Page 17 of Collateral Damage

I hear dull music coming from behind the bedroom door, it's faint but angry, thudding through the building like an earthquake followed by a rhythmic beating, but it's not the music.That's fists. She's punching something and a knot sits in the back of my mouth at all the possible reasons I am not her punching bag right now as I lay here wrapped up in a blanket like an ill child being looked after by a parent. She's a serial killer. She's a murderer. She murdered my parents yet I'm sitting here fighting against all the reasons I should feel grateful right now. She put me here. This is all her fault. I nearly died because of her. No. I did die because of her,but why do I feel drawn to her Walmart version of kindness. This isn't your typical killer, none of this is as I expected and I certainly didn't think she'd save my life.

I'm left with so many conflicting emotions it makes me want to scream. I want to die. I don't want to be here; she needs to fucking respect that and finish what she started.

I hear a door unlatch, the high pitch grinding against the heavy bass, the volume increasing until the door shuts again, muffling the music. The bedroom door unlocks to reveal her in a black long tee, probably to cover any tattoos I could identify if I got out, and joggers with the pockets hanging out , she’s holding a glass of water and a packet in her hand that she slips into her pocket as she heaves like a worn-out dog. Not sweating enough to melt off her hideous face paint though as she puts the glass down next to me.

This has become her routine. I don't know how many days I've been out for. But it’s been enough to know this isn't her third, fourth or fifth time. I've been practically unresponsive. I don't see what joy she gets out of this when she could just put me out of my misery and carry on with her psychotic tendencies.

“Don't you have people to murder?...” I sit up slowly, feeling like a sack of bricks as my weak arms hold the weight of me.

“Bold of you to assume I'm not.” She dabs her forehead with the towel slumped over her shoulder as she takes a seat on her new bed in the corner of the room. She catches me off guard as she whistles at such high velocity my ears knot, followed by the sight of a four legged friend that strolls in, perching underneath her feet, analysing me like I’m a stranger and I am a stranger, but I am also sort of happy to see another form of life other than hers in my prison cell, despite the size of her canine friend. It’s practically twice the size of me and my guard comes back up for a brief moment.

“Are you?” I swallow and I don't know why I even asked, glaring at the both of them.

“Yes.” Without hesitation she responds, looking at me through black hooded eyes, darting across the room as she picks up a water bottle off the floor.“Does that scare you,Puppet?” I deter my eyes, looking down at my shackles, fiddling with my nails to ease my nerves. It scares me, but the way she is so careless with murder fascinates me.

“Why…why did you save me?” She could get her fix right here but she chooses to do it elsewhere.Am I not her murdering type?

“Save isn't exactly the word I'd use.” I cock a brow as she leans into the chair, elbows resting on her knees as her fingers interlock.If that wasn't saving then what the hell was it?“The only person allowed to take your miserable life. Is me.” So she does want to kill me eventually. She's angry I tried to take my lifeso she couldn't get off to it? “What better kill than completing a triangle aye?”

She knocks her frame back into the seat smiling like a psych ward patient, running the arms of the chair between her hands, like just thinking about it is making her hot and bothered and I feel sick. I know exactly what she means. She means killing off the offspring to end the family name. Like that's a trophy achievement.

“You know. I was starting to think there was just a smidget ofkindnessinside of you. Turns out you're just like the rest of them.” My words are feisty, accentuating my letters making it known I'm disgusted by her but that anger quickly turns to fear as she shoots up from her chair making my lifeless body glitch, gripping my delicate throat in her burning hand as she reaches me, it sears into my cold skin and I lose my ability to breathe from lack of oxygen and shock.

“Let's get one thing very fucking clear.” She's squeezing tighter. I could retaliate right now. I have the arm room but for some reason I'm sat as still as the dead girl inside of me, peering into the eyes ofmy end.Finding comfort in the thought of blacking out for a few hours.

“Nothing about me isKind. You think me feeding you and keeping you breathing is for your benefit? Keep seeing the good in people and watch where it gets you. You're a body bag.My plaything. I take great pleasure in keeping you alive because I know how desperately you want todie,” my stomach churns with disgust, she is like the rest of them. She is a pig. She's vile and once I gather back my strength. I'm getting the fuck out of here, or I’ll die trying. My eyes well but not with sadness as of right now. With anger.My Plaything?I'm not a chew toy, I am a human being, I am a grievinggirl, captured by the devil disguised inside a human body.

“Do I make myself clear?” My head is thrown forward as she tugs at my limp body, demanding a reply but I refuse to answer with words, so I nod sporadically as a tear slips free.

“Good girl,” her thumb runs over my left cheek, catching my tear gently before a sharp sting strikes my right cheekbone, slapping the grief from my face before letting me suck back in air.“But you’ll learn to use your words.”

She pulls away and takes the packet she was holding out of her pocket containing an insulin pen. She must have been doing it whilst I was unconscious. How does she even know what that is or what to do with it? How did she get it?

She attempts to try and do it for me but over my dead body will she punish me again with my own life as leverage.

“I will do it!...” I snap, narrowing my eyes as I pull my body away from the needle. Her eyes are so dead, like no one is home. Like she's inhabited the body of a corpse as she glares down at me, chucking it on the bed by my side.

“Suit yourself.” I take the pen, clawing it underneath my hand as I tuck my knees in on myself glaring up at her like a child who's been told to go to bed. I follow her as she bends to my level, taking the form of my own claustrophobia as her face paint rubs against my cheek.

“If you keep things from me, orlieto me again. I will show you just how‘Kind’I am.” she whispers with such aggression my heart flutters, sucking down my urge to test her but I won't.

Not yet.

“Or I might just let him tear you apart…” Her eyes dart to her left where her canine sits, glaring at the both of us and I know I’m not afraid of dogs. But I also know not to mess with one. Who knows what her dog is capable of when its owner is a literal crazy person.

C H A P T E R 11

MY PRODIGY

Puppeteer

You've got to be shitting me. I leave her alone for an hour and she's already managed to wangle her way out the cuffs and obliterate my house. I'm taking it she's back to herself again, it's been a week and all I've done is coddle her like a paranoid parent.I really need to get a grip.

Call me obsessive, but I've been looking up her treatment and after hours of research and losing fucking brain cells I managed to get my hands on her prescription.Why is this crap so complicated?But at least we haven't got to worry about this bullshit again. Can't say the doctor enjoyed my company too much though. It was a risky operation but now I've got enough to supply her until she's grey and old. Not that she will be around for that, but maybe it will come in handy for other shit. Who knows.

I lock the garage door behind me keeping Shep in to stay out of any possible harm as I creep my way deeper inside the house, smashed up plates crunching beneath my steel toe boots. I know she's here because there is no other way out which keeps me calm. I know she's a smart girl but she hasn't spent six years behind bars. There are only a handful of rooms she could be in and most are fairly empty so I don't exactly know where she thought she was going to hide. But fuck it, why not scare her a little.

“One, two, Daddy's coming for you…three, four,Puppet,run for that door…” I echo down the hallway. I've spent four years hunting down one singular man across the US and she thinks she can hide from me in my own home? It's rather amusing, although I'll admit, she's good. The living room, my bedroom, bathroom and the kitchen are clear and the door to the garage is still locked which leaves the spare room. She's a petite little thing so hiding in a cupboard would not be far fetched for her.

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