Page 79 of The Blue Rose
I get in her face, gripping her chin with a bruising force and making her look me in the eye. “Some people are a poison, a weed that needs to be plucked.” I stand and grab the torch, the anticipation heavy between us. “A leech that sucks the life out of you. You, Jessica, are both. You have bled me dry for the last time. I’m through being your personal punching bag. I’m done being the weak little girl you made feel small.”
I turn the torch on and stare into the fire. “Do you know how to kill leeches?” I ask, not bothering to look at her.
Her cries get louder, and I know she’s trying to scream.Little help that will do her when no one can hear.I look her dead in her terrified eyes, “You burn them.” I take the torch and place it on her arm, watching as her skin starts to bubble. The room smells like torched flesh as I work my way up and down her body with the flame.
This is power. This is me taking back the confidence and control she stole from me. Too long have I let her slowly kill me, slowly take the light my mom tried to give me. I was too weak before, but calling me crazy? Saying she was going to tell everyone? I had to do something.
She has to die.
I don’t think about the consequences, and I keep burning long after her screams have stopped. Watching her feel a semblance of the pain she caused me brought a sense of peace I’d been yearning for for years. This earth being rid of her is the greatest blessing I could have given anyone.
I untie her hands and start burning each fingerprint off. Even in my haze of retribution I remember all the murder documentaries I spent countless hours watching. Every little thing to do to make a person unidentifiable. Leaving no trace of who she once was, I walk back to the garage and grab pliers from my dads tool box, ready to start plucking every single tooth from her mouth.
Even if she is found, she will forever be a Jane Doe. Maybe I’ll set her up and display her like the Morbid Monet would do. Maybe he’d come and find me to punish me for being a copycat. The idea makes me giddy. He tortures his victims in different ways, I’d just have to finish with his signature. The murder would be blamed on him, despite it not being his normal victim profile, and I would never get caught. I’ve been fascinated with him for so long, if he saw me now would he spare me? Help me kill her?
I don’t hear the front door open or hear my dad call out my name. I’m too lost in the fantasy of being the accomplice to the Morbid Monet. It isn’t until he walks into the room and starts shaking me that I’m pulled from my dream.
“Serena! Oh my god; what did you do?!” He looks at the burnt body before him. “Who is that, Serena?”
“Jessica,” I say with a huge smile spreading across my face. I drop the pliers, finally done with my task, and my dad pulls me into him.
“Everything will be okay. I’ll take care of it. Just go shower, and we will talk about this later.”
I nod my head and leave the room.He’s a lot calmer than I thought he’d be.Granted, maybe he’s used to me being a killer now. First mom, now Jessica.I really am a monster.Got to hand it to him though, he gets the Best Dad in the World award for not turning me in.
Turning on the shower, I watch as the blood goes down the drain. Hypnotizing me as my sins wash away with it. I hear the door open to the bathroom and peek out to see my dad grabbing my bloody clothes. He shuts the door softly behind him, and I stare down at my hands. The hands of a killer. That's what I am now.
I leave the shower, heading straight to my room and completely forgetting about dinner. I close my eyes and wish to dream of my nightmares, to find comfort and acceptance in what I did.
I fall asleep, and that night I don’t dream, not about anything.
The next morning, I wake up and go straight to the room my dad turned into my studio. A place where I can escape and perfect my art without any worries of the world.
Sitting down at my easel, I start to paint, each brush stroke starting to blur. I don’t know what I’m painting until it’sfinished, and even then, I don’t understand. The canvas is of a faceless woman with cuts and burns all over her body and her teeth missing.
Looking at it starts to hurt my head, so I grab the red paint with shaky hands, my chest heaving, and throw it over the image. It looks like blood dripping over the image, hiding it away.
“Serena?” My dad pokes his head through the door, looking haggard and worn. “Is everything-” He stops talking as he stares at my painting, throwing it to the ground. “Have you lost your mind?!” He screams, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “Why would you paint that?!”
Tears well in my eyes, my voice wobbly. ”What do you mean? I just started painting.”
“Do you have any idea what this could do? Ijustgot rid of the evidence and you go and paint it?” He stops shaking at me, the vein in his neck throbbing.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What evidence?”
He turns his head, sympathy coating his eyes. “You don’t remember what happened last night?”
“No,” I whisper,
“Oh, Serena.” He pulls me into him, rubbing my back.
I pull out of his arms, confusion swirling through me.“What happened, Dad?”
“Nothing, baby; nothing happened.” He lets me go and walks over to the painting. “I’m just going to take this.” Then he leaves, leaving me there alone, wondering what he was talking about.
What happened last night? Why did he get so upset when he saw the painting?I put everything away with stilted movements.I don’t understand. What don’t I remember?
TWENTY-SEVEN
