Lacey's Song

He did it. He actually did it. He didn't think he would, but he did. He killed her.

Did he feel bad about it? No, of course not. Sure, she didn't do anything to deserve it, but did that mean he felt bad? Of course not. In fact, he felt great. The thirst that he had been ignoring for years had finally been quenched. It's not his fault that she was the only one around when he decided to quench it.

Was he crazy for killing his daughter just because he felt like it? He doubted it. Sure, his daughter was innocent, but does that mean he was crazy for killing her? Nope.

He looked at his daughter's mangled and bloody body. A work of art, He thought. And it truly was. He had so beautifully murdered her. She wasn't his victim. She was his masterpiece.

A wave of shock flooded through his body, as his daughter's seemingly lifeless figure began coughing up blood.

"Daddy," she croaked. "I'm sorry that I made you-" She coughed up another pool of scarlet before continuing. "I'm sorry I made you mad, daddy. I really am."

Her voice, at that point, was just a delicate, but struggled whisper. She tried to think back onto what she could have done to have led him to this, but her mind was too hazy. She had already lost too much blood.

He stared at her in astonishment. How was she still alive? He could have sworn that he had done his job well enough..

He shook his head. It didn't matter. The rapid growth of the scarlet pool that surrounded her was proof that she didn't have much longer to live. She knew that, and as hard as she tried not to be, she was scared. Absolutely terrified.

She gasped, realizing that she was beginning to hate him for this. But hate her daddy? Sure, he may have attemted to kill her for no reason, but he still loved her. Right?

With her last breath of air, she gasped out one last blood coated sentence.

"I'll never forgive you for this, Daddy."

With that, she collapsed. She was dead, and knowing this caused a pang of guilt to hit him. He stared at her battered and bloody body once more. Her pale blue eyes took over a glassy look. Her long, flowing brown hair was now tangled and matted with blood. Her porcelain perfect skin was now stained with crimson pain.

He couldn't leave her like this. He couldn't. Up into his arms went her petite body. He took her from the kitchen into the master bathroom, a trail of her innocent blood following him. He rested her on the floor, and took off her bloody dress.

He started a bath for her in the large claw-footed bathtub. He put her ripped and stained dress in it's own garbage bag, along with her shoes and undergarments. He needed to dispose of these, but he stopped before reaching the garbage can.

What if someone found the bloodied clothes?

He knew he'd be tracked down and thrown in jail, and he couldn't let that happen. He set the bag aside, making a mental note to burn the clothes later.

With bleach and a rag, he began scrubbing the blood off of the floor, first from the carpet, and then from the tile of the kitchen floor. It was tough, but he managed to conceal the blood.

Rushing back to the bathroom, he began forming a plan in his head. Of course the neighbors would ask where she was. But what would he say? He could tell them she went to visit her mother...

But wait. Her mother died years ago, and everyone knew, because the day of the funeral, his little girl had gone missing. Everyone in town had to look for her. Thankfully, she was found by the evening time in a little forgotten tree house in the woods.