"Whatever doesn't kill me... had better start running."
•••
[ 〜 PARADOX 〜 ]
Paradox clutches the steering wheel tightly as she pulls out of Sunset Ridge's parking lot. Emily needs to stop meddling and mind her own business.
Paradox breathed a laugh, revelling in the idea of her next toy, excited to continue her game. After Snowy's murder, she had to stay low for a bit, lest the police connect the dots to her.
After being assured they had no idea it was her, Paradox decided to plan out her next act. Maybe she would play with this one, torture it a little more before she disappeared backstage again.
Turning into the driveway, Paradox parked her SUV before killing the engine. She hopped out of the car, converses hitting the asphalt. Entering her house, Paradox calls out a quick greeting to her mom before rushing up the stairs.
Objects are strewn messily across her room. Clothes heaped on the floor, pencils and other stationary scattered across her desk. A shelf in the corner holds her "diaries", but one look inside those flowery book covers is all it would take to realize that they contain many, many dark thoughts.
Probably way more than your average psychopath needs.
"What next?" she mutters, grabbing her brainstorm notebook off the shelf, which is padlocked as well. What murderer would be dumb enough to leave the evidence out in the open with no security?
She strolls into her closet, which is impeccably clean in comparison to her pigsty of a room. There are no clothes or baskets on the ground, just a white fur carpet.
Ironic, isn't it? That a bright, fluffy, white carpet of all things, hides her darkest, coldest, secrets.
Paradox lifts up the corner of the carpet, revealing a metal frame with a metal handle. She hooks her fingers underneath the metal and into the dent, heaving the trapdoor upwards.
The metal door lowers down into a dark, cold room. She carefully sets the metal down with a quiet thud, letting it click back into place. Feeling for the light switch to her left, Paradox turns the single light bulb on. As cliche as it can get.
Oh yeah, and there's also the classic bulletin with pictures, push pins, and yarn. She's such a classic psychopath.
In the center of the basement is a large metal table, with scribbled notes and crumpled pictures scattered across. Dozens of notebooks lie open, showcasing her murderous intentions.
The board is unusually blank, featuring only a picture of Tina wearing a cardigan and skinny jeans, paired with high tops. Paradox picks up her notebook, jotting down a new thought.
Hightops. Replace laces with stringy guts. Sinews, maybe.
Brightened by this sudden idea, Paradox walks into an adjoining room. This one is refrigerated, kept cold 24/7.
Paradox grabs the fresh lamb she shot dead from a local farm and heaves it onto the cold metal table. Walking over to the giant collection of weapons and tools hanging on the bare, blood splattered wall, she selects a medium-sized axe.
She arranges the lamb so that it's lying down normally, as if it was merely sleeping, not dead. Then, she swings up the axe, bringing it over her head and then down onto the lamb, severing its front leg.
The clean cut oozes blood as she pushes the rest of the body into a bin labeled "Spares". Pretty much every part of it could be used, be it food, making a new tool, or simply to scare the living daylights out of a victim.
YOU ARE READING
Your Chalk Outline
Mystery / Thriller[ 〜 ] I am Paradox, and The Death Board is dedicated to me. It's where I tack up the hints on who my next victim is. Yet nobody knows who I am. And when they finally start piecing the puzzle together, I'll already be gone. [ EMILY ] ...
