Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 17 - Avery

I act quicker than she can say Happy Ever After.

Her eyes widen in disbelief and denial. I stare straight into them with no expression except the toothy grimace smeared across my face.

I sit idly by as she falls down and grows fainter.

"I just have one quick question for you, my sweetness," I declare, "how did you find me? I wore a wig and contact lenses when I last paid a visit, how did you find out who I was?"

With the pain and the life slowly leaving her body, she muffles through wine-stained lips, "I'm not the only one with a grudge."

I let her cold words roll off my back as I lean down and press my lips against her earlobe. "The clock's struck midnight, Cinderella. Time for you to turn back into a pumpkin."

This goes against all of my rules. It's during the day...in a very public area...with no exit strategy...no disguise...I don't even have gloves on. My fingerprints are going to be all over the little princess and amongst all the commotion there are bound to be some strands of my hair either on her or close by.

Then again, what was I meant to do? She ambushed me, I had no idea she was going to do that. Most people who are seeking vengeance break into your house and sit creepily in the corner until you get home, don't they?

With my hair slicked back into a bun and my sleeves pulled over my hands, I attempt to wipe some of the evidence off her and the knife – even though I know it will make little difference.

She couldn't have chosen a more clichéd place to attack me than an alleyway. It makes it difficult for me to get creative when I try to conceal her sleeping body.

I scan the surrounding area in hope of a Cinderella-shaped hole that just happens to be here and is just about to get covered in cement the very same day. Unfortunately, I have no such luck.

Against my better judgement, I resort to laying her to rest in the skip on a soft bed

Before throwing her in to join the trash, I take out the top layer of bin bags and cover her with them. I chuck the knife in with her – there's no way I'm keeping hold of that thing.

Luckily, it is only my jacket that is stained with blood so at least there is something good going for me. That would have been a little more difficult to clean up.

It is obvious that my half-arsed clean up won't keep her hidden for long, mainly since the stench of her bodily fluids greeting the rest of the skip is radiating waves that are pretty much visible – and it hasn't even been ten minutes.

I catch my breath after all the heavy lifting and fling my bag back over my shoulder. Taking one last glance around before I head back the way I came and re-enter civilisation.

I check my phone for the time – though it felt as though time had stopped, I have only been in the alley for twenty minutes, thank goodness. That makes it less odd that I up and left my things in the Cosy Coffee for so long.

I have both mine and Cinderella's blood splattered on my clothes, face and hands. Like that isn't at all suspicious.

Keeping my head low to avoid the nosey stare of others, I pace into the coffee shop and head straight to the toilets.

I strip off my jacket, roll up my shirt sleeves and blast the water. I scrub my hands so vigorously, I'm pretty sure I remove several layers of skin in doing so. It takes a good couple of minutes for my hands to turn from a deep crimson to a mere rose hue and I know that's as good as it's going to get. You'd be surprised how tricky that stuff is to wash off.

I repeat the process with my face, with a slightly lighter touch, inhaling sharply every time I go over a bruised area. The side of my jaw is only a little red at the moment, but that is going to be a pain to cover up. That little brat.

I don't even look at my jacket. It was leather and pretty pricey, I might add. There is no way that stain is coming out and I'm not about to put my neck on the line for a jacket, no matter how pretty it is. I shove it in my bag with the mind-set to burn it when I get home. Even thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

I admire myself in the mirror, combing fingers through my tatty hair and touching up faint blemishes to make myself more presentable.

I recall what Cinderella said with her last breath. I'm not the only one with a grudge...

Who on earth could she have meant? None of my friends know about my extracurricular activities and I make damn sure none of my victims are able to ID me or find anything out about me. Besides, Cinderella was in the only tale in which I left someone who witnessed it alive, wasn't she?

I'm completely stumped and I feel myself losing brain cells by overthinking it, so I shove it to the back of my mind for the moment. At least until I get back home.

Somehow the day has sped on and it is late in the afternoon now and peak time for the Cosy Coffee.

Aiming to grab my stuff and split, I sit back in my corner and begin to pack away my computer and random documents which are just there to look pretty.

I'm just about to get up and go when a large, rough hand appears on the table. My eyes follow a thick black trail of hairs on tanned skin to find its owner and are greeted by a tall brown-eyed man staring back at me.

Puzzled, I frown and wait for him to inform me as to why his hand is on my table.

The corners of his mouth slowly turn up, revealing his impeccably white teeth which the light so smoothly bounces off. In a deep, husky voice he says, "Hi."

You might want to avoid the use of the word 'trash' 3 times in this segment – find another word for one or two of them?