Like FUCK I went home. I ran straight to the police station. Its only a five minute walk from home. I burst through the door, my hair bouncing on my shoulders. I ignored the stares yet again and walked straight up to the desk in the top centre of the little room.
'Hello - my name is Amberlyn Jones. You'll recognize me as the orphan child whose parents were murdered?'
'Hey Amberlyn. What is your concern?' He looked quite concerned at my appearance. The officer at the desk asked, puffing smoke from the side of his mouth. The cigar was fat and almost black. So were his teeth.
'I feel I have found the man that killed my parents. His appearance matches the mans' who killed my parents perfectly. I know its him.' I spoke confidently, though I couldn't meet his gaze.
'Okay, honey.' He sat up, taking a long drag from his ugly cigar. 'What did this man look like? What was he wearing?'
'He wore black dress pants and a white hoodie. He had black, shoulder length hair and a permanent smile cut from each cheekbone to the other. His skin was white with a leathery texture, and he had no eyelids. He looked as if he were wearing eyeliner, but it was ash.'
'Look honey, that description is very familiar,but you've just described yourself here. I wouldn't be surprised to find it was you all along...' He gripped his belt and stood up.
'No! I really did see this man! At a party, downtown!' My makeup ran as the tears streamed down my face. I could've gotten justice for the man that did this to my parents, but I wasn't believed.
'This is a likely story. Now get your sorry but out of here before I have you in a cell for lying to an officer.' I gasped, and turned quickly on my heel. I stalked out of the station, the tears still swimming down my face. They took cover in the scars along my cheekbones, resting there and then riding the curve down into my mouth.
I walked home with a grey storm cloud above my head. I unlocked the door. Silence. 'The others obviously aren't home yet...' I muttered to myself as I locked the door behind me. I then smelt a familiar smell. Musky and slightly, well... congealed. I instantly knew what it was. He was in my house.
Before I had time to scream or move, a hand was clamped over my mouth and another around my body. I struggled and kicked, finally freeing myself and I fled up the stairs. He was close behind me, I felt it. I heard him running up after me. He must have though there was no point in me going up the stairs, so he slowed, listening to where my footsteps led.
I t reminded me of that creepy song; "There is someone, walking behind you, watching your footsteps..."
I hid under the bed. I had a kitchen knife under there. It was fifteen centimetres long, four wide, and sharp as fuck. He'd have a fun time, no worries.
He entered the bedroom. I think he genuinely had no idea where the hell he was. He stalked up to the closet and opened it abruptly. He crept up to the window and thrust the curtains aside. He even managed to step on a loose floorboard leading to a crawlspace that even I didn't know was there. Something eventually clicked. He walked into the centre of the room, something glinting menacingly in his pocket.
'I know where you are. Don't worry, I promise I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna talk.' He fingered the knife in his pocket.
I shot out from under the bed, wriggling and writhing like a hungry snake. He grinned maliciously as I stood and looked at him. I knew what I had to do. It'd be weird for both of us, but I had to get that weapon away from him.
I stepped forward, falling into his arms. He was taken aback, there was no doubt about it. I felt around the back of his pants, tugged at his hoodie, and finally, the knife fell out of his pocket. We both leaned to pick it up. I was hoping my chest would distract him again, but we clunked heads. I grabbed the knife and sped across the room. I locked my bedroom door, and then the window.
There was no way of him escaping, unless he wanted to hide from the in the crawlspace. He knelt down, pulling another knife from inside his boot. Smart boy. Always bring spares.
He hadn't noticed I had two knives, including the one behind my back that I kept under the bed. He leapt at me, I ducked and threw both my knives at him, sticking him to the wall.
'This is fine - what did you wanna talk about?' I gently unlatched the knife from his hand. I bent down to check if he had any other weapons stashed about his person. A penknide in the back of his hood was all.
I tutted contemptuously. 'Bad, bad boy. Why'd you wanna hurt me?' I asked, little girly and sweet. 'What have I ever done to you?'
'Copied my style.' He spat, and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Thank god I was a good actress. 'You don't like me? You don't think I'm pretty?' I stuck out my chest and twirled my hair. He wavered, and asked; 'Why do you look like that?'
I had to be confident in myself now. I had to tell him the story. 'Once there was a girl, with many friends but limited family. One day, she decided to take a walk in the park.' I breathed, my chest tight. 'She took a nice, long walk. Met up with friends, went to the park. But then she decided to return home. So she did. Her parents were dead. They had been murdered, beaten viciously and cut into ribbons. The next day, it turns out a witness had seen the killer leave the house before I returned home. His description was read aloud on the news. "Shoulder length black hair." I grabbed my scirrors and cut my hair short. "Eyelids burnt out of his head." I got a lighter and let it demolish my lids. "A malicous grin sliced from ear to ear." I made a cut along my cheekbones, and the last part was the best. "Skin, bleached white." I grabbed the bleach and poured it all over my face. It has a lovely leathery feel, don't you think?'
