Twisted

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Megan found herself at the library about ten minutes after she had met Alice for coffee. She was on a mission-to find out who Felicity Anne really was. She stopped after pushing the doors open. Same librarian peering at her through thick glasses, same old books gathering dust on the lonesome shelves, same echoing quality the building had on her quiet footfalls.

The normalcy was welcome, as Megan's past few days had been anything but normal. She padded to the newspapers and archives section, the thick carpet absorbing any noise that tried to escape into the air.

Settling into a high-backed chair, Megan picked up a few documents-some newspapers from about six years ago. After skimming through the first few papers with no luck, Megan leaned back, massaging her temples with the hope of retrieving some sort of useful information to help her with her quest.

Something caught the corner of her eye. Megan reached down to grab a sheet of misplaced paper. The headline glared at her mockingly. It read the following:

TREVOR MULHEIM DEAD AT AGE 23

Megan shut her eyes against the unwelcome memories that came unbidden. She recalled being eleven years old, and a frequent news watcher. She still remembered the awful story of how the man's wife, Christy, had flown into a psychotic rage and murdered not only her husband, but her eleven year old daughter, Rose. Who also happened to be her best friend at the time.

Silent tears slipped from her eyes. Megan sniffed and wiped them away. "No." she told herself firmly. "You're not going to do this."

Resigning herself to this, she glanced at the photo that was printed next to the article. Megan's eyes widened. The picture... Christy Mulheim looked exactly like Felicity.

**********

Megan did a double-take, not believing her initial thought, however the second look comfirmed it. They had the same nose, the same mouth, the same arching eyebrows, the same cartoonish green eyes. The only disconcernible difference was the crazed look in Christy's eyes. Felicity Anne and Christy Mulheim were positively related, no questions asked. Felicity was obviously her daughter. But she never had another child after she was admitted to the mental hospital off of twenty-third street. The only other one was Rose-Megan squeezed her blue eyes shut tight, even after she merely thought the name-and she was gone.

Yet again, the image of Felicity Anne worked its way into Megan's mind. She shivered as chills ran down her back. The temperature in the dusty building seemed to drop ten degrees. Megan became suddenly aware of every little creak of the old library settling in its foundation, every rustle of her clothes when she inhaled. Her back became rigid as her heartbeat started racing wildly. Someone-or something-was in the room.

"Do you need anything, dear?"

Megan nearly jumped a foot in the air upon hearing the old librarian's voice. Trying to calm her heart, she turned and shook her head, a wavering smile on her face. "I'm alright. Thank you, though."

"Okay, if you insist." The librarian's face displayed a look of concern. "A little jumpy?"

Megan nodded meekly.

"Yes, this old library will do that to you. Let me know if you need anything."

"Alright."

The librarian's footsteps faded away. Megan leaned back in the wooden chair and started to come up with an explanation for her strange instincts. "Well, this library can barely afford the books, let alone heat. I'm sure that's why it seemed colder." thought Megan to herself. This rationalizing helped to calm her down somewhat. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't been alone.

Megan couldn't stand being alone any longer than she had already been subjected to, so she said her goodbyes and got the heck out of there.

***************

"Have you spotted the target?" A man's gruff voice spoke, the noise crackling over the international connection.

"Target spotted." came the reply.

"Alright. Fire when ready. Aim to kill. Don't hesitate. This is it, this is your chance, after our last attempt failed. Don't think-just do."

The young boy closed his eyes, not wanting to believe what he was about to do. With shaking hands, he lifted the heavy rifle up on his shoulder. Aiming as close as he could, he gulped.

And he pulled the trigger.

**************

Megan screamed. A real, bloody-murder scream, which might end up being the outcome. She knew something had been wrong when she walked out of the library.

She stumbled and fell, clutching her shoulder, slick with blood, as she managed to walk about four feet before collapsing. The shot was still resonating in her ears. "Again?" was her only coherent thought. Contrary to the car crash, however, Megan was still very much conscious.

She pulled her hand away from her right shoulder. It came away crimson and wet with the blood that was pouring from her wound. Megan looked up from her knees for a moment in a feeble attempt to catch some glimpse of her assailant. She saw nothing but the shining sun in the periwinkle sky, and a young girl with distinctive emerald eyes, bolting away from the scene.

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A\N: I had major writer's block when I wrote this, so I'm not too sure about the quality. Seems predictable, right? Just bear in mind that things are not always as they seem. :)