Bad Daughter

[accuscripter]

As she entered her apartment, the faint metallic scent hit her, a sharp and unpleasant tang that sent a shiver down her spine. She hesitated, the unfamiliar smell unsettling in the place she considered her sanctuary. She locked the door behind her with trembling fingers, the click of the lock sounding unusually loud in the oppressive silence. She reached out to find the socket on the foyer wall, her fingertips brushing against the cool, smooth surface.

The darkness was thick and enveloping, making the familiar layout of her home feel strange and alien. Every step she took felt uncertain, her heart pounding in her chest as she fumbled for the light switch. The metallic scent grew stronger, more pungent, as if it were seeping into her very pores.

It was all unusual, but it was not all unusual for her, she knew what she was walking into. As she walked forward, her foot landed on something soft and yielding. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Panic surged through her veins, her body reacting instinctively to the unexpected sensation. In the pitch darkness, she couldn't see what she had stepped on, but the feel of it under her foot was enough to send her spiraling into fear. She lost her balance, her legs giving way as she fell to the floor, the impact jarring her senses. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her mind racing to make sense of what was happening. The darkness seemed to press in around her, amplifying every sound, every sensation. She lay still for a moment, her heart pounding in her ears, before she tried to sit up, her hands shaking. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the silence, steady and deliberate. She looked up, straining to see in the dark, her eyes wide with fear. A figure emerged from the shadows, its presence marked by the bright rims of their spectacles and the unsettling gleam of its teeth. The sight was surreal, almost ghostly, as if the darkness itself had taken shape and come to life.

The figure walked over her, it footsteps were soft yet purposeful, and she felt a cold dread wash over her. The person moved with a calm confidence, unaffected by her presence on the floor. She watched, paralyzed by fear, as it reached the front door, opened it, and paused. For a brief moment, the figure looked back at her, the glint of glasses catching the faint light from the hallway outside. Then, without a word, it slipped out into the night, leaving her alone in the oppressive darkness.

The next morning, the city was abuzz with a horrifying headline: "Two Sisters Found Dead in Their Apartment." Every news channel covered the story in gruesome detail. The post-mortem revealed no signs of torture or struggle. It was as if they had simply ceased to live, leaving behind a chilling mystery.

Detective Sarah Blake stood outside the apartment building, her mind racing. She knew she had to tread carefully; this case was different. The lack of struggle, the precision—it all pointed to a calculated mind, someone who knew exactly what they were doing. As she entered the apartment, the faint metallic smell still lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the night's events.

Inside, the crime scene was eerily calm. The bodies of the two sisters lay peacefully, their faces serene as if they had just drifted off to sleep. Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew that the killer was someone close, someone who understood the sisters' lives intimately.

Vivian Donovan's day began like any other. She woke up at dawn, her routine as precise as a clockwork mechanism. After a brisk morning run along the river, she returned to her penthouse apartment, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted her. The view from her window was breathtaking, the city sprawled out below, vibrant and full of life.

She dressed in a crisp, tailored suit, her movements deliberate and graceful. Breakfast was a simple affair, a smoothie packed with nutrients to fuel her busy day. Vivian was known for her discipline, her dedication to maintaining the perfect balance between work and personal life. At her office, she was the epitome of professionalism. Colleagues admired her for her sharp mind and unwavering focus. Meetings, phone calls, and emails filled her schedule, yet she managed it all with an effortless ease. Her assistant, Julia, ensured everything ran smoothly, anticipating her needs before she even voiced them.

By midday, Vivian was in full swing, negotiating deals, making decisions that could change the course of businesses. Her reputation as a formidable businesswoman was well-earned, built on years of hard work and an uncanny ability to read people. As the day wound down, she took a moment to herself, reflecting on her achievements and planning her next moves. Her evenings were reserved for social events, networking dinners, and charity galas, where she dazzled everyone with her charm and intelligence. But tonight was different. As she sipped her wine at a charity event, her mind wandered back to the headlines of the morning. The gruesome discovery of the two sisters had shaken the community. She engaged in polite conversation, her exterior calm and composed, yet inside, her thoughts raced.

Detective Blake couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something. The calmness of the crime scene, the precision—it was all too perfect. She delved into the sisters' lives, searching for clues that might lead her to the truth.

Vivian returned home late, the city's skyline twinkling like a field of stars. She settled into her plush armchair, the events of the day swirling in her mind. She knew the investigation would intensify, that the detectives would leave no stone unturned. She smiled to herself, a small, enigmatic smile. Vivian Donovan was used to staying one step ahead. The game had begun, and she was ready to play.

Now, the story of betrayal, deceit, and hidden identities will start to unfold, with secrets lurking in the shadows and a murderer moving silently among them, its true nature yet to be revealed. So stay tuned...


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[accuscripter]

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the sleek, modern office. Vivian Donovan was engrossed in her work, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she reviewed the latest financial reports. The hum of activity surrounded her, a constant backdrop to her focused productivity. A knock at the door pulled her from her concentration. She looked up to see Mark, one of the junior executives, standing in the doorway. He was grinning, but there was something unsettling in his eyes.

"Vivian, do you have a minute?" he asked, stepping into her office without waiting for an answer. His tone was too familiar, too confident. She nodded, motioning for him to sit. Instead, he walked around her desk, leaning in close. "You know, Vivian, I've always admired your... determination," he said, his hand brushing against her arm. Vivian's body tensed. She was no stranger to the lecherous advances of men who mistook her professionalism for something else. But Mark had crossed a line. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. "I think you should leave," she said, her voice cold and unwavering. Mark chuckled, moving closer. "Come on, Vivian. We both know you're not as tough as you pretend to be." Before he could react, Vivian grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. Her voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "If you ever touch me again, you'll regret it." She released him, and he stumbled to his feet, a mixture of fear and anger on his face. Without another word, he left the office, slamming the door behind him.

Vivian sank back into her chair, her hands shaking slightly. She had made sure Mark learned his lesson, but the encounter stirred memories she had tried to bury. That night, she fell onto her comfy sofa, tears rolling down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, and the past came rushing back.

In the chaos of that fateful night, Vivian found herself facing a man twice her size, his eyes filled with cruel intentions. She had been pushed to the brink, every ounce of her being screaming for survival. As he lunged at her, she felt something deep inside her awaken—a monstrous strength she had always harbored but never unleashed. This monster within her had been nurtured for years, feeding on the fear and anger she felt every time her father beat her mother. Those memories, etched into her psyche, had forged a resilience and a latent fury that now erupted with primal force. The man grabbed her, his grip like a vise, but Vivian's fear transformed into a focused, deadly intent. She lashed out with all her might, aiming for his most vulnerable spots. She jabbed her fingers into his eyes, blinding him temporarily. As he recoiled, she used the moment to deliver a crushing blow to his throat, cutting off his air supply.

He gasped, his hands instinctively going to his neck, and she didn't relent. She brought her knee up with brutal precision, slamming it into his groin. The man doubled over in pain, and Vivian seized the opportunity. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her thumbs pressing into his windpipe with relentless pressure. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her stronger than she ever thought possible. She used her body weight to keep him down, squeezing with all her might. His struggles grew weaker, his gasps more desperate. She didn't let go until she felt his body go limp beneath her, the life drained from his eyes. As she stood over the lifeless body, her breath ragged and heart pounding, she caught sight of Emily.

Her best friend, who had been laughing from the shadows, suddenly stopped. The look in Emily's eyes was one of pure terror. She had never expected Vivian to fight back, let alone kill him and nor did Vivian ever thought that Emily her best friend for life would throw her infront of hideous monsters thirsty for her life. For a moment, their eyes locked. Vivian's gaze was filled with a mix of betrayal and fury, a silent condemnation of Emily's cowardice and betrayal. Emily, realizing the gravity of what had just happened, turned and fled. She disappeared into the night, her laughter replaced by the sound of her hurried footsteps. It was as if she had never been there, leaving Vivian alone with the aftermath of her desperate struggle for survival.

Vivian staggered back, her breath ragged, staring at the lifeless body before her. The monster within her had taken over, driven by the years of suppressed rage and fear. She had always known it was there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for a moment like this to break free. In the aftermath, she realized that this inner beast, born from her traumatic childhood, had saved her life. She had protected herself and her chastity, but the cost was a part of her humanity. As she looked down at the man she had killed, she knew she could never go back to who she was before. The monster was a part of her now, a dark guardian that had emerged from the shadows of her past.

Vivian wiped her tears and removed her arm from her eyes. It's been 20 years already. An awkward darkness of gloom filled the room, but a villainous smirk played on her lips. She sat upright, pouring herself a glass of grape juice from the decanter in front of her.

As she took the first sip, she whispered to herself, "Well, he deserved it." Her laughter echoed through the penthouse, a chilling reminder of the lengths she would go to protect herself.

Meanwhile, Detective Sarah Blake was tirelessly rechecking and analyzing every CCTV footage and report from the crime scene. Something was missing, a detail she couldn't quite grasp. She delved into the sisters' history, discovering that they were common workers at a local food factory.

The sisters were notorious for their vicious comments, always joking and mocking those around them. Their behavior had earned them plenty of enemies, but there was nothing that pointed directly to a motive for their murders.

Sarah rubbed her temples, frustration mounting. The sisters' habits hinted that they must have had people who hated them but finding that one person among many was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

She knew she was close, but the pieces of the puzzle refused to fit together. Determined, she pushed on, aware that time was running out and that the killer was still out there, hiding in plain sight.



Your support, fuel my creativity and help me craft more thrilling and suspense stories like this one. Your support means everything to me, and I'd be forever grateful if you joined me on this writing adventure.follow me on patreon.com/Accuscripter

 

[readsalot]

Watched, looking forward to the next chapter

 

[accuscripter]

Sarah Blake stood in the cold, sterile room of the forensics lab, reexamining the bodies of the two sisters. It had been four days since their deaths, and yet, there was no trace of the killer. The sisters lay naked on the slabs before her, their faces pale and devoid of the usual signs of trauma she had grown accustomed to seeing in her twenty-year career.

The door behind her creaked open, and she sensed the presence of her husband, Lieutenant John Blake. A dark-skinned man with a strong, determined visage, John had been her rock through many tough cases.

"What do you think happened to these girls?" John asked, his voice low and troubled.

Sarah shook her head. "Nothing like I've ever seen before. But I think I've heard of a similar case—victims found dead without any suspicious symptoms, the killer never caught."

John's eyes met hers, a look of understanding passing between them. "You think it's the same case? The same killer?" Sarah turned her face toward him, her expression resolute. "I want to see those case reports. Whoever saw that case, I need to talk to them."

She moved toward the exit, her mind racing with possibilities. John followed her but then paused, turning back to the lifeless bodies on the slabs. He murmured something under his breath, a prayer or perhaps a promise, before gently covering the sisters' faces with white sheets and silently leaving behind his wife.

Meanwhile, in the office, Mark was staring at Vivian like a moth drawn to a flame, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance. He knew that messing with Vivian was a mistake, yet his toxic masculinity drove him to assert his dominance, even if it meant courting danger.

Laura entered the office, her demeanor suspicious and tense. As Vivian looked up, Laura hesitated, her hands clenching the files she carried. She placed the files on Vivian's desk, her hands slick with sweat. Vivian's eyes narrowed as she sensed something was off. Laura was like a sister to her, and Vivian loved and protected her very much. The entire office knew of their close bond and dared not cross Laura, especially in front of Vivian.

"Sweetie, what's the matter? All good?" Vivian's words snapped Laura out of her trance.

She looked up, forcing a smile. "Nah, I'm all good." Vivian could tell something was wrong.

Laura's eyes were red, and her face was pale. Vivian stood, drawing the curtains around her office before approaching Laura. She pulled Laura into a hug, her concern deepening.

"Laura, what's happened, dear?" Laura looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "It's my mom. She's sick, and I'm really worried about her."

Vivian relaxed slightly but knew Laura wasn't telling the whole truth. She helped her wipe her tears and squatted to Laura's height.

"You know I'm always here for you, right? You must tell me if there is anything, okay?" Laura smiled weakly. "I should go back. I've been in the office for quite a while now."

She picked up the files and moved toward the door.

Vivian, sitting on the edge of her desk, twirled a pen in her long, sleek fingers.

"I guess you don't need my signatures?" she said with a smirk. Laura gave a tired laugh.

"Oh man! Where's my head!" She brought the files back to Vivian, who smiled and signed them.

As Laura walked away, Vivian couldn't help but feel a deep sadness. Just then, the phone rang, and Vivian turned back to her work.

It was a quarter to seven when Sarah Blake received a call about an assault at a nearby company. She rushed to the scene immediately. The victim, a white blonde female aged 27, was found unconscious in a bathroom with signs of strangulation.

As Sarah arrived, she saw a huge crowd gathered. Flashing her badge, she made her way through the gates to the sealed-off area where the woman had been found. Sarah approached a female officer, "Yes, Maya, what's the case?" "Laura Steward, 27, an assistant in this company, was found fainted on the 5th-floor bathrooms. She's been taken to the hospital after early resuscitation," Maya explained.

Sarah looked at Maya with concern. "Any signs of resistance?" Maya shook her head. "No, nothing, but we don't know until the final forensics report"
Who found her? Sarah asked..."A man named Mark Albert found her." Maya responded.

Sarah glanced around the bathroom before stepping out and pointing with her pen at the sign by the door. "What was he doing in the female bathroom?"
"He said he heard her calling for help," Maya replied. "Where is he now?" Sarah asked.

Just then, a commotion at the entrance caught their attention. Vivian Donovan stormed into the scene, two police officers struggling to hold her back. Sarah approached her.

Vivian's round-rimmed glasses had slipped down her nose, her disheveled hair adding to her cold, intimidating look.

"Where is Laura?" Vivian demanded.

"She's been rushed to the hospital" Sarah assured her.

"Who did this to her?" Vivian shouted, her voice echoing through the hallway.

"We don't know, ma'am. We're looking into it. Don't worry," one of the officers said.

Vivian's poisonous stare could have frozen anyone in their tracks. She freed herself from the officers' grasp and stormed out, her heels clicking against the floor, the sound fading with each step. Sarah watched her leave, then turned back to Maya.

"Who was she?"

"Chief Executive of this company, Vivian Donovan. She had a close relationship with the victim."

"Where was she up until now?"

"She left the office at a quarter to four and returned just now."

Sarah watched Vivian disappear down the hall. Something about her felt off, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Snapping out of her thoughts, she asked,

"So, where is Mark right now?"

The scene at the company had rattled everyone. Sarah Blake's investigation was just beginning, and the pieces of the puzzle were far from coming together. With Vivian's fierce determination and Sarah's relentless pursuit of the truth, the path ahead was bound to be filled with twists and turns, leading them ever closer to the dark secrets that lay beneath the surface.


Your support, fuel my creativity and help me craft more thrilling and suspense stories like this one. Your support means everything to me, and I'd be forever grateful if you joined me on this writing adventure.follow me on (P)(A)(T)(R)(E)(O)(N) .com / Accuscripter

 

[accuscripter]

The water, as soon as it touched his body, chilled him to the core. He was already shivering with fear, and the cold water further exacerbated his weak heart. He felt breathless. He loosened his tie under the shower and sank to the floor, gasping for air, head hung low.

"I didn't do anything... she was trying to be over-smart... she should have listened to me when I asked her. This is not my fault, this is her fault..." Mark muttered, continuously nodding his head, trying to convince himself. At that very moment, he felt a presence behind him. A silent shriek broke out of his mouth. He immediately turned around and stood up, looking frantically around.

The water was running, drenching him, but it was enough to calm his wrecked heart. He turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower. Now, he stared at himself in the foggy bathroom mirror. He wiped the glass and looked into it. His hair was wet and disheveled. He wiped his face and then hid it in his hands, breathing heavily.

Looking up, now seemingly calmer, he set his hair and murmured, "It's not my fault. She is too weak. She brought this on herself. She brought this on herself. She brought this on herself... she was at fault she was…VIVIAN!!! ...

VIVIAaaannn!!!!...

YESSS!!!!

She did this, yes, Vivian did this." He waved his hand in the air, a manic frantic look in his eyes. "Yes, this all happened because of that witch, Vivian..."

He pushed himself away from the mirror that was staring deep into his soul, telling him who he really was—a coward or maybe a killer. He slid the door of his bathroom open and stepped into his dark living room, his clothes still drenched with water. He kept muttering "Vivian, Vivian," under his breath, looking for the switch to turn on the lights. He didn't even realize that he had already turned on the lights before he dashed into the bathroom. He just kept looking and looking, the name "Vivian" a constant whisper.

Suddenly, he smelled something metallic. It was too sharp not to be noticed. His hand finally found the switch, and as soon as he turned it on, he exclaimed, "VIV..." but it went dark again. He fell to the floor. Someone passed by him. He tried to grasp the person's foot, but he was too weak. The person jerked him away, opened the door, and looked back at him, the person's round-rimmed glasses glared in the faint light of the hallway before disappearing and closing the door behind.

Sarah Blake stood in front of Apartment 501, knocking on the front door for the last five minutes but to no avail. "Mr. Mark Albert! If you don't open the door right this moment, we will break in!" she called out, her voice firm. Officers Maya and William were with her, their faces tense with anticipation.

But still, no one responded. Sarah took hold of the door handle. As she twisted the knob, it opened. "Mr. Mark, we are coming in..." she announced, using one hand to open the door and the other to firm her grip on her pistol. "Mr. Mark..." she called again.

"Oh my... What happened to him..." she exclaimed as she saw the lifeless figure on the floor.

Maya rushed over to the person lying on his side. She gently pulled him onto his back.

"Be careful!" Sarah warned, coming around the person.

Maya checked the vitals. "He's dead..."

Sarah's hands fell to her side. She felt the weight of the situation pressing down on her. After a long pause, she said, "Seal the area. Check for any signs. William, get the CCTV footage."

Mark was still drenched in his wet clothes, lying on the cold floor. Sarah was examining the surroundings when near the bathroom, she detected a peculiar metallic smell.

Her eyes widened. "Not again!" She rushed toward the door. "Maya, report to me as soon as his forensics are received. Also get the CCTV footage from William. I'll be at the station." Saying this, she hurried out, making her way through the crowd of curious neighbors who were desperately trying to get a peek at the scene.

Vivian was in her office, reviewing some executive files and managing the budget plan for the new business Laura was looking into. She rang the bell, and Sofia came running into the office. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Help me schedule a hotel reservation with Mr. Darcy tomorrow at 12."

"Okay, ma'am..."

"And make sure Mr. Darcy is allergic to shrimp and peanuts. Sooo…"

"Got it, ma'am. I understand…!"

Sofia hurried back to start the procedure while Vivian resumed her work. It was just like any other day. She seemed far too normal, considering the recent events. Everyone was worried about her, but no one dared to ask anything. They peeked at her through the glass walls of her office, whispering and speculating. Vivian soon realized this and, as she raised her eyes, she saw the gathered crowd around Sofia after she left the office, chattering and pointing at her without realizing she was looking back at them.

Irritated as she already was, she frowned and stood up. Took off her glasses, picked up her trench coat and exited her office. She stopped near Sophia's table where the crowd was gathered

"I will appreciate it, Ms. Sophia Blythe, if you can arrange the reservation clearly, rather than gossiping and chattering into what is not your concern. Make sure there are no mistakes,"

She said firmly before making her way out. Everyone stood stunned, watching her leave. Sophia couldn't answer in her defense… just a vague response of affirmation to Vivian's command.

In their six years together, it was the first time they had ever seen Vivian leave the office before her usual off time. There wasn't just one problem but a whole new set of issues they couldn't solve and didn't dare to confront.

Your support, fuel my creativity and help me craft more thrilling and suspense stories like this one. Your support means everything to me, and I'd be forever grateful if you joined me on this writing adventure.follow me on (P)(A)(T)(R)(E)(O)(N) .com / Accuscripter

 

[accuscripter]

Vivian stood at the window, her hands in her pockets, gazing into the infinite expanse of roads and buildings ahead. Her messy, loose hair waved gently in the slight breeze from the rotating ceiling fan.

"Vain..." The voice was small and weak. Vivian thought it was her mind playing tricks on her. Then she heard it again, louder this time. "Vain..."

She spun around and saw Laura awake after a three-day hospital stay.

"Laura... my dear, are you okay?" Vivian rushed to her side. Laura tried to sit up, her neck stabilized in a soft cervical collar. She clutched her neck, a small cry of pain escaping her lips.

"Lie down, lie down! What do you need? I'll get it for you."

Laura tried to laugh, but her neck hurt too much. Vivian stroked Laura's head, playing with her golden blonde hair. She avoided Laura's eyes while Laura stared into hers.

"Stop it, Laura! Don't look at me like that!" Vivian snapped, as she started setting the flower vase on the side table. Laura was still looking at her. Vivian stopped suddenly and turned to Laura. "Why didn't you tell me someone was trying to hurt you?"

Laura looked away, staring out the window.

"Laura, look at me!" Vivian went to the other side of the bed. Tears rolled down Laura's face, her eyes red and face smitten. Vivian wiped her tears and held her face in her hands, her own eyes glittering with remorse.

"Laura..." she said, her voice faltering. "I didn't want you to take any stress... Has something like this ever happened before?"

Laura shook her head.

"If you're comfortable, would you like to tell me what happened?"

Laura closed her eyes for a minute and then began, "A few days ago, Mark came out of your office in a hurry, full of anger. I tried to calm him down, but he looked at me with pure venom. He started following me everywhere, like he wanted to kill me. Then he caught me and said, 'Why are you running from me? Do you also think I'm invisible? A rat? Huh?' And as I moved back, he started to strangle me, hysterically saying, 'I will kill you, I will kill you...'"

There was a prolonged pause.

Laura resumed, "Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

"Mark, where is he now?"

"He's dead."

How?

We don't know yet.. Vivian responded

Laura was shocked and started having a mental breakdown.

Vivian sighed, her shoulders slumping. She sat down on the edge of the bed, taking Laura's hand in hers. "It's complicated, Laura. The police are still trying to piece everything together. There are so many unanswered questions."

"Vain, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. If I hadn't approached him first, this wouldn't have happened. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry..."

Saying this, she closed her eyes, fidgeting all over and crying like a little child. The nurse immediately came into the room and asked Vivian to leave, stating that the patient needed rest. It was not good for her to receive such shocking news right now. She injected a tranquillizer into Laura, which started to calm her down.

Vivian stroked Laura's cheek, her voice tender yet firm. "Don't you dare ever say such a thing again, okay? I'm always here for you."

Saying this, Vivian left the room her own mind a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. and went to the parking lot.

She couldn't control herself and crumbled under the weight of all the mess. She was too tired and too sad. She sat on the floor, her back supported by the giant tires of her black Lexus. Her head felt heavy, her eyes fluttering as fatigue took hold. Her turtleneck sweater seemed to tighten around her neck, suffocating her. She desperately tugged at the fabric, trying to loosen it, but it was no use. She was just breathing, barely hanging on...

"Wake her up..." A voice intruded on her hazy thoughts, cutting through the fog of exhaustion.

"Ms. Vivian Donovan? Are you alright? Ms. Vivian?" The voice grew more insistent, shaking her from her stupor.

Someone was shaking her, the touch firm but not unkind. She opened her tired eyes, squinting against the harsh light of the parking lot. Officer Maya had her hand on Vivian's shoulder, her expression one of concern. Sarah Blake stood behind her, looking down at Vivian with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Vivian tried to stand up but lost her balance on her long heels and fell back to the floor. The world spun around her as she stabilized herself with her hands on the cold concrete. She looked up, meeting Sarah's cold gaze.

Maya extended a hand, pulling Vivian to her feet with surprising strength. "You good?" she asked.

"Yes..." Vivian replied, freeing herself from Maya's hold. She straightened herself. Her eyes locked onto Sarah Blake's, who continued to stare at her, hands in her pockets, her glare just as unyielding as her own self.

Sarah finally spoke. "Why are you here, Ms. Vivian?"

Vivian's eyes narrowed. "Are you investigating me, officer?" she countered, her voice small yet carrying an undeniable edge of defiance.

"Your condition does require an investigation as to why you were sleeping in a parking lot, 9 at night,"

Hearing this, Vivian glanced at her watch. It was 9:15 PM. The realization of how much time had passed hit her head like a ton of bricks.

She looked back at Sarah, determination hardening her features. She pushing her hair back with a resolve. Her keys were on the floor; she picked them up with a swift, and moved towards the driver's side of her car. Sarah Blake and Maya still watching her.

As she unlocked her car, she said, "Ah and Yesss… the next time you want to question me... get a warrant, Officer!," Saying this she slipped into her car, started the engine with a roar, and peeled out of the parking lot, the tires screaming against the pavement.

Sarah Blake's eyes followed the car until it disappeared into the distance, her arms crossed and her head tilted to one side, deep in thought. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the enigma that was Vivian Donovan. The sound of Vivian's car fading into the night left an eerie silence in its wake.

Just then, Officer William pulled up with their car, breaking Sarah's reverie. She shook her head slightly, bringing herself back to the present. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

"Let's go," Sarah said, her voice resolute. "We have a lot to figure out."

Your support, fuel my creativity and help me craft more thrilling and suspense stories like this one. Your support means everything to me, and I'd be forever grateful if you joined me on this writing adventure.follow me on (P)(A)(T)(R)(E)(O)(N) .com / Accuscripter

 

[accuscripter]

A dense haze of smoke escaped from her mouth, turning the already dimly lit room into an acrid, suffocating chamber. She lounged on her couch, her posture relaxed but mind thinking quickly into some new drama. The cigarette dangled from her fingers, its embers glowing ominously in the gloom. Her other hand was holding a collection of photographs, their contents hidden beneath her grasp like dark secrets waiting to be revealed.

The relentless pounding on the door shattered the fragile silence. Her head jerked up, her eyes locking onto the clock: midnight. The insistent knocking shattered through the apartment, each thud echoing like a damn warning. Panic flared in her chest as she realized the gravity of the interruption.



With a burst of frantic energy, she immediately snuffed out the cigarette, its ember hissing as it met the sink water. Her fingers trembled slightly as she yanked open the window, trying to expel the choking smoke that seemed to cling to every corner and nock. She felt a pang of fear—if someone were to come in, the smell of cigarettes and the hidden photographs would betray her.



Her heart raced as she swiftly shoved the photographs beneath the couch cushions, in an attempt to protect the images of her dark plans and hidden truths concealing them from any prying eyes. The knocking grew louder, more insistent, a rhythmic battering that seemed to shake the very walls of her own self.



She dashed into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, the icy water cascading down. The spray was cold and unforgiving, but she stood there, drenching her head.

Minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity as Laura struggled to regain her composure. The sound of the relentless knocking seemed to pierce through the rush of the shower, each bang a reminder of the urgency of the situation. Her breathing came in ragged bursts, the cold water doing little to soothe the pounding of her heart.

In a frantic, almost mechanical motion, she washed her skin, rinsed her mouth trying to rid herself of the smoky stench that clung stubbornly to her clothes, hair and mouth.

As the minutes wore on, She emerged from the shower, shivering slightly, her hair plastered to her face.

The knocking had not ceased; if anything, it had intensified. With a deep breath, Laura steeled herself. She needed to appear calm and collected, despite the chaos swirling within. It had been 10 minutes since the door was knocking, even her phone was ringing violently… She brushed a stray lock of wet hair from her face and cautiously approached the door.



"Who is it?" she called out, her voice attempting to convey nonchalance but betraying a hint of strain.



"John," came the muffled reply from the other side. The name sent a jolt of fear through her. John Blake—one of the few people who could unravel her carefully constructed façade.



"Coming," she managed to reply, her voice now steady. She wiped her damp face with the back of her hand, trying to mask her disheveled appearance. The door rattled again, more urgently this time, as if John was losing patience.



Laura took another deep breath, straightened herself, and swung open the door. John Blake stood in the hallway, his expression a mix of irritation and suspicion. His eyes swept over her with a practiced gaze, noting the disarray of the apartment and the faint idea of her over cautiousness.



"What took you so long to open the door?" John's tone was sharp, his gaze lingering on her with a scrutinizing intensity.



"I was in the bathroom,"

couldn't hear the door."



John's eyes flicked and Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, his gaze scanning the room.

Everything good??? She asked…

Nothing, I just left some papers here…



Leaving he there He moved towards the kitchen, where he began to gather the scattered papers on the counter. Her heart was racing, and, her anxiety mounting as she watched him from the doorway.

As he was about leave the kitchen, John's attention was drawn to a suspiciously dusty spot on the floor. He crouched down, his hand brushing through the ash powder. His expression darkened as he sniffed the residue, his movements deliberate and analytical.

She was now standing at the entrance of the kitchen with a shrug now covering her shoulder, she was forcing herself to remain calm. John stood up, shaking his head slightly. He walked over to her, stroking her wet golden blonde hair, and hand passing over her delicate neck…

the strangle scar on her neck was still visible.

He was touching it with care as if not to hurt her… she flinched a little

"Good he died by himself; otherwise, I would have killed him with my own bare hands."



Laura's smile softly and holding his hand she kissed it, and said silently, her voice almost like a whisper, "Don't bother with it. Don't get dirty blood on your hands."

John's smile was brief and knowing. He nodded and made his way out of the kitchen, his departure swift and deliberate. Laura watched him leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click. As soon as he was gone, she spat on the floor in disgust, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Crazy man," saying this she spits on the floor" throwing away her shrug onto the counter and racking her hair so as to dry it, and fell onto the couch once again. She opened her phone camera and saw her strangle mark. Touching it and then feeling the disgust she turned it off and lit another cigarette with a fierce resolve … The room was soon engulfed in smoke, the haze thickening as she retrieved the photographs from beneath the cushions. Her fingers traced the images with a mix of reverence and malice and her long nails, scratching the face of the subject of the photograph."

"Ah, my sweet Vivian," Laura cooed, her voice dripping with venom. "I will make sure you take a sweet poison."

With a wicked smile, she added, "I will make sure to double what I have been suffering. Every ounce of pain I've endured will be paid back to you."

She tossed the photographs onto the table with a sense of grim satisfaction, her eyes glittering with malicious intent. The smoke swirled around her like a dark omen, amplifying the malevolent satisfaction in her gaze. Her heart raced with a dangerous excitement as she let the full weight of her intentions settle in.



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[accuscripter]

Two weeks had passed, and Detective Sarah Blake found herself buried under a mountain of cold cases. The pressure was quite relentless on her shoulders. Two murder investigations, both meticulously clean, no traces of murder nor intention of the act were and had left her grasping at shadows. The absence of evidence was maddening—no fingerprints, no DNA, no witness statements. Each case seemed to dissolve into thin air, leaving her with nothing but frustration and a creeping sense of dread. The room was a labyrinth of files and empty coffee cups, the scent of stale coffee mixing with the musty aroma of old case notes. And her eyes swelled with sleeplessness and her sturdy fingers still full vigor to find the new trace.

Sarah replayed the CCTV footage for what felt like the hundredth time. The grainy, flickering images on the screen blurred together, each frame more infuriating than the last. Her eyes, red-rimmed from countless hours of scrutiny, stared unblinkingly at the screen, seeking any anomaly and any hint that could crack the cases open.

Maya, her trusted colleague, approached with a steaming cup of another coffee cup. She set it gently on Sarah's desk, her eyes reflecting the weariness of the investigation. The dark liquid offered little comfort against the relentless barrage of unsolved cases. Maya's gaze fell on the footage, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Wait a minute," Maya's voice cut through the silence, sharp with a sudden burst of excitement. "Can you rewind that part?"

Sarah, her focus sharp as a blade, quickly rewound the footage. Maya leaned in closer, her face illuminated by the flickering light of the screen. Her eyes darted across the images with a newfound intensity.

"Look closely," Maya urged. "Didn't you just see a flash of light in that tree?"

Sarah's gaze was riveted to the screen, her pulse quickening. The footage was grainy and dark, but a subtle detail emerged—a fleeting, moon-shaped flash reflected off the tree just outside the sisters' apartment window. It was almost imperceptible, a ghostly glint that lasted only a second. Their eyes widened in unison as they grasped the potential significance of the discovery.

Maya, her eyes narrowing with realization, pointed out a crucial detail. "Wait, there were two moons," she said, her voice tight with a dawning understanding. Rewind it again…
Sarah rewind it again and yes there were two crescent shaped reflections… Maya continued, "That means the person was wearing round-rimmed glasses." The faint double reflection suggested that the figure was not only precise but also identifiable by their eyewear.

Sarah's heart pounded in her chest. The once blurry and inconsequential footage now held a critical clue. "Get me all the files on Vivian Donovan and the sisters," she commanded, her tone firm and resolute.


Maya's eyes mirrored the urgency of the situation as she nodded and dashed off to retrieve the files. The office, usually a haven of activity and the rhythmic clatter of keyboards, now seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.


Sarah rewound the footage one last time, her gaze intense and unyielding. She watched the shadowy figure disappear into the night, a nagging sense of familiarity gnawing at her. The figure's movements, though obscured by darkness, were eerily precise. The soft tread of its steps barely disturbed the leaves of the tree, indicating an expert's finesse. The sleek, shadowy form and its fluid movements suggested that the figure was a woman.

As Sarah's mind raced through the implications of this new clue, her thoughts were punctuated by the echoing name: Vivian Donovan. The threads of the case were beginning to weave together, but Sarah knew she needed more to draw a concrete conclusion.

Minutes later, Maya returned, her arms laden with a stack of files. The weight of each file seemed to echo the depth of the investigation. She laid them out before Sarah, who immediately began rifling through them with a determined efficiency. Her mind was already racing, piecing together fragments of information with sharp, analytical precision.



Sarah's fingers danced over the documents, her eyes scanning for any detail that might connect Vivian Donovan to the recent murders. Every scrap of evidence, every minor detail, seemed to point back to Vivian, but Sarah needed to be certain. Her doubts and questions buzzed around her head like persistent flies, but she pushed them aside, focusing solely on the task at hand.

As Sarah continued to dig through the files, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and theories. The clock ticked ominously, each second adding to the mounting tension. The night outside was dark and cold, but within the confines of Sarah's office, the atmosphere crackled with electric anticipation.



At last she found it!!!

A very minute yet important detail in the file that seemed to lead back to the link between Vivian Donovan and the sisters. Now it was confirmed that The sisters Emily and Dorothy were together with Vivian back in high school. They used to study together. And more or less they entered school in the same year as well… but Emily had left the school a year before her graduation.
Sarah had many questions… how they were linked, were they friends? Were they enemies? Were they ever in same class? Why Emily left the school just a year before her graduation? What about Dorothy? If Vivian really is the killed how she killed them? Mark is also killed her then, it's the same person… and then 10 years ago, too….

but all in all, This was a great discovery and a milestone achieved in the whole investigation. With the moon-shaped clue and the reflection of the glasses still fresh in her mind, Sarah was prepared to dive deeper into the labyrinthine mystery. The truth was out there, and she was determined to uncover it—no matter the cost. Don't know it was pride or her prejudice that she was hell bent on convicting Vivian Donovan of the murder. It was her gut feeling that told her Vivian was the murderer.

And Maybe she was right…



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[accuscripter]

"Ms. Vivian, there's a man outside who's been waiting to meet you for the last hour."

Vivian glanced up from her desk, her fingers pausing on the pen that had been dancing across the pages of a report. Her round spectacles caught the last rays of the setting sun, casting a faint crescent reflection on the desk. "He hasn't left yet?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with annoyance.

"No, ma'am. He insists he will stay here until you meet him," Sophia replied, her voice tinged with reluctance. She hesitated, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "About the security issues..."

Vivian's gaze sharpened as she looked through her glasses, the fading sunlight framing her face in a halo of golden light. "He won't do anything," she said with quiet confidence. "But for the last time, try to send him away. If he causes any problem, let me know."

Sophia nodded, her worry evident as she left the room. Vivian turned her attention to the window, the setting sun casting chromatic rays that bathed her shadowed cold heart in a warm glow. She put down her head, her face toward the window and closed her eyes, feeling a moment of serene detachment, as if she could photosynthesize the calm of the setting sun into her being. Breathing deeply, she tried to empty her mind of all thoughts, letting the day's stresses dissipate into the warm dusk.


As the light faded and the office darkened, Vivian snapped back to reality. She resumed her work with renewed focus, the day's tasks gradually coming to a close. The office around her was silent, the usual bustle replaced by an eerie stillness.


Vivian finally closed her last file and looked around. The only lights on were in her office; the rest of the building was cloaked in darkness, indicating that everyone else had already gone home. A sense of unease prickled at her, and she hastily packed her things, feeling the oppressive weight of the darkened halls pressing in on her. She exited her office, the sound of her heels echoing ominously as she crossed the corridor to the lift. As the doors opened, she stepped inside, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But when she reached the lobby, a familiar figure caught her eye. There was a man seated in the waiting area, his back turned to her.


Vivian's breath hitched. She quickly held a file in front of her face, attempting to pass by unnoticed. But her heels betrayed her, clicking sharply against the marble floor. The sound seemed to echo endlessly in the silent lobby, drawing unwanted attention. As the man stood, his movements slow and deliberate, Vivian's heart raced. She could feel his gaze settle on her, an invisible weight that made her pulse quicken.



"Viva," he called softly, his voice carrying a note of desperation that cut through the stillness.



She froze, the name hanging in the air like a ghost from the past. She refused to meet his eyes, staring straight ahead with a rigid posture. "I told you not to call me by that name," she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. It was a name she had long distanced herself from, a piece of her history she preferred to forget.


The man, paused. He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, a peace offering in the midst of a brewing storm.



He was in his late twenties, his appearance disheveled and worn, as if life's hardships had taken their toll on him. His clothes were shabby, his hair unruly, but there was a certain rugged handsomeness about him, a latent charisma that was getting eroded by the traumas of life that were wearing him down...



"Okay, okay, I won't," he soothed, his voice gentle and conciliatory. "Ms. Donovan, you don't even want to see your brother?" he said with a gale smile



Vivian's eyes flashed with anger, a fire igniting within her. "STOP IT! You're not my brother!" Her voice echoed through the empty lobby, the sound bouncing off the walls like a painful confession, reverberating with years of unresolved tension and bearing witness to this unsolemn testimonial of an unbreakable break up....



Rupert approached slowly, undeterred by her outburst. His movements were familiar, almost resigned, as if this was a dance they had performed many times before. There was a weary acceptance in his eyes, a reflection of countless encounters marked by rejection and hurt. As he drew closer, Vivian's phone buzzed in her bag, shattering the moment's intensity. She seized the distraction, answering the call with a hurried urgency, using it as an excuse to escape the confrontation.



Rupert watched her retreat, his expression a mix of resignation and sorrow. His shoulders sagged slightly, but he did not turn away. As Vivian reached her car, he followed, his steps slow but determined, as if each one carried the weight of his resolve.



Vivian started her car, her hands trembling as she gripped the steering wheel. She glanced in the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of Rupert standing in the headlights' glow. Suddenly, he appeared in front of the vehicle, forcing her to slam on the brakes. The car jerked violently, the force throwing her forward against the seatbelt. In the confusion, Rupert swiftly opened the back door and slipped into the car, shutting the door behind him with a decisive click.



Vivian's anger flared, her eyes blazing with fury as she turned to face him. "Get out of my car!" she demanded, her voice tight with barely controlled rage. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, the adrenaline coursing through her veins.



Rupert merely held onto the seatbelt, his expression calm and composed. "I'm not leaving," he said quietly, his voice carrying a steely determination.



Before Vivian could respond, the parking attendant approached, motioning for her to move out of the lot. The attendant's presence was a silent but firm reminder of the need to maintain order. Frustrated and out of options, Vivian reluctantly drove off, the tension in the car thickening like a storm cloud ready to burst.



The ride was silent, the air heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. The weight of their shared history hung between them, palpable and suffocating. Vivian gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white with the effort. She could feel Rupert's gaze on her, a silent question lingering in the space between them.



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[accuscripter]

They finally reached a secluded lane near her building, where Vivian pulled over and got turned to Rupert, her voice icy and detached. "Get out," she commanded, each word a dagger aimed at the fragile connection that still tethered them.

Rupert didn't move an inch. Vivian got out of the car.

Rupert met her gaze, his eyes holding a depth of emotion that belied his calm demeanor. There was a sadness there, a weariness that spoke of long battles fought and lost. He unbuckled his seatbelt slowly, his movements deliberate and measured. Before stepping out, he reached into Vivian's purse, which lay open on the passenger seat. He pulled out something small—maybe a trinket or a note—and slipped it into his pocket with a furtive, almost guilty motion.

Vivian watched him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I knew it," she muttered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Blood is thicker..." She didn't even think twice and aired her notion.

Rupert paused, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, he exited the car and walked away, his weak silhouette merging with the encroaching darkness. He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, each step taking him further from the light of the car's headlights and deeper into the night.

Vivian quickly got back into the driver's seat, her heart pounding as she restarted the engine. She drove away, her mind racing with the encounter's implications. What had he taken? What did he want from her? The questions swirled in her mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

As she sped down the darkened streets, Rupert stood in the lane, watching her retreat. A small, sad smile played on his lips, a fleeting expression that spoke of regret and resignation. The night seemed to swallow him whole, leaving behind only the faint sound of her car's engine fading into the distance.



Detective Sarah Blake sat at her cluttered desk, poring over the sparse details she had gathered on Vivian Donovan and Emily Parker. The case had taken a strange turn, with their past friendship now a key focus. Sarah knew that digging into their history was crucial. The relationship between Vivian and Emily, once close and now shrouded in mystery, seemed to hold the answers she sought.

Sarah's journey led her to the girls' old school, a building steeped in time, its walls echoing with the laughter and whispers of generations past. The air was thick with nostalgia, the faint scent of chalk and old books lingering in the corridors. Sarah felt a peculiar sense of stepping back in time as she walked through the hallways, imagining the young faces that once populated these spaces.

She met with a panel of staff, including a teacher who had been a student during Vivian and Emily's time at the school. The interviews were polite but largely unproductive; memories were hazy, anecdotes vague. The teacher recalled Vivian and Emily as bright but not exceptional students, with no recollection of any significant incidents. The lack of clear information left Sarah feeling like she was chasing shadows.

Determined not to leave empty-handed, Sarah requested a meeting with the principal. The principal, an elderly man with a weary demeanor, greeted her with a hint of curiosity. In his cluttered office, surrounded by framed certificates and fading photographs, he seemed a relic of another era.



Sarah got straight to the point, her tone professional yet insistent. "I'd like to see the school records for Vivian Donovan and Emily Parker. Anything that might shed light on their time here."

The principal nodded, shuffling through old files with slow, deliberate movements. He handed Sarah the records, yellowed with age, and she skimmed through them quickly. Both girls were described as average students, a detail that seemed inconsequential. However, a note caught Sarah's eye: Emily had transferred to another school due to illness. The reason felt contrived, a flimsy explanation that didn't sit right with her.

"What's this?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism. "Emily transferred due to illness?"

The principal shrugged, his expression indifferent. "That's what the records say. I was just a teacher back then. I don't remember much about it."

Sarah leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed in thought. The illness seemed like a convenient excuse, a cover for something more significant. Why would a student leave suddenly if not for a compelling reason? The principal's lack of concern only deepened her suspicion.

As she stood to leave, the principal spoke again, almost casually. "You know; they weren't really friends. They were friends in the early phase together but soon it became more like rivalry. A cat and mouse game, if you will. It was too obvious for us. Emily was always trying to prove herself, and Vivian... well, she had a reputation. Everyone expected great things from her."

Sarah's heart skipped a beat as she processed this revelation. The dynamic between Vivian and Emily was more complicated than she had realized. The notion of rivalry added a new dimension to their relationship, suggesting hidden tensions and unspoken conflicts.

The principal's words lingered in Sarah's mind as she left the office. She felt a sense of urgency, as if she was on the brink of uncovering a crucial piece of the puzzle. The rivalry hinted at a deeper, darker undercurrent to the relationship between Vivian and Emily, one that could potentially explain the events that had transpired.

Sarah walked through the school's corridors, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. She imagined Vivian and Emily in their younger years, their lives intertwined in ways that were now obscure. Had jealousy or competition driven a wedge between them? Or was there something even more sinister lurking beneath the surface?

Reaching her car, Sarah paused, staring out into the distance. The revelation of the rivalry had turned her understanding of the case on its head. The clues were beginning to coalesce, forming a picture that was still hazy but increasingly intriguing. Sarah's determination hardened; she knew she was onto something significant, a truth buried deep beneath layers of secrecy and deception.

As she drove away from the school, her mind raced with possibilities. The case had become more than just a professional obligation; it was a personal quest for truth. The rivalry, the expectations, the unresolved tension—it all pointed to a deeper story, one that Sarah was determined to uncover. The truth, it seemed, was not just elusive but shrouded in layers of complexity. Sarah resolved to peel back every layer, to uncover every secret, until the whole truth stood bare before her.

The night was dark and full of questions, but Sarah Blake was ready to face them, to delve into the shadows where the answers lay hidden. The case was far from over, and Sarah knew that the most challenging and revealing moments were still to come.

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[accuscripter]

Vivian sat by the classroom window, staring outside at the small house adjacent to the school wall. Every day, she watched a woman who seemed about her age or a year older, going about her daily chores—cleaning the house, hanging wet clothes. There was something enchanting about the scene, a simple life that seemed worlds away from her own. Vivian would often find herself fading into these daydreams, ignoring the chaos around her.

That day was no different. She was holding her face in her hands, gazing out through the meshed window, watching the woman sweep the roof, creating gusts of dust in the open air. Vivian wanted to shout, "Hey! It's useless to sweep the roof. The dust isn't going anywhere," but instead, she chuckled to herself.

Her amusement was cut short by a sudden, icy sensation. She cried out and stood up, drenched with water. Emily stood there, laughing hysterically. "Hahaha! Look at her, Vivian! Was it warm? How do you feel now? Cold, right? I especially found it for you!

The entire classroom erupted in laughter, but no one came to help her. Humiliated, Vivian rushed out of the classroom, tears streaming down her face. She hurried to the bathroom, trying to dry herself under the hand dryer.

The bathroom door swung open, and Emily entered, holding a small handkerchief. She approached Vivian, offering it with a mocking smile. "Here, use this."

Vivian jerked her hand away, and Emily's demeanor shifted. "Don't pretend, okay? It was just a little water, just for fun. Here, you can drench me too!"

Emily went to the basin, drenched herself with water, then poured more on her head. She ran her hands through her shoulder-length hair, disheveling it. "Look, it's all good now. See? I've drenched myself too. Okay?" She laughed and left the bathroom.

Vivian stood there, flabbergasted, unable to muster a single word. After a while, she returned to her class and slumped into her seat, hiding her face in her arms. The humiliation burned her cheeks as she tried to disappear from sight.


When the lecture ended, she felt a sharp pull on her hair. She looked up to see Emily's younger sister, yanking her hair with all her might. Vivian cried out in pain, trying to free herself, but the girl splashed water on her face and pulled her closer. "Don't you dare mess with my sister! Did you think you could get away with it after drenching her?" She pushed Vivian, causing her to hit her head on the window rail. Tears filled Vivian's eyes, not from pain, but from the unexpected humiliation.

The next day, Vivian didn't go to school. She craved solitude, a refuge from the relentless torment. But peace was a distant dream even at home. Her room door was banging continuously since early morning.


"What's that bitch doing, closing the door behind her? I pay the bills!" Her father's voice, thick with anger, echoed through the house. Vivian tried to block it out, burying her head under a pillow. But then she heard her mother's painful cry, a sound that pierced through her defenses and forced her to act.


Heart pounding, she threw open her door. Her father was already there, his face red with rage. He lunged at her, his rough hands closing around her neck, shaking her violently. "Do you think I'm a joke? What were you doing in there? Whats in there?" He was spitting on her face as he shouted.

Vivian was paralyzed, her voice caught in her throat. Tears welling up in her eyes, but before she could utter a word, he slapped her hard across the face. The impact was so fierce that it left his fingers imprinted on her pale skin and sent her flying onto the couch.


Dazed and in pain, she struggled to get up. But her father was relentless. He rushed at her again, fists clenched, ready to strike. This time, her mother intervened, throwing herself between them. She clung to his legs, trying to hold him back. "Stop it! Leave her alone!" she screamed, desperation in her voice.


Her father was momentarily thrown off balance, but his rage only grew. He grabbed his wife's hair, yanking her away from his legs, dragging her across the floor. "You want to protect her? I'll deal with you first!" He began hitting her with whatever he could find—an ashtray, flower vase, a remote control, his fists throwing her here and there.

Vivian watched in horror, her body trembling. She slipped off the couch, slouched over, trying to muster the strength to move. Her vision blurred with tears as she saw her mother being brutalized.


Her younger brother stood on the stairs above, watching everything with wide, terrified eyes. He was frozen, unable to move or speak, his small frame trembling.


"DAD!!! Stop it! STOP !" Vivian finally found her voice, but it was barely more than a whisper. She crawled towards her mother, reaching out a trembling hand.


Her father's wrath turned back to her. He kicked her away, sending her sprawling onto the floor. "YOU!!!1 ITS BECAUSE OF YOUUUU… NOW Stay out of this, NOW SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!" he bellowed, his voice a thunderous roar.


Vivian's head throbbed from where it had hit the floor, her vision swimming. She struggled to breathe, her chest tight with fear and pain. Her mother lay in a corner, a bloody mess, her cries reduced to weak whimpers.


Her father, exhausted from his tirade, staggered back, panting heavily.

"Get out of my sight," he muttered, his voice hoarse,
" like mother like daughter! bitches. Want to kill me ...they know I am sick and still they try to mess with me" saying this he threw another punch on his wife that Vivan took on her back…

As the minutes passed, her father stumbled away, disappearing into another part of the house. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. Vivian's mother clung to her, whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love I couldn't protect you"

Vivian gently lifting her head. But unable to say anything," she simply tried to force a smile, tears streaming down her face. She glanced up at her brother, still standing on the stairs.

"It's not your fault," Vivian whispered back to her mother, her own voice choked with emotion. She felt a mix of anger, sorrow, and helplessness, a storm of feelings she couldn't quite control.



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[accuscripter]

After wiping her tears, Vivian tried to stand up, but her legs felt weak and unsteady. She staggered to her feet, gripping the nearby table for support. Her eyes shifted to her mother, lying motionless on the floor. The sight filled Vivian with dread and despair. Her mother's head was cracked open and bleeding, her face battered and bruised, her eyes swollen shut. Her once-strong body was now frail and limp, barely clinging to life.
Vivian knelt beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. "Mom, please, try to get up," she whispered, her voice trembling. But her mother was unresponsive, too exhausted and beaten to even acknowledge her daughter's plea. Her breathing was shallow and labored, and her each breath seemed like a struggle.

Vivian fought back tears as she tried to lift her mother, but she couldn't move her an inch. Her mother's body was dead weight, too heavy with the burden of pain and exhaustion. Defeated, Vivian laid her back down and rushed to fetch a pillow and blanket. She placed the pillow under her mother's head and covered her with the blanket, trying to offer some comfort in the cold, cruel room.

She then went to find the first aid kit, which was nothing more than a box of old, worn-out cloths and a bottle of alcohol. Vivian soaked a cloth in the alcohol and began to gently clean her mother's wounds. Every time the cloth touched her face, her mother would let out a soft, agonizing cry, a sound that tore at Vivian's heart. Tears streamed down her face as she worked, her hands trembling with each stroke.

After tending to her mother, Vivian turned her attention to the mess around her. The house was a wreck, shards of broken chinaware scattered across the floor and furniture overturned. She began cleaning up, picking up the pieces with her bare hands. Every now and then, a sharp piece would cut her skin, but she didn't flinch. The pain in her hands was nothing compared to the pain in her heart.

As she picked up a jagged piece of china, she paused, staring at it for a long moment. The edge was sharp enough to draw blood with the slightest pressure. She pressed it lightly against her skin, just enough to feel the sting, imagining for a brief moment what it would be like to end it all. But then she shook her head, pushing the thought away. "Why should I die?" she whispered to herself. "They're the ones who deserve it."
She continued cleaning, her thoughts dark and turbulent. She finished her chores, barely noticing the blood that smeared her hands, and returned to her room. She collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Her whole body shook with an emotion she couldn't even name—rage, sorrow, despair, all swirling together into something dark and overwhelming.

When she woke up, it was already dark. Her pillow was soaked with tears, and the house was eerily quiet. Vivian got up and peeked out of her room. She saw her mother in the kitchen, cooking dinner as if nothing had happened. Her father and brother were sitting at the table, laughing and chatting like it was just another evening.

Disgust welled up in Vivian's throat. How could they sit there, acting like everything was normal after what had happened? She turned to retreat back to her room, wanting nothing more than to disappear, when her father's voice called out to her.

"Vain... My sweetheart, where are you going?"

The words made her skin crawl. She forced herself to turn around, masking her revulsion. "To freshen up a little," she replied, her voice flat.
"Where?" he asked, his tone suddenly suspicious.

"B-bathroom," she stammered, hating herself for even responding.

He frowned, but said nothing more, letting her go. As she turned to leave, she heard him call out to her mother. "This is what you've taught her? She doesn't even know how to talk to her father. Did you see her eyes?"

Vivian froze, her heart pounding. She could hear everything from her room.

"I'm the one who brought her into this world, and look at how she repays me. This is the consequence of your protection," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. Vivian heard a sickening slap, followed by a soft cry of pain. "The next time I try to teach her a lesson, don't you dare stop me, or it will be you who regrets it."

Vivian clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I didn't ask to be born," she whispered to herself, tears welling up in her eyes. "I would rather have been dead."

"VIVIAN! VIVIANNN!"

Her father's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. "Go see where that bitch has gone," he barked at her brother.
Her brother appeared at her door, looking uncomfortable and afraid. "Vivian, Dad's calling you," he said quietly.

Vivian wiped her eyes and forced herself to follow him out of the room, her eyes red and swollen. But no one cared. No one ever cared.
She entered the room with her head down, avoiding her father's gaze. He looked her over, sneering at her tear-streaked face. "You've been crying again," he noted, his voice mocking. "Such a weakling."

Vivian didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to speak. She just stood there, waiting for the next order, the next insult, the next blow.
"Sit down," her father commanded. Vivian obeyed, taking a seat at the table, her hands trembling in her lap. She could feel her father's eyes on her, studying her like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Do you know why you're such a disappointment?" he asked, leaning in close. His breath stinking, making her stomach churn. "It's because you're weak, just like your mother. But don't worry. I'll make sure to toughen you up.what I am doing is all for your good"
Saying this, he hugged her

Vivian bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. She felt like she was suffocating, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape. All she could do was nod and pray for the night to end.

Her father leaned back, satisfied with her silence. "Good girl," he said with a smirk. "Now go eat."

Vivian tried to eat, but couldn't. She felt a lump in her throat... she got up and silently said, I am done, I need to do some school work... I will go to my room... and then her heart heavy with dread, she looked towards her father. He looked up at her, and with horrendous hazel eyes he looked at her... he hated her eyes and she hated his...and then he said after a pause... "GO... I dont want to see this door ever locked up again otherwise I will break open this door and you will see the consequences..."

Hearing this, Vivian rushed back to her room.. her heart weak and legs trembling...
She knew this wasn't the end. It was never the end. But she would endure it, as she always did. Because she had no other choice.


this novel is already complete with total of 40+ episodes... you can read ahead at patreon.com/Accuscripter
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[accuscripter]

The next morning, Vivian slipped out of the house before anyone else woke up. The sky was still dark, and the air was crisp with the lingering coolness of dawn. She plugged her Walkman into her ears, letting the music drown out the echoes of last night's horrors. As she walked down the empty street, she felt an odd sense of peace wash over her. It was as if stepping out of that house allowed her to leave behind the chaos, if only for a little while.

By the time she reached the school, the sun was beginning to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The calmness she felt was almost surreal, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the previous day. Vivian was used to these moments of escape, these brief reprieves from her reality. She didn't care much for her family, but she didn't wish for the constant mess either. Being away from the house, even just for school, was her only solace. But lately, even this refuge was under threat, thanks to Emily's growing hostility. Vivian had always sensed Emily's animosity, but recently it had become too obvious to ignore.

As she pondered over what might have triggered Emily's latest outbursts, something small and light hit her head. She looked up to see a sparrow fluttering above, and when she glanced down, she noticed a baby bird lying motionless on the ground. She bent down, gently scooping the tiny creature into her hands. It was still alive, its fragile body warm against her cold fingers. A small smile tugged at her lips as she cradled the bird, feeling a rare flicker of tenderness.

Without hesitation, she carefully placed the bird in her shirt pocket and began climbing the nearest tree, her only thought being to reunite the baby with its mother. She was almost at the nest when a voice suddenly called out, startling her so badly that she nearly lost her grip. Heart pounding, she steadied herself and continued her ascent, ignoring the voice.

When she finally reached the nest, she gently placed the baby bird inside. The mother bird, who had been anxiously chirping above her, immediately quieted down, as if reassured by the sight of her offspring. Vivian watched the scene for a moment, feeling an unexpected sense of accomplishment before descending the tree.

Back on the ground, she noticed a boy standing nearby, staring at her with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He looked decent enough, but she didn't care to explain herself. Without acknowledging him, she turned and started walking toward her class.

But he began following her. Vivian quickened her pace, a sense of unease creeping in as she realized the school grounds were still empty. She glanced at her watch—it was only quarter to six, too early for most students to be around.

As she reached the corridor leading to her classroom, she stopped abruptly and spun around, confronting the boy. He halted, surprised by her sudden move.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice edged with irritation.

"What?" he replied, genuinely confused.

"Why are you following me?" Vivian's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Me? Following you?" The boy looked amused, a small smile playing on his lips.

He stepped closer, and she instinctively took a step back, her suspicion deepening.

Who are you??? Vivian asked

You are joking? He replied


and then seeing her grown suspicions he exclamine....

"I don't believe you don't know me."

"Really? You don't know me? What a joke," he said with a surprise and a smirk, then casually walked past her into the classroom.

Vivian stood frozen, her mind racing. She turned and looked at the classroom board—it was indeed her class. She slowly followed him inside, still trying to process the situation.

As she sat down at her desk, she couldn't help but glance over at the boy, who was now arranging his things on the table.

"You're in my class?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes, unfortunately, for the last seven years," he replied with another chuckle, his tone light but tinged with familiarity.

Vivian felt a flush of embarrassment. How had she been so oblivious? But then again, she had too much on her plate to pay attention to the people around her.

The morning classes passed by in a blur—first period, second period, third period. Everything felt calm, almost too calm. It was as if the storm from the previous night had left a strange stillness in its wake.

When recess finally came, the classroom emptied quickly. Vivian stayed behind, lost in thought as she stared out the window. Her gaze drifted toward the house across the street, where she often saw a woman going about her day with a peacefulness that Vivian envied. But today, the woman was nowhere to be seen, and Vivian felt an unexpected pang of loneliness.

As she was lost in her thoughts, Emily approached and sat down in front of her.

"Vivian," Emily said softly, but there was an edge to her voice.

Vivian didn't respond, keeping her eyes fixed on the window.

"Vivian," Emily called again, a bit more insistently.

"Yes," Vivian finally replied, her tone short and composed, still not looking at her.

"I'm having a party. Will you come?" Emily asked, her voice laced with something that Vivian couldn't quite place—was it desperation or something else?

"No," Vivian answered flatly.

"Why not?"

"My parents won't allow it."

"Tell them Emily said it. They know me, right?" Emily's tone was persuasive, almost too persuasive.

"No, they won't allow it," Vivian repeated, her eyes still avoiding Emily's.

"What if I talk to your parents?" Emily pressed on.

"I don't know... but even if..." Vivian trailed off, unsure how to articulate her reluctance.

Before she could say anything more, the bell rang, signaling the end of recess. Emily stood up abruptly.

"I'll call your house tomorrow. I'll talk to your parents," Emily said firmly before returning to her seat, leaving Vivian with the sinking feeling that she had no control over what was coming next.

Vivian wanted to protest, to say she didn't want to go to the party even if her parents allowed it, but the words stuck in her throat. The teacher's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present as the class resumed. She turned back to her work, trying to push away the growing sense of dread that was settling over her.



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[accuscripter]

The dreadful day had arrived, and Vivian's anxiety was palpable as Emily knocked incessantly on the door. Vivian stood frozen behind it, debating whether to open it or not. The relentless knocking only heightened her nerves.



"What the heck is this?" her father snapped, noticing her hesitation. "what are you doing?? You haven't seen the door!" With a rough shove, he pushed her aside and opened the door himself. His entire demeanor shifted as soon as he saw Emily.

"Ah, my love, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice dripping with forced affection.

Emily smiled brightly. "I've been knocking for a while, Uncle," she exclaimed, casting a quick, knowing glance at Vivian. Her father shot a sharp look at Vivian before turning his attention back to Emily, escorting her into the house with exaggerated warmth.

Inside, Vivian's mother was on the couch, peeling apples. As soon as she saw Emily, she started to rise, intending to retreat to the kitchen, but Emily was quicker. She moved towards her, but something in her mother's disheveled state made Emily pause.

"Auntie, are you okay?" Emily asked, her voice laced with faux concern as she studied the weary lines and scars on Vivian's mother's face.

"Yes, yes," Vivian's mother stammered, her voice shaky as she tried to hide her embarrassment.

Vivian's father intervened quickly, ushering Emily further into the living room and telling her to make herself at home. "Vivian, get something for Emily to eat," he ordered sharply.

Emily began to protest, but her father insisted, leaving her no choice but to comply.

As Vivian headed to the kitchen, she heard them laughing about something, the sound of her father's forced joviality mixing with Emily's sweet, yet sinister, voice.

When Vivian returned with a tray of cookies and tea, she overheard Emily saying, "Yes, Uncle, I'm her only friend. She doesn't interact with anyone." She glanced at Vivian with a smirk.

As she set the tray down, her father's voice cut through the room. "Emily's having a party at the end of this month, and she needs a hand. You're going to help her."

"But, Dad—" Vivian began, her voice trembling.

"What?" he snapped, glaring at her.

"It's in the evening…" Vivian trailed off, her voice barely a whisper.

"So what?" His tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument. "It's close by. Emily dear, When she's ready, I'll send her brother to pick her up. Just let me know when Vain will get free"

Emily beamed with happiness. "Yes, Uncle! I'll definitely let you know."

Without another word, Emily stood up, claiming she was already late. "You didn't take anything," Vivian's father reminded her.

Emily bent down, picked up a cookie, and with a playful smile, said, "For you only, Uncle." Vivian's father smiled—a smile vivian rarely saw on his face.

Emily hugged him goodbye, then turned to Vivian, leaning in close to whisper in her ear, "See you then." The words sent a shiver down Vivian's spine. Emily then called out to Vivian's mother in the kitchen, who had been hiding there all along, to bid her goodbye before leaving.

The days following Emily's visit were filled with dread for Vivian. The entire class already knew about her attending Emily's party, and the thought of it made her heart race with anxiety.


ONE WEEK BEFORE THE PARTY

Vivian was sitting alone in class, her head bent down during the break time, lost in her thoughts, when she heard a familiar voice.

"Hey…"

She ignored it at first, assuming it wasn't directed at her. But then the voice called out louder, "Hey, Vivian!"

She looked up, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the light after being in her dark headspace. "Yes?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes to clear her vision.

"You're going to the party?" the voice asked again. She looked around but saw no one in front or behind her. Then, the voice came from her side, "Here!"

She turned and saw a boy looking at her. "Who are you?" Vivian asked, still feeling out of touch with her surroundings.

The boy reclined in his chair, looking at her with an expression of disbelief. "Stop acting like this, Vivian," he said, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. "Are you going to the party?"

Before Vivian could respond, another boy burst into the room. "Max! Ms. Sophi is calling for you," he shouted.

"Okay, coming," Max called back. As the other boy left, Max turned back to Vivian, his expression serious. "If you're thinking of going, I'm warning you—don't. She's not planning anything good."

With that, he left the classroom, leaving Vivian even more confused and anxious. She vaguely remembered him as the boy who had watched her when she put the baby bird back in its nest, but his warning only added to the turmoil in her mind. She was already tense, and now Max's cryptic message only deepened her unease. But what could she do? Her father had already ordered her to go.


THE DAY OF THE PARTY

The day of the party arrived, and Vivian found herself standing outside Emily's house, feeling like she was walking into a trap. Emily greeted her with an unsettling warmth, grabbing her bags and things before saying, "Let's go."

Vivian was shocked. "Where?"

Emily laughed, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something darker. "What do you mean, where? We're going to the party!"

"But…" Vivian began, but Emily was already pulling her out the door and onto the road.

Emily walked quickly, dragging Vivian along and urging her to keep up. They soon arrived at a small, bar-like eatery where a group of girls was preparing a room. The place was decorated in glittery pink, everything looking overly cheesy and juvenile. Vivian felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

She didn't recognize any of the girls. Emily immediately dropped her bags and joined them in the preparations, leaving Vivian to fill balloons. The atmosphere was chaotic, with everyone rushing to get things ready. Suddenly, a girl burst into the room.

"They're here! They're here! Be quick!" she shouted, causing the girls to scramble, hiding the mess and standing in a straight line.

A girl entered with three boys, one of whom had his eyes covered. When they pulled the blindfold off, everyone started chanting a birthday song. Vivian regretted following her father's orders more than ever at that moment. She wanted to leave, but one of the girls who had brought the boys blocked her way.

"Where are you going? The party has just started," the girl said, forcing Vivian back into her seat.

They cut the cake and started a karaoke session. Everyone seemed to be having fun—everyone except Vivian, who sat in a corner, clutching a pom-pom and counting its strips to distract herself. Then, a boy approached her.

He didn't look like he was her age; he was older, more intimidating. His close presence made her uncomfortable, and she glanced around, realizing with a sinking feeling that she was alone with the three boys.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was her worst nightmare—the day of her first kill. The memory flooded back, sharp and vivid, the devils looming over her, as she clenched her fist, shutting her eyes and trying hard not to forget or to forget, she didn't know...

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[accuscripter]

The memories came rushing back, vivid and sharp, as if it had happened just yesterday rather than decades ago. The sound of the boy's throat cracking beneath her hands, the desperate gurgle as his life slipped away, and then... Emily.

Emily, lurking in the shadows with that twisted, sinister smile, as if she had won some dark game. Vivian remembered it all too well. When the deed was done and she searched for Emily, she was nowhere to be found.

And so, Vivian ran.

She bolted out of the dark, empty eatery, the cold night air biting through her tattered clothes. The chill felt like knives against her skin, and yet, she ran. She had no destination, no plan—only the primal instinct to flee. Her feet pounded the pavement, carrying her further away from the horror she had just unleashed.

The night seemed to close in around her, every shadow a potential threat, every gust of wind a whisper of her crime. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and something unexpected—relief. She should have felt shame, guilt for taking a life, but instead, a perverse calm settled over her. Her breathing, though ragged from running, felt clearer, as if she had been suffocating for years and was finally able to take a full breath. It was a terrifying realization—one that made her wonder if she was a monster, a psychopath. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

Before she knew it, she found herself at the entrance of her school. The tall, imposing building loomed over her, the clock on its face striking nine. The sound echoed in the stillness, jolting her from her thoughts. And then, cutting through the night like a knife, came a scream—a scream so raw and filled with agony that it made her blood run cold.

Without thinking, she ran toward the sound. Her body moved on autopilot, driven by some deep-seated instinct. She rounded the corner and saw them—a hulking man, easily twice her size, pinning a woman to the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around her throat. The woman's head hung limply over the doorstep of a nearby house, her face obscured by a curtain of matted hair and blood. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, and her body convulsed weakly as the man shook her like a rag doll.

The sight was horrifying, but it was the realization that followed that truly shook Vivian to her core. In the dim light, something caught her eye—a brick, lying just within reach. Without hesitation, she snatched it up and charged at the man.

She struck him with every ounce of strength she had, the brick making a sickening thud against his skull. The man roared in pain, rolling off the woman intot he house and clutching his head. But before he could recover, Vivian was on him, straddling his chest and bringing the brick down again and again. Each impact reverberated through her, the man's attempts to fight back growing weaker with each blow until, finally, he was still.

DEAD

Her second kill in same one night.

Vivian stumbled backward, gasping for air, her hands trembling as she dropped the bloodied brick. She stared at the lifeless man beneath her, the full weight of what she had done crashing down on her. She had just killed again—twice in one night—and this time, there was no shadowy figure to take the blame.

She turned to the woman, who was still barely clinging to life. Vivian's legs felt like jelly as she approached her, but before she could fall, the woman's hand shot out, gripping Vivian's ankle with surprising strength. Startled, Vivian tried to pull away, but the woman held fast, her eyes pleading.

The woman was trying to speak, but the words were garbled, her mouth full of hair and blood. Instinctively, Vivian knelt beside her and brushed the hair away from her face. What she saw made her heart stop.

It was a familiar face—a face she had seen countless times through the classroom window. The woman was someone she had envied from afar, someone who had represented everything she longed for but could never have. And now, here she was, broken and bloodied, at death's door.

Desperation took over. Vivian tore a strip of cloth from her already ruined dress and gently cradled the woman's head, trying to stem the flow of blood. The woman's hand reached up, brushing against Vivian's tear-streaked face. Despite everything, despite the pain and horror of the night, the woman managed a small, sad smile.

"Don't worry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Everything will be alright… You did nothing…"

But Vivian couldn't hold it in any longer. "I killed…" she choked out, her voice breaking, in front of a figure, she never knew she held dear.

The woman's eyes widened, and with a sudden burst of energy, she shook Vivian by the shoulders, forcing her to focus. "No… No, you don't know anything… You didn't do anything, okay?! You don't know what happened…"

Vivian's head spun as she tried to comprehend the woman's words, but before she could ask, the distant wail of sirens pierced the night.

The woman's demeanor changed instantly. She became alert, her eyes filled with urgency as she pushed Vivian away. "Go… go away from here… Never come back, ever… Go!"

"I can't leave you," Vivian protested, her voice small and shaky.

"For my sake," the woman pleaded, pressing a kiss to Vivian's cheek and stroking her face with a trembling hand. "Please… I called the police. Go."

Reluctantly, Vivian stood, her body moving on autopilot. But as she turned to leave, she saw the woman crawling toward the man's body, picking up the brick with a determined look in her eyes. She met Vivian's gaze, tears streaming down her face, and whispered one last time, "Go… live for my sake."

Then, the woman collapsed, unconscious.

Vivian ran. Her vision blurred with tears, and she barely registered the world around her. She ran blindly, her heart pounding in her chest, until she collided with someone.

"Vivian!" a familiar voice exclaimed, full of concern.

It was Max. He had been returning from his part-time job when he found her—disheveled, bloodied, and broken. One look at her state, and he knew something terrible had happened.

Vivian, still reeling, instinctively backed away, but when she realized it was Max, she collapsed to the ground, too weak to stand.

Max, sensing the gravity of the situation, immediately helped her up and half-carried, half-guided her to the school. He led her to the storeroom, and carefully hid her inside.

He handed her a water bottle from a distance, not wanting to frighten her further. She took it with shaking hands, and he then offered his cardigan, which she accepted without question, clutching it tightly around herself.

For a long time, they sat in silence. Vivian was sobbing, trying to calm herself down, while Max kept his distance, watching her with a mix of worry and helplessness.

As she tried to process what had just happened, memories flooded back—memories of the woman she had just saved. The woman who had been a source of comfort to her, even if from afar. The woman she had envied, admired, and now… the woman she had saved, but at what cost?

Eventually, Max left the room, giving her space. When he returned hours later, it was midnight. He brought clothes and bread, setting them down near Vivian without a word, before leaving her alone once more.

He sat down outside the storeroom, his back against the door, burying his head in his hands. As he raised his head, resting it against the cold wood, tears began to fall from his eyes, and he was trying his best to hold them.

Silent tears for the girl he had always admired, inside the room and the innocence they both knew was lost forever. She was now the murderer and he was ready to be called her accomplice.

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