably. But my feelings would be the same. You both deserve to get on with your lives."
Ted's advice proved to be the right advice. Within a year, I would be divorced, and Bill would remarry, would have four good years doing what he wanted.
THE STRANGER BESIDE ME
27
What was happening in my life in 1971 is unimportant to the story of Ted Bundy, save for the fact that Ted's incisive viewpoint on my problems, his unfailing support and belief in my capabilities as a writer who could earn a living on her own, demonstrate the kind of man I knew. It was that man I would continue to believe in for many years. Because I had opened up my life to him, Ted seemed to feel at ease in talking about the vulnerable areas in his world, although it was not until many weeks after I met him that he did so.
One night, he moved his chair through the alcove that separated our desks and sat beside me. Behind him one of the posters that were plastered over most of the walls in our offices was in my direct line of vision. It was a picture of a howling kitten clinging to a thick rope, and it read, "When you get to the end of your rope ... tie a knot and hang on."
Ted sat there silently for a moment or two as we sipped coffee companionably. Then he looked down at his hands and said, "You know, I only found out who I really am a year or so ago. I mean, I always knew, but I had to prove it to myself."
I looked at him, a little surprised, and waited for the rest of the story.
"I'm illegitimate. When I was born, my mother couldn't say that I was her baby. I was born in a home for unwed mothers and, when she took me home, she and my grandparents decided to tell everyone that I was her brother, and that they were my parents. So I grew up believing that she was my sister, that I was a 'late baby' born to my grandparents." He paused, and looked at the sheets of rain that washed over the windows in front of us. I didn't say anything; I could tell he had more to say.
"I knew. Don't tell me how I knew. Maybe I heard conversations. Maybe I just figured out that there couldn't be twenty years' difference in age between a brother and a sister, and Louise always took care of me. I just grew up knowing that she was really my mother."
"Did you ever say anything?"
He shook his head. "No. It would have hurt them. It just wasn't something you talked about. When I was little, we
Similar Books
Loving Me, Trusting You
C. M. Stunich
House of Night 09 - Destined
P.C. Cast
On the Run: Fugitive Life in an American City
Alice Goffman
Girl Gear 3: Bound to Happen
Alison Kent
By the Pale Moonlight (Book One of the Moonlight Series)
Jennifer Hendren
For Keeps
Natasha Friend
Seeds of Desire
Karenna Colcroft
School of Deaths
Christopher Mannino
