Penhallow

VI

Bree POV

I was excited for the night. My parents were leaving to visit grandma and Gray agreed for a sleepover at my house. It had been long since we had some private time together, what with demanding works at school. I was cleaning some old stuff in my room deciding what to throw and what not. Gray won't be arriving until maybe eight or nine and it was only four in the afternoon. By five o'clock, there are only three boxes left to clean. I kept a lot of old stuffs for I hate throwing things with memories. Each of my things had a significant value to me, though we do have to let them go sometime. I decided to take a break for a while. I went to the kitchen to eat some snack only to see our limited and boring supply. I rolled my eyes. Mom always forgets to refill our goods, unless it was literally and obviously empty. I decided to go to a grocery store and do some fast shopping. I went to buy junk foods, can juices and some pasta to cook later for an evening snack. I also bought scotch tapes for repacking since I ran out it.

When I went back home, Mom and Dad were ready to go. They were running on a tight schedule because they are taking the last southbound trip on train. They were in a hurry putting the bags inside a service car when I approached them. Dad gave me a hug before going inside the passenger's seat. Mom kissed me goodbye while she informed me that Gray has arrived and is inside. She asked me to say goodbye for them. I watched the car until it's out of sight before going inside. I brought the foods first directly to the kitchen before going to the living room but Gray wasn't there. He's not in the living room.

My heart thumping inside my chest, I ran hurriedly upstairs to my room, opening the door with a bang. The plastic bags I was left holding cluttered down the carpet when I saw him sitting on my bed. My gaze fell first on his lap, with my sketch pad still visibly open, to his left hand holding his cell phone, to his right hand hanging empty in the air, then to the obviously fallen photograph on the bed. An old photograph of me and my dead sister. I was planning to throw all of those things before he arrives. He's too early. I looked and met his eyes.

Ahhh... he knew.

Gray is clever and usually fast catching up on things. Putting two and two together is way too easy for him. Too bad.

Killing is very easy. There are no rules, no further instructions, nor tight leashed preparations needed in doing it. Sherlock Holmes said that there is no perfect crime. He is right. And he is also wrong. A crime need not be perfect. You just have to avoid three things for it to appear perfect- avoid being seen, avoid being caught and avoid being alone. Of course, doing it red-handed is downright stupid, as well as leaving any evidence. The third one is most important. Make it appear that you are in one place when in reality you are in another. A perfect alibi. Sounds so easy, yet you have to pull it off carefully.

My first victim was my sister Riley. We were never close. She hated me since I was born, according her. She had this insecurity issue even as a child, thinking that I took the affection that was solely hers from our parents. A natural bitch that she was. She was clever though, I gave her that. Acting like a doting sister in front of everyone and then pulling my hair the very seconds were alone. I told these things to my parents but adults had their way of twisting things. Always acting so mature, letting the kids live their lives as... well, as kids, while they went off doing their adult things. Mr. Boss Teddy was a gift given to me by my parents when I turned seven. My sister, who was the incarnation of the seven deadly sins, used to take it away from me just because I love Boss Teddy so much. I was so small at that time and couldn't take action against her. This treatment from her lasted until I was 12 years old and she, a fully-grown 16 years old. Very mature. The day of her death is the day I had had enough. I didn't know what came over me. It was so sudden. So unexpected. One minute she was shoving away from the stairs and the next she was falling down the stairs. I pushed her down. It was an urge. A sudden urge and I acted on it. My first reaction was fear of what I did. But there was also a curious bit of pleasure when I saw her there lying broken on the floor. My sister might had have make it alive. But I didn't call my parents. We never had servants at home for my mom dislike strangers at house. And so no one knew. I went back to my room to sleep. My sister died of broken neck. It was, after all, a steep fall. She nearly died of blood loss too. She would be double dead by then. They all deemed it as an accident. That was the only time I saw my parents cry.

I should have known by then that there was something wrong with me. I didn't feel any pang of regret at all, nor grief. Just an odd feeling of satisfaction. I know that what I did was bad but it didn't feel wrong to me. I kept it silent. And I lived my days normally after that. I was sometimes haunted by my sister's death. Just the memories it, not the fear. I didn't realize it by then, that when I pushed my sister down the stairs, something inside me was lost. Maybe it was fear or a chain binding me to morality. In any case I lost it that time, only to realize it gone just several years later. Something like 'I did it before, why not again?".

My sister's death was kind of accidental. My second kill was intentional. I planned it. It happened when I was fourteen during middle school. Bullies are normal in schools. No matter how much you report them, they remain resilient. And we had one-Barry Quinn. I think he had a crush on me before for I was the sole focus of his bullying. Well, I was not the only one he bullied, just one among the dozens, but he did give me special treatment. Thanks, but no thanks, Barry. He used to pick jokes on me, laugh at me, trip me, throw paper at me, vandal my things, steal my stuffs and steal my foods. I hated him. Bullies are not that much to kill. But Barry was also special to me as I was to him. That fateful I baked myself some muffins. I know how. Mrs. Harrolds, our old dead neighbour, taught me just before she died. I usually went to her house whenever my parents were at work to avoid Riley. My parents didn't know that I baked muffins. I poisoned it. By age 14 I was good with my studies. I was a sucker for information with main focus in sciences. My parents being doctors was a bonus. Knowing what is poison and what is not is easy. I can prepare one too... since I had easy access to chemicals at my parent's clinic. Just needed to be discreet.

That afternoon at school, I purposely waited for him to be alone before. When I did have the opportunity, I gave him the muffins without saying a word. I just stood there holding it out to him. He was shocked, it was the first time I faced him without any obvious sign of hostility. But he looked pleased as well (maybe he really did have a crush on me). I really couldn't understand how the mind of a bully works. He easily took the bait being the glutton that he was. He didn't even say thank you, he just smiled victoriously. Manners. The poison in the muffins was designed to work slowly. It was dangerous in small amounts. Barry ate all four muffins. It was the second to the last period when Barry collapsed from stomach pain. He was brought to a clinic then transferred to a hospital. The chemical I prepared is lethal and untraceable. Thanks Mr. Google! I was a little worried that he told his friends that I gave him muffins. It turned out he didn't had time to do so. He died sometime after that. Luckily, Barry ate anything and everything. Moreover, no one suspected murder from fourteen years old. They reported it as food poisoning. I had homemade lunches after that for a year, courtesy of my mom.