In the thriller "Bad Daughter", Vivian Donovan's life unravels as Detective Sarah Blake uncovers a web of secrets and lies. Who will survive the deadly game of deception?
-
An addendum to Rule 3 regarding fan-translated works of things such as Web Novels has been made. Please see here for details.
-
We've issued a clarification on our policy on AI-generated work.
-
Due to issues with external spam filters, QQ is currently unable to send any mail to Microsoft E-mail addresses. This includes any account at live.com, hotmail.com or msn.com. Signing up to the forum with one of these addresses will result in your verification E-mail never arriving. For best results, please use a different E-mail provider for your QQ address.
-
The rules regarding NSFW links have been updated. See here for details.
Bad Daughter
- Thread starter accuscripter
- Start date
-
- Tags
- thriller
- Created
- Status
- Incomplete
- Watchers
- 12
- Recent readers
- 13
- Threadmarks
- 35
-
Statistics (35 threadmarks, 36k words)
User Total accuscripter 35
Bad Daughter: Chapter 1
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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...
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
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...
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 2
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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
"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
Last edited:
Bad Daughter: Chapter 3
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 4
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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
"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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 5
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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
"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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 6
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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.
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
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.
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 7
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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…
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
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…
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 8
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
"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.
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
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.
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 9
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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.
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
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.
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 10
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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.
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. click here
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.
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. click here
Bad Daughter": Chapter 11
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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
Dont forget to support me with a dime, see you over there. till than have a great 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
Dont forget to support me with a dime, see you over there. till than have a great life
Bad Daughter: Chapter 12
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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.
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
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.
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 13
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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...
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
"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...
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
Bad Daughter: Chapter 14
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
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.
Your support means everything to me, and I'd be forever grateful if you joined me on this writing adventure. please follow me on (P)(A)(T)(R)(E)(O)(N) .com / Accuscripter
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.
Your support means everything to me, and I'd be forever grateful if you joined me on this writing adventure. please follow me on (P)(A)(T)(R)(E)(O)(N) .com / Accuscripter
DEATH LOOP
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
I had a strange dream that keeps coming back…A surreal cycle of loss, fate, and something unseen trying to break it.
DEATH LOOP is now live on my Patreon.
patreon.com/accuscripter – free trial available!
Bad Daughter: Chapter 15
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
A sudden thunderclap shattered the silence, jolting Vivian out of her daze. She found herself standing by the glass wall of her office, staring out into the stormy night. The world outside mirrored the turmoil within her dark, chaotic, and relentless. Her body was trembling, each wave of pain and weakness crashing over her like the relentless storm outside. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed against the wall, her hands grasping desperately at the cold glass to steady herself.
Her vision blurred, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the ghostly reflection of herself in the window. The thunderclaps felt like they were targeting her soul, each one a reminder of the storm raging inside her. When she looked down at her hands, they were smeared with blood... fresh, vivid, as if it had just happened. A strangled, painful sigh escaped her lips, and she stumbled towards the door, desperate to escape the haunting visions.
The office was eerily silent, deserted, save for the echoes of her ragged breaths and the relentless pounding of rain against the windows. Despite the fear and the memories threatening to consume her, a part of her was still drawn to the windows, as if seeking some solace in the storm.
But the past was too close, too raw. The memories of that night surged back with a vengeance. two men lying dead by her hands, their lifeless bodies etched into her mind. The weight of what she'd done pressed down on her, suffocating her, and she fled through the empty corridors, her feet barely touching the ground as she burst into the bathroom.
There, she faced her reflection. The woman staring back at her was a stranger; a monster. Her eyes, wild and frantic, searched for something human in the distorted image, but all she saw was blood. Her hands trembled as she tried to wash it away, scrubbing furiously under the cold stream of water. But no matter how hard she washed, the blood wouldn't fade, wouldn't disappear. It clung to her, staining not just her skin but her soul.
She scrubbed until her skin was raw, until the water turned pink and the soap stung like fire. But still, she couldn't rid herself of the stains. Her hands were bleeding now, mixing with the phantom blood she couldn't escape. In a final, desperate act, she drenched herself in water, hoping to cleanse the horror from her mind. The cold shock brought a moment of clarity, a brief respite from the madness, and she stumbled back to her office, soaked and shivering.
Vivian collapsed into her chair, panting, every breath a battle. The room was dark, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the storm outside. She pulled her shrug tightly around her, trying to find warmth, trying to hold herself together as the memories continued to assault her.
She glanced at the clock on her phone; it was a quarter to seven. The office was empty, everyone long gone. She should have left too, but the storm, the walls, her own exhausted state, all conspired to keep her trapped in that chair.
The storm outside raged on, and every clap of thunder sent a fresh wave of terror through her. She stared out the window, her eyes wide and unseeing, as if the storm could wash away the darkness inside her. But instead, it only amplified it, each lightning strike illuminating the depths of her guilt and despair.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated, the sudden noise making her jump. Her heart raced as she fumbled for it, her hands still shaking. The name "Laura" flashed on the screen, and for a moment, the storm inside her calmed. A faint, calm smile crept onto her face. Laura, her one anchor, her one source of light in the darkness. Someone was on her side, if not everyone.
"Laura..." she whispered, her voice soft and full of relief.
"Viv!" Laura's voice was bright, cheerful, a stark contrast to Vivian's dark thoughts. "I was discharged some time ago, and I thought I should let you know."
"How are you feeling now?" Vivian asked, her voice trembling, trying to sound normal despite the chaos within her. She cared deeply for Laura, almost like a sister, and hearing her voice brought a bittersweet comfort.
"I'm all good," Laura replied. "Even my scar is fading. I hope to join you soon, as soon as possible."
"Take your time to recuperate," Vivian said, her voice tinged with sadness. She felt a pang of guilt for not being able to protect Laura as she should have. "Don't worry about anything."
"Are you okay, Viv?" Laura's tone shifted, sensing the unease in Vivian's voice.
"Yes, yes, I'm good," Vivian lied, trying to mask the turmoil inside.
Where are you right now?" Laura asked, concerned.
"I'm at the office," Vivian responded shortly.
"Why? Why are you still at the office? It's too late!" Laura's worry was evident.
Vivian forced a laugh. "I'm just going, don't worry."
But Laura wasn't fooled. "Okay, then I won't disturb you anymore, but do visit me when you get free."
"I will visit you soon. If you need anything, do let me know. I'll get it for you on my way when I come."
"Okay," Laura replied happily. They exchanged goodbyes, a goodbye that Vivian never realized could be their last.
Vivian stared at her call log for a long time after hanging up, her mind numb. She placed her phone on the table and curled herself into a tight ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. She settled deeply into her chair, like a child hiding from the world, cocooned in a blanket of sorrow and fear. The storm outside continued to rage, each thunderclap resonating with the storm inside her, her soul dancing with every rumble, her heart racing with every flash of lightning.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, blending with the rain that pounded against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, but the one inside her was even fiercer, threatening to tear her apart from the inside out.
Want to know what happens next before anyone else?
I post new chapters 1 week early on Patreon — and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Her vision blurred, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the ghostly reflection of herself in the window. The thunderclaps felt like they were targeting her soul, each one a reminder of the storm raging inside her. When she looked down at her hands, they were smeared with blood... fresh, vivid, as if it had just happened. A strangled, painful sigh escaped her lips, and she stumbled towards the door, desperate to escape the haunting visions.
The office was eerily silent, deserted, save for the echoes of her ragged breaths and the relentless pounding of rain against the windows. Despite the fear and the memories threatening to consume her, a part of her was still drawn to the windows, as if seeking some solace in the storm.
But the past was too close, too raw. The memories of that night surged back with a vengeance. two men lying dead by her hands, their lifeless bodies etched into her mind. The weight of what she'd done pressed down on her, suffocating her, and she fled through the empty corridors, her feet barely touching the ground as she burst into the bathroom.
There, she faced her reflection. The woman staring back at her was a stranger; a monster. Her eyes, wild and frantic, searched for something human in the distorted image, but all she saw was blood. Her hands trembled as she tried to wash it away, scrubbing furiously under the cold stream of water. But no matter how hard she washed, the blood wouldn't fade, wouldn't disappear. It clung to her, staining not just her skin but her soul.
She scrubbed until her skin was raw, until the water turned pink and the soap stung like fire. But still, she couldn't rid herself of the stains. Her hands were bleeding now, mixing with the phantom blood she couldn't escape. In a final, desperate act, she drenched herself in water, hoping to cleanse the horror from her mind. The cold shock brought a moment of clarity, a brief respite from the madness, and she stumbled back to her office, soaked and shivering.
Vivian collapsed into her chair, panting, every breath a battle. The room was dark, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the storm outside. She pulled her shrug tightly around her, trying to find warmth, trying to hold herself together as the memories continued to assault her.
She glanced at the clock on her phone; it was a quarter to seven. The office was empty, everyone long gone. She should have left too, but the storm, the walls, her own exhausted state, all conspired to keep her trapped in that chair.
The storm outside raged on, and every clap of thunder sent a fresh wave of terror through her. She stared out the window, her eyes wide and unseeing, as if the storm could wash away the darkness inside her. But instead, it only amplified it, each lightning strike illuminating the depths of her guilt and despair.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated, the sudden noise making her jump. Her heart raced as she fumbled for it, her hands still shaking. The name "Laura" flashed on the screen, and for a moment, the storm inside her calmed. A faint, calm smile crept onto her face. Laura, her one anchor, her one source of light in the darkness. Someone was on her side, if not everyone.
"Laura..." she whispered, her voice soft and full of relief.
"Viv!" Laura's voice was bright, cheerful, a stark contrast to Vivian's dark thoughts. "I was discharged some time ago, and I thought I should let you know."
"How are you feeling now?" Vivian asked, her voice trembling, trying to sound normal despite the chaos within her. She cared deeply for Laura, almost like a sister, and hearing her voice brought a bittersweet comfort.
"I'm all good," Laura replied. "Even my scar is fading. I hope to join you soon, as soon as possible."
"Take your time to recuperate," Vivian said, her voice tinged with sadness. She felt a pang of guilt for not being able to protect Laura as she should have. "Don't worry about anything."
"Are you okay, Viv?" Laura's tone shifted, sensing the unease in Vivian's voice.
"Yes, yes, I'm good," Vivian lied, trying to mask the turmoil inside.
Where are you right now?" Laura asked, concerned.
"I'm at the office," Vivian responded shortly.
"Why? Why are you still at the office? It's too late!" Laura's worry was evident.
Vivian forced a laugh. "I'm just going, don't worry."
But Laura wasn't fooled. "Okay, then I won't disturb you anymore, but do visit me when you get free."
"I will visit you soon. If you need anything, do let me know. I'll get it for you on my way when I come."
"Okay," Laura replied happily. They exchanged goodbyes, a goodbye that Vivian never realized could be their last.
Vivian stared at her call log for a long time after hanging up, her mind numb. She placed her phone on the table and curled herself into a tight ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. She settled deeply into her chair, like a child hiding from the world, cocooned in a blanket of sorrow and fear. The storm outside continued to rage, each thunderclap resonating with the storm inside her, her soul dancing with every rumble, her heart racing with every flash of lightning.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, blending with the rain that pounded against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, but the one inside her was even fiercer, threatening to tear her apart from the inside out.
Want to know what happens next before anyone else?I post new chapters 1 week early on Patreon — and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Last edited:
Bad Daughter: Chapter 16
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
At 5 in the morning, the persistent rain drummed softly against the windows, a muted symphony that accompanied Vivian as she slowly roused from an uncomfortable slumber. Her body ached from the hours spent curled up in the same position, the result of a night spent wrestling with demons both external and internal. She uncoiled herself from the fetal position, stretching out her limbs with a groan, trying to alleviate the stiffness that had settled into her muscles.
The room was still dim, the overcast sky casting a gray pallor over everything. She shuffled back to the window, where the rain continued its relentless assault. A sudden gust of chilly air sneaked through an unnoticed crack, making her shiver and sending goosebumps prickling across her skin. She settled back into her chair, the storm outside now a mere background to the calm that had descended upon her mind. The chaos of the night before seemed to have receded, leaving behind a strange sense of tranquility.
Vivian reached into her purse and retrieved a cigarette, its sleek, ash-black body with a golden butt gleaming under the faint light. She lit it, the flickering flame briefly illuminating her face before the smoke began to swirl around her. With each inhalation, she let out small, delicate puffs of smoke, watching as they dissipated into the air. The cigarette seemed to draw a line between her troubled past and the present, creating a moment of serene detachment from her worries.
It was Sunday, and the city was wrapped in the hushed stillness that only a weekend morning could bring. The usual hustle and bustle of daily life were conspicuously absent. She finished her cigarette, crushed it out in the ashtray, and tidied up her desk, preparing to leave. The time read 7 in the morning, and the world outside was still cloaked in rain and shadow.
She made her way to her apartment, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Once inside, she fell into her bed, the soft sheets enveloping her as she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. The storm outside was a distant murmur, fading into the background as she drifted off.
Her phone's insistent ringing jolted her awake at 2 p.m., cutting through the haze of her sleep. Groggy and disoriented, she fumbled for the phone, finally lifting it to her ear.
"Hey, Laura," she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Hi, Vivian!" Laura's voice was cheerful, a welcome contrast to the lingering gloom of her morning.
"What's up?" Vivian asked, trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep.
"Not much, just thought I'd invite you over," Laura said, her tone light and casual. "Why don't you come to my house?"
"Right now?" Vivian asked, her voice thick with sleep.
"Yeah," Laura replied, her tone shifting slightly. "I need to pick up some groceries, and I could use some help."
Vivian hesitated for a moment, still caught in the fog of her recent sleep and the residual weariness from the night before. "Sure," she finally said with a pause. "I'll see you at 6 p.m."
"Great! See you then," Laura said quickly before ending the call.
Vivian's hand fell to her side as she lay there for another ten minutes, letting the conversation settle. Finally, she roused herself from the bed, washed her face, and began to get ready.
She chose her black Lexus for the outing, opting for a casual yet striking look: black pajamas, her hair in a sleek messy bun, cherry red lipstick accentuating her lips, black glasses perched on her head, and a bag slung over her shoulder. She looked every bit the model, even if she didn't feel like one.
At the supermarket, she maneuvered her trolley through the aisles with a practiced ease, the clatter of the cart against the tiles and the soft hum of the store's overhead lights creating a comforting backdrop. The trolley was filled with an assortment of items—vegetables, fruits, salt, sugar, peppers, snacks, tissues, and napkins. As she wandered through the electronic section, she paused in front of an 85-inch LED screen. It was playing a vivid scene of fireworks and a little girl in a red silk dress, running across a field with an air of determined innocence.
Vivian was mesmerized, the bright colors and the child's earnest quest pulling her into a moment of distraction. Lost in the scene, she barely noticed when her trolley got jostled. The impact came suddenly, pulling her out of her reverie. She moved quickly to the side, murmuring apologies as she tried to rearrange her dislodged items.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she repeated, her hands busy realigning her groceries.
"Vivian?" a voice called out, and her heart skipped a beat.
Vivian looked up, her gaze locking onto a familiar face. Her breath caught in her throat as she stammered, "Max."
There he was, the embodiment of her past, the symbol and the only witness to everything that had transpired. The shock of seeing him there, in the midst of her ordinary grocery shopping, sent a rush of emotions flooding through her.
Max, with a warm, nostalgic smile, moved closer to Vivian. She stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing as he approached. "You're Vivian, right?" His eyes, full of recognition, seemed to pierce through her shocked facade.
Vivian, still paralyzed by surprise, looked from his face to the hand he extended toward her. Max's eyes sparkled with genuine happiness at seeing her again. When he noticed her hesitation, he let out a soft, amused laugh and retracted his hand.
"I guess I need to reintroduce myself," he said, his tone lighthearted. "Hi, I'm Max. We went to high school together."
Vivian was still too stunned to respond, her mind struggling to process this unexpected encounter. Before she could gather her thoughts, a small voice interrupted them.
"DADDDD! I WANT CHOCOLATES!" A little girl, no older than six or seven, tugged at Max's sleeve.
Vivian's gaze shifted to the child. There was something hauntingly familiar about her, but she couldn't quite place it. Max bent down to address the girl. "Ava, here, meet...."
Before Max could finish, the girl, Ava, slowly made her way towards Vivian. Without warning, she threw her arms around Vivian's legs, crying out, "MAMAaaaaa!"
Vivian's world seemed to spin. Shocked and bewildered, she stood motionless as Ava's cries drew the attention of everyone around them. The sudden, intense scrutiny of the supermarket's patrons made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She managed an awkward, bewildered smile, signaling her confusion about the situation.
Max, equally taken aback, hurried over to try and calm Ava. He attempted to lift her, but the girl clung to Vivian, crying even harder. Max's initial attempts to console her were met with resistance. Seeing the distress in both Ava and Max's faces, Vivian felt an overwhelming wave of emotion. Without thinking, she knelt beside Ava, who suddenly hugged her tightly, and Vivian's heart breaking at the sight of the child's tears melting her very core. Her tears welled up, and she felt an unexpected surge of maternal instinct. Max, observing the poignant scene, was unable to hold back his own tears. His eyes glistened as he watched the tender interaction between Vivian and Ava.
The supermarket, with its fluorescent lights and bustling aisles, faded into the background. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. The echoes of their shared past, now intertwined with the present, filled the space between them. Vivian and Max, both teary-eyed, looked at each other through a haze of emotion. A bittersweet emotion spread across their faces as they shared an awkward laugh, their tears mingling with the laughter.
In the midst of the chaos and confusion, the depth of their shared history and the unexpected reunion created a profound connection. The supermarket, with all its noise and activity, became a mere backdrop to the powerful moment of reconnection and revelation that unfolded before them.
"I've been writing this story with love for months. I've set up a Patreon to help me keep it going. If you're enjoying it, would you consider joining? Even $1 helps more than you think!"
The room was still dim, the overcast sky casting a gray pallor over everything. She shuffled back to the window, where the rain continued its relentless assault. A sudden gust of chilly air sneaked through an unnoticed crack, making her shiver and sending goosebumps prickling across her skin. She settled back into her chair, the storm outside now a mere background to the calm that had descended upon her mind. The chaos of the night before seemed to have receded, leaving behind a strange sense of tranquility.
Vivian reached into her purse and retrieved a cigarette, its sleek, ash-black body with a golden butt gleaming under the faint light. She lit it, the flickering flame briefly illuminating her face before the smoke began to swirl around her. With each inhalation, she let out small, delicate puffs of smoke, watching as they dissipated into the air. The cigarette seemed to draw a line between her troubled past and the present, creating a moment of serene detachment from her worries.
It was Sunday, and the city was wrapped in the hushed stillness that only a weekend morning could bring. The usual hustle and bustle of daily life were conspicuously absent. She finished her cigarette, crushed it out in the ashtray, and tidied up her desk, preparing to leave. The time read 7 in the morning, and the world outside was still cloaked in rain and shadow.
She made her way to her apartment, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Once inside, she fell into her bed, the soft sheets enveloping her as she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. The storm outside was a distant murmur, fading into the background as she drifted off.
Her phone's insistent ringing jolted her awake at 2 p.m., cutting through the haze of her sleep. Groggy and disoriented, she fumbled for the phone, finally lifting it to her ear.
"Hey, Laura," she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Hi, Vivian!" Laura's voice was cheerful, a welcome contrast to the lingering gloom of her morning.
"What's up?" Vivian asked, trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep.
"Not much, just thought I'd invite you over," Laura said, her tone light and casual. "Why don't you come to my house?"
"Right now?" Vivian asked, her voice thick with sleep.
"Yeah," Laura replied, her tone shifting slightly. "I need to pick up some groceries, and I could use some help."
Vivian hesitated for a moment, still caught in the fog of her recent sleep and the residual weariness from the night before. "Sure," she finally said with a pause. "I'll see you at 6 p.m."
"Great! See you then," Laura said quickly before ending the call.
Vivian's hand fell to her side as she lay there for another ten minutes, letting the conversation settle. Finally, she roused herself from the bed, washed her face, and began to get ready.
She chose her black Lexus for the outing, opting for a casual yet striking look: black pajamas, her hair in a sleek messy bun, cherry red lipstick accentuating her lips, black glasses perched on her head, and a bag slung over her shoulder. She looked every bit the model, even if she didn't feel like one.
At the supermarket, she maneuvered her trolley through the aisles with a practiced ease, the clatter of the cart against the tiles and the soft hum of the store's overhead lights creating a comforting backdrop. The trolley was filled with an assortment of items—vegetables, fruits, salt, sugar, peppers, snacks, tissues, and napkins. As she wandered through the electronic section, she paused in front of an 85-inch LED screen. It was playing a vivid scene of fireworks and a little girl in a red silk dress, running across a field with an air of determined innocence.
Vivian was mesmerized, the bright colors and the child's earnest quest pulling her into a moment of distraction. Lost in the scene, she barely noticed when her trolley got jostled. The impact came suddenly, pulling her out of her reverie. She moved quickly to the side, murmuring apologies as she tried to rearrange her dislodged items.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she repeated, her hands busy realigning her groceries.
"Vivian?" a voice called out, and her heart skipped a beat.
Vivian looked up, her gaze locking onto a familiar face. Her breath caught in her throat as she stammered, "Max."
There he was, the embodiment of her past, the symbol and the only witness to everything that had transpired. The shock of seeing him there, in the midst of her ordinary grocery shopping, sent a rush of emotions flooding through her.
Max, with a warm, nostalgic smile, moved closer to Vivian. She stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing as he approached. "You're Vivian, right?" His eyes, full of recognition, seemed to pierce through her shocked facade.
Vivian, still paralyzed by surprise, looked from his face to the hand he extended toward her. Max's eyes sparkled with genuine happiness at seeing her again. When he noticed her hesitation, he let out a soft, amused laugh and retracted his hand.
"I guess I need to reintroduce myself," he said, his tone lighthearted. "Hi, I'm Max. We went to high school together."
Vivian was still too stunned to respond, her mind struggling to process this unexpected encounter. Before she could gather her thoughts, a small voice interrupted them.
"DADDDD! I WANT CHOCOLATES!" A little girl, no older than six or seven, tugged at Max's sleeve.
Vivian's gaze shifted to the child. There was something hauntingly familiar about her, but she couldn't quite place it. Max bent down to address the girl. "Ava, here, meet...."
Before Max could finish, the girl, Ava, slowly made her way towards Vivian. Without warning, she threw her arms around Vivian's legs, crying out, "MAMAaaaaa!"
Vivian's world seemed to spin. Shocked and bewildered, she stood motionless as Ava's cries drew the attention of everyone around them. The sudden, intense scrutiny of the supermarket's patrons made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She managed an awkward, bewildered smile, signaling her confusion about the situation.
Max, equally taken aback, hurried over to try and calm Ava. He attempted to lift her, but the girl clung to Vivian, crying even harder. Max's initial attempts to console her were met with resistance. Seeing the distress in both Ava and Max's faces, Vivian felt an overwhelming wave of emotion. Without thinking, she knelt beside Ava, who suddenly hugged her tightly, and Vivian's heart breaking at the sight of the child's tears melting her very core. Her tears welled up, and she felt an unexpected surge of maternal instinct. Max, observing the poignant scene, was unable to hold back his own tears. His eyes glistened as he watched the tender interaction between Vivian and Ava.
The supermarket, with its fluorescent lights and bustling aisles, faded into the background. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. The echoes of their shared past, now intertwined with the present, filled the space between them. Vivian and Max, both teary-eyed, looked at each other through a haze of emotion. A bittersweet emotion spread across their faces as they shared an awkward laugh, their tears mingling with the laughter.
In the midst of the chaos and confusion, the depth of their shared history and the unexpected reunion created a profound connection. The supermarket, with all its noise and activity, became a mere backdrop to the powerful moment of reconnection and revelation that unfolded before them.
"I've been writing this story with love for months. I've set up a Patreon to help me keep it going. If you're enjoying it, would you consider joining? Even $1 helps more than you think!"
Bad Daughter: Chapter 17
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Detective Sarah Blake sat at her desk, the dim light of the office casting long shadows over the case files spread out before her. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of paper as she turned the pages, her eyes scanning each report with meticulous care. The unsolved cases weighed heavily on her, a constant reminder of the justice that remained elusive.
The first two victims, sisters, had been found dead, their faces serene, as if they had simply fallen asleep and never awakened. There was no sign of struggle, no visible cause of death. Then there was Max; discovered alone in his home, with no signs of foul play, yet lifeless. The reports were almost too clean, devoid of the usual clues that might indicate what had happened. All three cases, though separated by time and circumstance, shared eerie similarities that gnawed at Sarah's instincts. Something was tying them together, something subtle and sinister.
Then there was Robert. The cold case had always haunted her, a decade-old mystery involving a lab assistant found dead under similarly baffling circumstances. It had been shelved, classified as a natural death, but the lack of clear evidence had left it lingering in the back of her mind.
As Sarah flipped through Robert's old case file, something caught her eye; a detail so small it was almost overlooked. In the margin of one of the reports, a note had been scribbled by the initial investigator: a faint garlic-metallic smell detected at the scene. It was a detail so minor that it had been dismissed, but now, in light of the recent deaths, it stood out like a beacon. That same scent had been noted in the reports of the recent victims, though, like before, it had been considered insignificant.
Her heart began to race as she realized the implications. This wasn't a coincidence; there was a connection between these cases. The same toxin, the same method; someone had found a way to make death look natural, leaving behind only a faint trace that was almost imperceptible.
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She was no stranger to the darker side of human nature, but this; this was different. The precision, the cold calculation behind these deaths; it was terrifying.
she looked around her… no one was there even Maya was gone home… she thought for a while and then looked at her phone… Her mind worked quickly, considering her next steps. She needed confirmation, and she needed it fast. There was only one person she trusted with something like this: Dr. Lavine Dorothy, an expert in forensic toxicology and her friend who had helped her on difficult cases before.
Without hesitating, Sarah picked up her phone and dialed Lavine's number. The phone rang twice before Lavine's familiar voice answered, full of warmth and a touch of amusement.
"Hey, love! It's been a while, hasn't it?" Lavine's voice was a comfort in the midst of the chaos, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this.
"Too long, Lavine," Sarah replied, though her voice carried a tension that was impossible to mask. "But I need your expertise; this is serious."
Lavine's tone shifted immediately, the playful edge giving way to professional concern. "Tell me everything."
Sarah took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts before speaking. "I've got three dead bodies and a ten-year-old cold case, all linked by a faint garlic-metallic smell. No clear cause of death, no struggle, nothing; but I'm sure they're connected. The smell; it's the only common thread, and I need to know what it is."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of rustling papers as Lavine presumably pulled up her own resources. "Sarah, that smell; well, it could be a clue. Some toxins leave behind a scent like that, but they're rare and often undetectable in routine autopsies. We'd need to run a Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry analysis. It's one of the most sensitive methods we have. If there's even a trace of a toxic substance, we'll find it."
Sarah's mind was already racing with possibilities. "It's been over three weeks since the deaths. Is it too late?"
"Not if the bodies were preserved properly," Lavine replied, her voice thoughtful. "We might still have a chance. But we need to act fast before any remaining evidence degrades."
A sense of urgency gripped Sarah. She knew this was their best shot at uncovering the truth, but it would require the director's approval to bring Lavine in officially. "Thank you, Lavine. I'm going to request special permission for you to assist in the examination. I'll get the paperwork started right now."
After hanging up, Sarah sat back in her chair, her mind still racing. She could feel the weight of the victims' lives pressing down on her, the need to bring their killer to justice. She took a moment to steady herself, then turned to her computer and began drafting the request.
Each word was chosen with care, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she laid out the case for why Lavine's involvement was crucial. She detailed the similarities between the cases, the importance of the faint metallic scent, and the potential it held for uncovering a rare toxin. Her tone was both respectful and urgent, conveying the seriousness of the situation without veering into panic.
After this all she gave it a final look and started reading it so as to clear any typos or mistakes… she got out an envelop and was ready to stamp it with her seal, when her phone rang… she looked at it.. it was John Blake, her husband… she looked at time…
it was 12 in the night… she picked it up…. "love, I have something urgent to do I will not be home today" he said, quickly "okay take care!.. let me know if anything happens"… sarah said, without asking anything more… to which john quickly turned it off. It has been since a year when john was rafely at home and were on stake out. But sarah never really felt bad about it, maybe because she believed him more than she should have…she was aware of the dark side of the humanity that was darker than her own color but never saw the dark aura his close one was exhibiting…
"If you wouldn't support me on Patreon accuscripter, could you tell me why? Is it rewards, timing, or something else?"
The first two victims, sisters, had been found dead, their faces serene, as if they had simply fallen asleep and never awakened. There was no sign of struggle, no visible cause of death. Then there was Max; discovered alone in his home, with no signs of foul play, yet lifeless. The reports were almost too clean, devoid of the usual clues that might indicate what had happened. All three cases, though separated by time and circumstance, shared eerie similarities that gnawed at Sarah's instincts. Something was tying them together, something subtle and sinister.
Then there was Robert. The cold case had always haunted her, a decade-old mystery involving a lab assistant found dead under similarly baffling circumstances. It had been shelved, classified as a natural death, but the lack of clear evidence had left it lingering in the back of her mind.
As Sarah flipped through Robert's old case file, something caught her eye; a detail so small it was almost overlooked. In the margin of one of the reports, a note had been scribbled by the initial investigator: a faint garlic-metallic smell detected at the scene. It was a detail so minor that it had been dismissed, but now, in light of the recent deaths, it stood out like a beacon. That same scent had been noted in the reports of the recent victims, though, like before, it had been considered insignificant.
Her heart began to race as she realized the implications. This wasn't a coincidence; there was a connection between these cases. The same toxin, the same method; someone had found a way to make death look natural, leaving behind only a faint trace that was almost imperceptible.
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She was no stranger to the darker side of human nature, but this; this was different. The precision, the cold calculation behind these deaths; it was terrifying.
she looked around her… no one was there even Maya was gone home… she thought for a while and then looked at her phone… Her mind worked quickly, considering her next steps. She needed confirmation, and she needed it fast. There was only one person she trusted with something like this: Dr. Lavine Dorothy, an expert in forensic toxicology and her friend who had helped her on difficult cases before.
Without hesitating, Sarah picked up her phone and dialed Lavine's number. The phone rang twice before Lavine's familiar voice answered, full of warmth and a touch of amusement.
"Hey, love! It's been a while, hasn't it?" Lavine's voice was a comfort in the midst of the chaos, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this.
"Too long, Lavine," Sarah replied, though her voice carried a tension that was impossible to mask. "But I need your expertise; this is serious."
Lavine's tone shifted immediately, the playful edge giving way to professional concern. "Tell me everything."
Sarah took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts before speaking. "I've got three dead bodies and a ten-year-old cold case, all linked by a faint garlic-metallic smell. No clear cause of death, no struggle, nothing; but I'm sure they're connected. The smell; it's the only common thread, and I need to know what it is."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of rustling papers as Lavine presumably pulled up her own resources. "Sarah, that smell; well, it could be a clue. Some toxins leave behind a scent like that, but they're rare and often undetectable in routine autopsies. We'd need to run a Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry analysis. It's one of the most sensitive methods we have. If there's even a trace of a toxic substance, we'll find it."
Sarah's mind was already racing with possibilities. "It's been over three weeks since the deaths. Is it too late?"
"Not if the bodies were preserved properly," Lavine replied, her voice thoughtful. "We might still have a chance. But we need to act fast before any remaining evidence degrades."
A sense of urgency gripped Sarah. She knew this was their best shot at uncovering the truth, but it would require the director's approval to bring Lavine in officially. "Thank you, Lavine. I'm going to request special permission for you to assist in the examination. I'll get the paperwork started right now."
After hanging up, Sarah sat back in her chair, her mind still racing. She could feel the weight of the victims' lives pressing down on her, the need to bring their killer to justice. She took a moment to steady herself, then turned to her computer and began drafting the request.
Each word was chosen with care, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she laid out the case for why Lavine's involvement was crucial. She detailed the similarities between the cases, the importance of the faint metallic scent, and the potential it held for uncovering a rare toxin. Her tone was both respectful and urgent, conveying the seriousness of the situation without veering into panic.
After this all she gave it a final look and started reading it so as to clear any typos or mistakes… she got out an envelop and was ready to stamp it with her seal, when her phone rang… she looked at it.. it was John Blake, her husband… she looked at time…
it was 12 in the night… she picked it up…. "love, I have something urgent to do I will not be home today" he said, quickly "okay take care!.. let me know if anything happens"… sarah said, without asking anything more… to which john quickly turned it off. It has been since a year when john was rafely at home and were on stake out. But sarah never really felt bad about it, maybe because she believed him more than she should have…she was aware of the dark side of the humanity that was darker than her own color but never saw the dark aura his close one was exhibiting…
"If you wouldn't support me on Patreon accuscripter, could you tell me why? Is it rewards, timing, or something else?"
Hi
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Hi everyone!I've been sharing my stories here for almost a year, and I'm so thankful to everyone who's read, liked, or commented.
Writing takes a lot of time and energy, and if you enjoy my work, I'd be so grateful if you'd consider supporting me on Patreon.
Even $4 makes a big difference. I post early chapters, bonus content, and behind-the-scenes details — and you can try it FREE for 7 days.
patreon.com/accuscripterThank you for being part of this journey
– Accuscripter
Bad Daughter: Chapter 18
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
……………….
To: The Director of Forensic Investigations
Subject: Request for Special Permission to Involve Dr. Lavine Dorothy in a Critical Case Examination
Date: 14 July, 2024
Dear Director Matthew Alexander Gray
I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to formally request your authorization to involve Dr. Lavine Dorothy, a renowned toxicology forensic expert, in a critical case that has come to our department's attention.
Over the past several weeks, our team has encountered three unexplained deaths that bear striking similarities to a cold case from ten years ago. The victims; two sisters and a man named Mark; were all found deceased without any apparent signs of trauma or disease. However, a faint, metallic garlic-like odor was detected at each scene, which matches the peculiar detail noted in the decade-old case involving a 57-year-old laboratory assistant named Robert. This olfactory clue, though subtle, may be pivotal in uncovering the true cause of these mysterious deaths.
Given the similarities and the unusual nature of the evidence, it is imperative that we employ advanced forensic techniques to analyze the remains. Dr. Dorothy has recommended the use of Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS), specifically a Tandem Mass Spectrometry analysis, to identify any trace toxins or substances that might have eluded previous examinations. This method, while highly sensitive and precise, requires expertise that Dr. Dorothy is uniquely qualified to provide.
Therefore, I respectfully request your approval to bring Dr. Dorothy on board for this case. Her involvement will greatly enhance our ability to solve these cases swiftly and accurately, bringing justice to the deceased and closure to their families.
Thank you for considering this request. I am confident that with Dr. Dorothy's expertise, we can uncover the truth behind these enigmatic deaths.
Yours sincerely,
Detective Sarah Blake
………………………
Soon Sarah received the response she was waiting for eagerly within few hours after sending out her proposal letter…
she tore open the letter that read as follow…
…………
To: Detective Sarah Blake
Subject: Authorization for Special Investigation Methods**
Date: 14 July, 2024
Detective Blake,
After careful consideration and in light of the urgency surrounding the ongoing investigation, I am pleased to inform you that your request has been approved. You are hereby granted full authorization to utilize all available forensic methods and resources within our jurisdiction to expedite the resolution of this case.
This case has garnered significant attention, and there is widespread concern regarding its potential impact on public perception, particularly in relation to the upcoming mayoral elections. As such, it is imperative that this matter is handled with the utmost efficiency and discretion.
Please ensure that all findings and developments are reported directly to my office. The swift and successful resolution of this case is of paramount importance, not only for the victims' families but also for maintaining public trust in our institutions.
Proceed with the investigation as you see fit, and keep me informed of your progress.
Best regards,
Mathew Alexender Gray
Director of Forensic Investigations
…………….
The very next day, Sarah Blake stood in the dimly lit forensic lab, her body enveloped in the sterile protection of a forensic suit, her heart heavy with the gravity of the task before her. The room was cold, the air thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the faint metallic odor that still lingered in her memory. Before her lay the three bodies, each one a silent testament to a life prematurely ended, their pale faces a haunting reminder of the mystery she was determined to solve.
Dr. Lavine Dorothy, a beacon of calm amidst the tension, stood at the head of the examination table. She moved with an almost reverent grace, her hands gloved and steady as she prepared the equipment. Two other experts stood nearby, their eyes focused, their movements synchronized as they assisted in setting up the sophisticated Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS) machine. The lab was silent, save for the soft hum of the equipment and the rustle of their protective gear.
With a brief nod to the team, Dr. Dorothy began. Her touch was gentle as she approached the first body, that of one of the sisters, Emily. She treated the corpse not as a mere specimen but as a person who once breathed and laughed, who had hopes and dreams. She brushed a strand of hair from the woman's forehead, a gesture so tender that it seemed out of place in the clinical environment. Yet, it was this very tenderness that set Dr. Dorothy apart; a respect for the dead that transcended the scientific detachment often required in such work.
The GC-MS method was intricate, involving the separation of the chemical compounds in a sample followed by their identification through mass spectrometry. Dr. Dorothy began by extracting tissue samples with the utmost care, ensuring that each incision was precise and minimal, preserving the body's dignity. The samples were then carefully prepared, each one labeled and documented with meticulous attention to detail.
As the machine began its analysis, Dr. Dorothy stood over the second body; Mark. Her fingers traced the edge of his cheek, as if in silent apology for the intrusion. The process was repeated, each step performed with the same unwavering precision. Her eyes never left the body, as if she could somehow communicate with the departed, seeking answers that lay hidden beneath the surface.
When she reached the final body, that of the second sister, the air in the room seemed to still. Dr. Dorothy's hands moved more slowly, almost as if she were reluctant to proceed. She paused for a moment, her eyes closed, offering a silent prayer for the soul that once inhabited the lifeless form before her. Then, with renewed focus, she took the final samples, her hands steady, her expression one of serene determination.
As the last sample was fed into the GC-MS machine, the room was filled with an anticipatory silence. The machine whirred softly as it processed the data, the results gradually appearing on the screen in front of Dr. Dorothy. She leaned in, her brow furrowing as she studied the output, searching for the clues that would unravel the mystery.
Minutes felt like hours as the analysis continued. Finally, a result began to take shape, the faint but telltale signature of a compound that had gone undetected in previous examinations. Dr. Dorothy's eyes widened as she recognized the pattern; a rare and potent toxin, one that could easily be masked in a body and would leave little trace once metabolized, save for the faintest of scents.
Her heart raced as she realized the implications. THIS WAS NO NATURAL DEATH. The presence of the toxin linked these deaths to each other and to the cold case from ten years ago. It was the breakthrough they had been hoping for, a thread that could finally tie the cases together.
Dr. Dorothy's eyes met Sarah's across the room, and in that silent exchange, they both knew; they were one step closer to uncovering the truth.
Want to know what happens next before anyone else?
I post new chapters 1 week early on Patreon— and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
To: The Director of Forensic Investigations
Subject: Request for Special Permission to Involve Dr. Lavine Dorothy in a Critical Case Examination
Date: 14 July, 2024
Dear Director Matthew Alexander Gray
I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to formally request your authorization to involve Dr. Lavine Dorothy, a renowned toxicology forensic expert, in a critical case that has come to our department's attention.
Over the past several weeks, our team has encountered three unexplained deaths that bear striking similarities to a cold case from ten years ago. The victims; two sisters and a man named Mark; were all found deceased without any apparent signs of trauma or disease. However, a faint, metallic garlic-like odor was detected at each scene, which matches the peculiar detail noted in the decade-old case involving a 57-year-old laboratory assistant named Robert. This olfactory clue, though subtle, may be pivotal in uncovering the true cause of these mysterious deaths.
Given the similarities and the unusual nature of the evidence, it is imperative that we employ advanced forensic techniques to analyze the remains. Dr. Dorothy has recommended the use of Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS), specifically a Tandem Mass Spectrometry analysis, to identify any trace toxins or substances that might have eluded previous examinations. This method, while highly sensitive and precise, requires expertise that Dr. Dorothy is uniquely qualified to provide.
Therefore, I respectfully request your approval to bring Dr. Dorothy on board for this case. Her involvement will greatly enhance our ability to solve these cases swiftly and accurately, bringing justice to the deceased and closure to their families.
Thank you for considering this request. I am confident that with Dr. Dorothy's expertise, we can uncover the truth behind these enigmatic deaths.
Yours sincerely,
Detective Sarah Blake
………………………
Soon Sarah received the response she was waiting for eagerly within few hours after sending out her proposal letter…
she tore open the letter that read as follow…
…………
To: Detective Sarah Blake
Subject: Authorization for Special Investigation Methods**
Date: 14 July, 2024
Detective Blake,
After careful consideration and in light of the urgency surrounding the ongoing investigation, I am pleased to inform you that your request has been approved. You are hereby granted full authorization to utilize all available forensic methods and resources within our jurisdiction to expedite the resolution of this case.
This case has garnered significant attention, and there is widespread concern regarding its potential impact on public perception, particularly in relation to the upcoming mayoral elections. As such, it is imperative that this matter is handled with the utmost efficiency and discretion.
Please ensure that all findings and developments are reported directly to my office. The swift and successful resolution of this case is of paramount importance, not only for the victims' families but also for maintaining public trust in our institutions.
Proceed with the investigation as you see fit, and keep me informed of your progress.
Best regards,
Mathew Alexender Gray
Director of Forensic Investigations
…………….
The very next day, Sarah Blake stood in the dimly lit forensic lab, her body enveloped in the sterile protection of a forensic suit, her heart heavy with the gravity of the task before her. The room was cold, the air thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the faint metallic odor that still lingered in her memory. Before her lay the three bodies, each one a silent testament to a life prematurely ended, their pale faces a haunting reminder of the mystery she was determined to solve.
Dr. Lavine Dorothy, a beacon of calm amidst the tension, stood at the head of the examination table. She moved with an almost reverent grace, her hands gloved and steady as she prepared the equipment. Two other experts stood nearby, their eyes focused, their movements synchronized as they assisted in setting up the sophisticated Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (GC-MS) machine. The lab was silent, save for the soft hum of the equipment and the rustle of their protective gear.
With a brief nod to the team, Dr. Dorothy began. Her touch was gentle as she approached the first body, that of one of the sisters, Emily. She treated the corpse not as a mere specimen but as a person who once breathed and laughed, who had hopes and dreams. She brushed a strand of hair from the woman's forehead, a gesture so tender that it seemed out of place in the clinical environment. Yet, it was this very tenderness that set Dr. Dorothy apart; a respect for the dead that transcended the scientific detachment often required in such work.
The GC-MS method was intricate, involving the separation of the chemical compounds in a sample followed by their identification through mass spectrometry. Dr. Dorothy began by extracting tissue samples with the utmost care, ensuring that each incision was precise and minimal, preserving the body's dignity. The samples were then carefully prepared, each one labeled and documented with meticulous attention to detail.
As the machine began its analysis, Dr. Dorothy stood over the second body; Mark. Her fingers traced the edge of his cheek, as if in silent apology for the intrusion. The process was repeated, each step performed with the same unwavering precision. Her eyes never left the body, as if she could somehow communicate with the departed, seeking answers that lay hidden beneath the surface.
When she reached the final body, that of the second sister, the air in the room seemed to still. Dr. Dorothy's hands moved more slowly, almost as if she were reluctant to proceed. She paused for a moment, her eyes closed, offering a silent prayer for the soul that once inhabited the lifeless form before her. Then, with renewed focus, she took the final samples, her hands steady, her expression one of serene determination.
As the last sample was fed into the GC-MS machine, the room was filled with an anticipatory silence. The machine whirred softly as it processed the data, the results gradually appearing on the screen in front of Dr. Dorothy. She leaned in, her brow furrowing as she studied the output, searching for the clues that would unravel the mystery.
Minutes felt like hours as the analysis continued. Finally, a result began to take shape, the faint but telltale signature of a compound that had gone undetected in previous examinations. Dr. Dorothy's eyes widened as she recognized the pattern; a rare and potent toxin, one that could easily be masked in a body and would leave little trace once metabolized, save for the faintest of scents.
Her heart raced as she realized the implications. THIS WAS NO NATURAL DEATH. The presence of the toxin linked these deaths to each other and to the cold case from ten years ago. It was the breakthrough they had been hoping for, a thread that could finally tie the cases together.
Dr. Dorothy's eyes met Sarah's across the room, and in that silent exchange, they both knew; they were one step closer to uncovering the truth.
Want to know what happens next before anyone else?I post new chapters 1 week early on Patreon— and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
LIGHT FOR YOU
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
I created this video only for you, dont break my heart by skipping it, open it and let me know what do you think...https://youtube.com/shorts/AQffbzYNiFM?feature=share
Last edited:
Bad Daughter: Chapter 19
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Detective Sarah Blake sat at her cluttered desk, her fingers gently tracing the edges of the test reports spread out before her. The tension in the room was palpable, and the weight of the latest discoveries pressed heavily on her. Across the table, Dr. Lavine Dorothy watched her friend intently, concern etched on her face.
"You good, Sarah?" Lavine asked softly, breaking the silence.
Sarah looked up, her eyes meeting Lavine's with a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. "Yes, yes… I'm better than ever. At least now I know what to look for."
A small sigh of relief escaped her lips, but it was clear that the burden of the case still loomed large. Lavine's phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the quiet tension. She glanced at the screen, then back at Sarah.
"Well, I guess I have to go now," Lavine said as she stood, slipping her phone into her pocket. Sarah rose from her chair and gave Lavine a tight hug, grateful for her support.
Lavine grabbed her bag and moved towards the door. "Let me know what's the progress on the case," she said, giving Sarah a playful wink before heading out.
Sarah watched her go, a faint smile on her lips. But as she turned back to the reports on her desk, the smile faded, replaced by a deep, focused stare. The reality of the situation hit her like a cold wave. The phosphene, an odorless, colorless, and deadly gas, had been the cause of death in all three victims. The discovery was a breakthrough, but it was also terrifying. Who had access to such a potent substance? And more importantly, who had the knowledge and motive to use it?
After this Sarah's thoughts turned to the victims. She opened the case files once more, focusing on the people closest to the deceased. The two sisters had known Vivian, and while they were infamous for their abrasive personalities, there was no clear evidence that they had any serious enemies. Vivian, however, kept appearing in the background of these cases. Though the connection wasn't strong enough to accuse her outright, something about her presence in both cases nagged at Sarah.
Then there was Mark. According to the reports, he had a history of harassment, particularly against a woman named Laura. There was also a minor feud with Vivian, but what stood out was the fact that Mark was reportedly afraid of her. The link between Vivian and the victims was becoming more apparent, but it was still too tenuous to make any definitive conclusions.
Suddenly, a thought struck Sarah like a bolt of lightning. She needed more evidence, something concrete that could tie these cases together. She immediately called out to her colleague, Maya. "Maya, I need you to bring me the confiscated phones and personal belongings of the victims. I want everything we have on them."
Maya quickly complied, returning with four phones; two from the sisters and two found in Mark's house. Sarah stared at the devices, all locked, each potentially holding the answers she desperately needed.
"Take these to the forensics lab," Sarah instructed. "I want them unlocked and I need every bit of data; chat history, call logs, search history. Everything."
As soon as Maya left with the phones, Determined, Sarah opened her laptop and began typing a detailed letter to the higher authorities. The words flowed quickly as she reported the progress in the case, highlighting the crucial findings that she and Lavine had uncovered. The identification of phosphene as the cause of death was a significant development, and it meant they were one step closer to understanding how these murders were committed. But now, the challenge was to identify the killer.
............................
To: Director Alexander Mathew Gray
From: Detective Sarah Blake, Crime Investigation Department
Subject: Critical Update on Ongoing Homicide Investigations
Dear Director Gray,
I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to provide you with a critical update on the ongoing investigation concerning the recent unexplained deaths that have occurred within our jurisdiction. After extensive analysis and collaboration with Dr. Lavine Dorothy, a leading expert in forensic toxicology, we have uncovered significant findings that demand immediate attention and action.
Summary of Findings:
During our investigation, we have identified a common factor linking the deaths of the victims: a rare and highly toxic substance known as phosphene. This chemical is both colorless and odorless, making it exceptionally difficult to detect without specialized equipment. However, we found that in all three cases; the sisters, Mark, and a decade-old cold case involving a man named Robert, a faint garlic-metallic odor was reported at the crime scenes. Upon further forensic analysis, this odor was traced back to phosphene exposure.
The use of phosphene as a means of causing death is both deliberate and highly calculated. This revelation shifts our focus and we have started looking into it at a wide angle.
Next Steps:
Conclusion:
The gravity of these findings cannot be overstated. The use of phosphene in these murders suggests a level of premeditation and expertise that is both rare and highly dangerous. Our immediate goal is to identify and apprehend the individual or individuals responsible before any further harm can occur.
I will continue to keep you informed of all developments and am prepared to provide a more detailed briefing at your earliest convenience. Your support in these efforts will be crucial to ensuring we bring this case to a swift and successful resolution.
Thank you for your attention to this urgent matter.
Sincerely,
Detective Sarah Blake
Crime Investigation Department
....................
After sending the email,sarah sat back on her chair and then the station's phone rang, the sharp sound jolting Sarah out of her thoughts. She picked it up, her voice steady and professional. "Crime Investigation Department, Detective Blake speaking. How can we help you?"
A shrill, panicked voice crackled through the receiver. "There's a terrible smell coming from an apartment… I think there's someone dead inside."
Sarah's heart skipped a beat. "Okay, ma'am, calm down. Can you tell me your location?" The woman rattled off an address in a vague part of the city, a place where anonymity was easy to maintain and neighbors rarely knew each other well.
"Do you know who lives in that apartment?" Sarah asked, already suspecting the worst.
"No… I don't know. I haven't seen the resident," the caller replied, her voice trembling.
"Alright, ma'am, we'll be there as soon as possible." Sarah hung up the phone, her mind racing. Another murder, another mystery. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the rhythmic thudding almost drowning out her thoughts.
As she gathered her gear, a dreadful realization settled over her like a dark cloud. Her heart was telling her that THIS WAS THE SAME CASE…
Want to know what happens next before anyone else? 
I post new chapters 1 week early on Patreon— and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
"You good, Sarah?" Lavine asked softly, breaking the silence.
Sarah looked up, her eyes meeting Lavine's with a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. "Yes, yes… I'm better than ever. At least now I know what to look for."
A small sigh of relief escaped her lips, but it was clear that the burden of the case still loomed large. Lavine's phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the quiet tension. She glanced at the screen, then back at Sarah.
"Well, I guess I have to go now," Lavine said as she stood, slipping her phone into her pocket. Sarah rose from her chair and gave Lavine a tight hug, grateful for her support.
Lavine grabbed her bag and moved towards the door. "Let me know what's the progress on the case," she said, giving Sarah a playful wink before heading out.
Sarah watched her go, a faint smile on her lips. But as she turned back to the reports on her desk, the smile faded, replaced by a deep, focused stare. The reality of the situation hit her like a cold wave. The phosphene, an odorless, colorless, and deadly gas, had been the cause of death in all three victims. The discovery was a breakthrough, but it was also terrifying. Who had access to such a potent substance? And more importantly, who had the knowledge and motive to use it?
After this Sarah's thoughts turned to the victims. She opened the case files once more, focusing on the people closest to the deceased. The two sisters had known Vivian, and while they were infamous for their abrasive personalities, there was no clear evidence that they had any serious enemies. Vivian, however, kept appearing in the background of these cases. Though the connection wasn't strong enough to accuse her outright, something about her presence in both cases nagged at Sarah.
Then there was Mark. According to the reports, he had a history of harassment, particularly against a woman named Laura. There was also a minor feud with Vivian, but what stood out was the fact that Mark was reportedly afraid of her. The link between Vivian and the victims was becoming more apparent, but it was still too tenuous to make any definitive conclusions.
Suddenly, a thought struck Sarah like a bolt of lightning. She needed more evidence, something concrete that could tie these cases together. She immediately called out to her colleague, Maya. "Maya, I need you to bring me the confiscated phones and personal belongings of the victims. I want everything we have on them."
Maya quickly complied, returning with four phones; two from the sisters and two found in Mark's house. Sarah stared at the devices, all locked, each potentially holding the answers she desperately needed.
"Take these to the forensics lab," Sarah instructed. "I want them unlocked and I need every bit of data; chat history, call logs, search history. Everything."
As soon as Maya left with the phones, Determined, Sarah opened her laptop and began typing a detailed letter to the higher authorities. The words flowed quickly as she reported the progress in the case, highlighting the crucial findings that she and Lavine had uncovered. The identification of phosphene as the cause of death was a significant development, and it meant they were one step closer to understanding how these murders were committed. But now, the challenge was to identify the killer.
............................
To: Director Alexander Mathew Gray
From: Detective Sarah Blake, Crime Investigation Department
Subject: Critical Update on Ongoing Homicide Investigations
Dear Director Gray,
I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to provide you with a critical update on the ongoing investigation concerning the recent unexplained deaths that have occurred within our jurisdiction. After extensive analysis and collaboration with Dr. Lavine Dorothy, a leading expert in forensic toxicology, we have uncovered significant findings that demand immediate attention and action.
Summary of Findings:
During our investigation, we have identified a common factor linking the deaths of the victims: a rare and highly toxic substance known as phosphene. This chemical is both colorless and odorless, making it exceptionally difficult to detect without specialized equipment. However, we found that in all three cases; the sisters, Mark, and a decade-old cold case involving a man named Robert, a faint garlic-metallic odor was reported at the crime scenes. Upon further forensic analysis, this odor was traced back to phosphene exposure.
The use of phosphene as a means of causing death is both deliberate and highly calculated. This revelation shifts our focus and we have started looking into it at a wide angle.
Next Steps:
Conclusion:
The gravity of these findings cannot be overstated. The use of phosphene in these murders suggests a level of premeditation and expertise that is both rare and highly dangerous. Our immediate goal is to identify and apprehend the individual or individuals responsible before any further harm can occur.
I will continue to keep you informed of all developments and am prepared to provide a more detailed briefing at your earliest convenience. Your support in these efforts will be crucial to ensuring we bring this case to a swift and successful resolution.
Thank you for your attention to this urgent matter.
Sincerely,
Detective Sarah Blake
Crime Investigation Department
....................
After sending the email,sarah sat back on her chair and then the station's phone rang, the sharp sound jolting Sarah out of her thoughts. She picked it up, her voice steady and professional. "Crime Investigation Department, Detective Blake speaking. How can we help you?"
A shrill, panicked voice crackled through the receiver. "There's a terrible smell coming from an apartment… I think there's someone dead inside."
Sarah's heart skipped a beat. "Okay, ma'am, calm down. Can you tell me your location?" The woman rattled off an address in a vague part of the city, a place where anonymity was easy to maintain and neighbors rarely knew each other well.
"Do you know who lives in that apartment?" Sarah asked, already suspecting the worst.
"No… I don't know. I haven't seen the resident," the caller replied, her voice trembling.
"Alright, ma'am, we'll be there as soon as possible." Sarah hung up the phone, her mind racing. Another murder, another mystery. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the rhythmic thudding almost drowning out her thoughts.
As she gathered her gear, a dreadful realization settled over her like a dark cloud. Her heart was telling her that THIS WAS THE SAME CASE…
Want to know what happens next before anyone else? I post new chapters 1 week early on Patreon— and right now, you can try it FREE for 7 days.
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Bad Daughter: Chapter 20
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Laura sat on her plush couch, her phone in hand, anxiously typing out a series of messages to Vivian:
"Vivian, where are you, dear?"
"You said you'd see me at 6."
"Is everything okay, Vivian?"
"Why aren't you responding to me?"
As she sent the last message, Laura's lips curled into a knowing smile. There was something unsettlingly calculated about the way she crafted each word, as if she was more interested in provoking a response than genuinely seeking one. She slipped her phone onto the coffee table and let out a soft chuckle, amused by a secret only she knew, something she was carefully planning.
---
In a dimly lit, cozy café, the quiet murmur of conversations was occasionally interrupted by the soft moans of a child sleeping peacefully in Vivian's arms. The dim light above cast a gentle glow over Vivian's face, highlighting the delicate way she cradled the child, as though the little girl were made of the finest, most fragile glass.
Max sat across from her, his eyes involuntarily drifting to Vivian, who seemed entirely engrossed in the child. The sight stirred something deep within him, a mix of admiration and an unspoken longing.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, Max finally broke it, his voice tentative. "Are you married?"
Vivian's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing with a look that needed no explanation. It was the kind of look that conveyed awkwardness.
"This is your first question after all these years?" she asked, her voice low, almost non audible.
Max hesitated, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I guess you're not married... That's good, that's good," he added while stroking his legs, with a hint of relief yet calmlessness, that he couldn't quite hide.
Vivian remained focused on the child, her fingers gently stroking the girl's silky black hair. "Your daughter is beautiful," she said, with a warm softness.
Max's face shifted from confusion to understanding, and then to a kind of resigned acceptance. "My daughter?" he echoed, staring at Vivian as if waiting for some acknowledgment of the truth he was about to share. He leaned back in his chair, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. I am not married Vivian, he replied.
Then this kid she looked crossed and confused.
Max laughed at this, "Noo.. Stopp… I know what you are thinking, No she is not my illegitimate child either"
He laughed again but that soon turned to a calm revelation, "Ava is my adopted daughter. I rescued her from a car accident."
Vivian looked up, her expression changing as she realized the depth of the situation. "Her parents..." she began, her voice trailing off as her thoughts overwhelmed her.
Max's eyes softened as he watched Ava. "They both died in the crash," he said quietly, his voice tinged with the weight of the memory. "I was the only one there to take her in. I was there when it happened... Her father handed her to me in his last moments. I will never forget that day." His face down
As Vivian's eyes moved from Max to the sleeping child in her arms, she unconsciously tightened her hold on the girl. She was drawn into a moment of vulnerability, her maternal instincts flaring up despite the walls she'd built around her heart.
As max looked up to , he was caught up vivian's innocent beauty... He looked from her face to the sleeping Ava... he held his chin...and mumbled to himself, i think i know why she called her mother ... you are tooo similar...
A whisper too loud to be a whisper, this sudden statement took vivian by surprise and she looked up at Max and then to the sleeping child...
She raised her head up…now where did this come from she looked astounded... holding the kid even tighter without realizing... max saw that... and his heart told him to go for what he knew they both wanted...
"Vivian…," Max said solmenly moving forward, his hand folded in front of him... his eyes very clear of what he was going to do... A gamble he wanted to play, to see the world that holds his heart, cradling the world that fills his soul…
"Vivian," he began.
Vivian moved back on her chair, child still in her arms... her eyes clearly saying, "NO!... Don't ask me"
"Vivian, i dont know if you will belive me, but as I saw you before me, my heart trembled with vulnerability. I know after a journey of twists and turns, life's most precious moments are the ones we share with our loved one and i know this is not the case for you, but i also know that you yearn to give the love that you yourself couldn't receive...
Vivian...This girl, who lies in your arms, with a smile that lights up my world, deserves to be loved, nurtured, and cherished.
Vivian's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but she remained silent, her eyes locked on the child's peaceful face.
"I want to be the safe anchor where she can grow, explore, and flourish." He continues.
"I want to be the rock that supports her, the guiding light house that illuminates her path, and the gentle breeze that soothes her soul. Vivian, I know it's been a long time coming, but as i sit before you and see you, i can't imagine anyone else to take this position with me to witness her growth, her laughter, and her tears.
Will you be the final piece in our disheveled puzzle?"
Vivian was struck silent, motionless as if the world had stopped spinning. She was lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unable to process the weight of what Max had just proposed. She felt the walls of her carefully constructed life beginning to crack, exposing her to a flood of feelings she wasn't prepared to handle.
Max watched her, his heart pounding with anticipation, fear, and hope all at once. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched, his eyes pleading for an answer, as he awaited her response.
"Look! I know it's confusing, but the summary of this all is…"
He whispered again, his voice barely audible yet charged with emotion, like a gentle gust of air sweeping through her ears that was soft enough to soothe her soul yet powerful enough to shatter her entire composure…
"Vivian…"
"Will you be her mother?"
Vivian felt her hair stand up and her own body run cold, her eyes getting teary, sensing the depth of the situation."
Suddenly, Vivian stood up, clutching the child tightly to her chest. She turned away, her steps quick and determined, heading towards the exit without a word.
"Vivian!" Max called out, his voice urgent, filled with concern. He rushed after her, catching up just as she reached the door. He stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop abruptly.
"Where are you going with our daughter?" Max asked, his tone light and humorous, as he bent down to meet her gaze, his eyes sparkling with amusement, looking into hers with a warm smile, as if he already knew the answer, and was simply waiting for her to realize it too.
"OUR!?"
Vivian's blank stare slowly shifted as she processed his words. The realization of what she was doing hit her like a ton of bricks. She had unconsciously tried to take the child away, as if fleeing from the reality she couldn't face. Embarrassment flooded her as she looked down at the sleeping girl in her arms.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered, a shaky smile breaking through her emotional turmoil. She carefully handed the child back to Max, who took her with a reassuring smile.
Alas, her body knew what it yearned for, but her mind remained uncertain…
"I was in a hurry," she said gently, trying to ease the tension.
"Yes, yes, you are," Max muttered, playing along with her.
"I didn't realize..." She continued.
"Yes, yes I understand it can happen" he said while holding his laugh.
"You can take Ava if you wish," Max offered teasingly, "She likes you, and I don't think she'd mind staying with you for a while."
"No... not the kid," Vivian blurted out, backing away as if the very idea was too much for her to handle. She shook her head vigorously, her hands raised in a gesture of refusal.
Max watched her, a mixture of hope and understanding in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, extending it towards her. "Here, take this," he said softly.
Vivian hesitated for a moment before taking the card and slipping it into her purse. Without another word, she turned and rushed towards the exit, the sound of her hurried footsteps echoing in the quiet café, and the weight of her grocery weighing her down, don't know if it was the weight of her dejected heart or grocery.
As she pushed through the door and stepped out into the cold air, her thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions. Her subconscious mind battled fiercely with her conscious self, a war between her deep-seated guilt and her undeniable yearning for motherhood.
"A murderer doesn't deserve to be a mother," she whispered to herself as she walked away. "I don't deserve to be a mother..."
But as much as she tried to convince herself of this, the image of the sleeping child in her arms lingered in her mind, refusing to let her go.
ufff... this is my most favorite chapter ... i know the climax is here and you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?
and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days. just join and give me comment under the chapter and i will open the chapter for you till midnight! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
"Vivian, where are you, dear?"
"You said you'd see me at 6."
"Is everything okay, Vivian?"
"Why aren't you responding to me?"
As she sent the last message, Laura's lips curled into a knowing smile. There was something unsettlingly calculated about the way she crafted each word, as if she was more interested in provoking a response than genuinely seeking one. She slipped her phone onto the coffee table and let out a soft chuckle, amused by a secret only she knew, something she was carefully planning.
---
In a dimly lit, cozy café, the quiet murmur of conversations was occasionally interrupted by the soft moans of a child sleeping peacefully in Vivian's arms. The dim light above cast a gentle glow over Vivian's face, highlighting the delicate way she cradled the child, as though the little girl were made of the finest, most fragile glass.
Max sat across from her, his eyes involuntarily drifting to Vivian, who seemed entirely engrossed in the child. The sight stirred something deep within him, a mix of admiration and an unspoken longing.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, Max finally broke it, his voice tentative. "Are you married?"
Vivian's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing with a look that needed no explanation. It was the kind of look that conveyed awkwardness.
"This is your first question after all these years?" she asked, her voice low, almost non audible.
Max hesitated, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I guess you're not married... That's good, that's good," he added while stroking his legs, with a hint of relief yet calmlessness, that he couldn't quite hide.
Vivian remained focused on the child, her fingers gently stroking the girl's silky black hair. "Your daughter is beautiful," she said, with a warm softness.
Max's face shifted from confusion to understanding, and then to a kind of resigned acceptance. "My daughter?" he echoed, staring at Vivian as if waiting for some acknowledgment of the truth he was about to share. He leaned back in his chair, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. I am not married Vivian, he replied.
Then this kid she looked crossed and confused.
Max laughed at this, "Noo.. Stopp… I know what you are thinking, No she is not my illegitimate child either"
He laughed again but that soon turned to a calm revelation, "Ava is my adopted daughter. I rescued her from a car accident."
Vivian looked up, her expression changing as she realized the depth of the situation. "Her parents..." she began, her voice trailing off as her thoughts overwhelmed her.
Max's eyes softened as he watched Ava. "They both died in the crash," he said quietly, his voice tinged with the weight of the memory. "I was the only one there to take her in. I was there when it happened... Her father handed her to me in his last moments. I will never forget that day." His face down
As Vivian's eyes moved from Max to the sleeping child in her arms, she unconsciously tightened her hold on the girl. She was drawn into a moment of vulnerability, her maternal instincts flaring up despite the walls she'd built around her heart.
As max looked up to , he was caught up vivian's innocent beauty... He looked from her face to the sleeping Ava... he held his chin...and mumbled to himself, i think i know why she called her mother ... you are tooo similar...
A whisper too loud to be a whisper, this sudden statement took vivian by surprise and she looked up at Max and then to the sleeping child...
She raised her head up…now where did this come from she looked astounded... holding the kid even tighter without realizing... max saw that... and his heart told him to go for what he knew they both wanted...
"Vivian…," Max said solmenly moving forward, his hand folded in front of him... his eyes very clear of what he was going to do... A gamble he wanted to play, to see the world that holds his heart, cradling the world that fills his soul…
"Vivian," he began.
Vivian moved back on her chair, child still in her arms... her eyes clearly saying, "NO!... Don't ask me"
"Vivian, i dont know if you will belive me, but as I saw you before me, my heart trembled with vulnerability. I know after a journey of twists and turns, life's most precious moments are the ones we share with our loved one and i know this is not the case for you, but i also know that you yearn to give the love that you yourself couldn't receive...
Vivian...This girl, who lies in your arms, with a smile that lights up my world, deserves to be loved, nurtured, and cherished.
Vivian's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but she remained silent, her eyes locked on the child's peaceful face.
"I want to be the safe anchor where she can grow, explore, and flourish." He continues.
"I want to be the rock that supports her, the guiding light house that illuminates her path, and the gentle breeze that soothes her soul. Vivian, I know it's been a long time coming, but as i sit before you and see you, i can't imagine anyone else to take this position with me to witness her growth, her laughter, and her tears.
Will you be the final piece in our disheveled puzzle?"
Vivian was struck silent, motionless as if the world had stopped spinning. She was lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unable to process the weight of what Max had just proposed. She felt the walls of her carefully constructed life beginning to crack, exposing her to a flood of feelings she wasn't prepared to handle.
Max watched her, his heart pounding with anticipation, fear, and hope all at once. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched, his eyes pleading for an answer, as he awaited her response.
"Look! I know it's confusing, but the summary of this all is…"
He whispered again, his voice barely audible yet charged with emotion, like a gentle gust of air sweeping through her ears that was soft enough to soothe her soul yet powerful enough to shatter her entire composure…
"Vivian…"
"Will you be her mother?"
Vivian felt her hair stand up and her own body run cold, her eyes getting teary, sensing the depth of the situation."
Suddenly, Vivian stood up, clutching the child tightly to her chest. She turned away, her steps quick and determined, heading towards the exit without a word.
"Vivian!" Max called out, his voice urgent, filled with concern. He rushed after her, catching up just as she reached the door. He stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop abruptly.
"Where are you going with our daughter?" Max asked, his tone light and humorous, as he bent down to meet her gaze, his eyes sparkling with amusement, looking into hers with a warm smile, as if he already knew the answer, and was simply waiting for her to realize it too.
"OUR!?"
Vivian's blank stare slowly shifted as she processed his words. The realization of what she was doing hit her like a ton of bricks. She had unconsciously tried to take the child away, as if fleeing from the reality she couldn't face. Embarrassment flooded her as she looked down at the sleeping girl in her arms.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered, a shaky smile breaking through her emotional turmoil. She carefully handed the child back to Max, who took her with a reassuring smile.
Alas, her body knew what it yearned for, but her mind remained uncertain…
"I was in a hurry," she said gently, trying to ease the tension.
"Yes, yes, you are," Max muttered, playing along with her.
"I didn't realize..." She continued.
"Yes, yes I understand it can happen" he said while holding his laugh.
"You can take Ava if you wish," Max offered teasingly, "She likes you, and I don't think she'd mind staying with you for a while."
"No... not the kid," Vivian blurted out, backing away as if the very idea was too much for her to handle. She shook her head vigorously, her hands raised in a gesture of refusal.
Max watched her, a mixture of hope and understanding in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, extending it towards her. "Here, take this," he said softly.
Vivian hesitated for a moment before taking the card and slipping it into her purse. Without another word, she turned and rushed towards the exit, the sound of her hurried footsteps echoing in the quiet café, and the weight of her grocery weighing her down, don't know if it was the weight of her dejected heart or grocery.
As she pushed through the door and stepped out into the cold air, her thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions. Her subconscious mind battled fiercely with her conscious self, a war between her deep-seated guilt and her undeniable yearning for motherhood.
"A murderer doesn't deserve to be a mother," she whispered to herself as she walked away. "I don't deserve to be a mother..."
But as much as she tried to convince herself of this, the image of the sleeping child in her arms lingered in her mind, refusing to let her go.
ufff... this is my most favorite chapter ... i know the climax is here and you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else? and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days. just join and give me comment under the chapter and i will open the chapter for you till midnight! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Last edited:
Bad Daughter: Chapter 21
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
The screeching tires echoed through the dimly lit parking lot, punctuating the cold, silent air. As Vivian entered, the metallic roar of engines filled the space, echoing off the walls like a menacing chorus. Four sleek, black jeeps sped in, closing in on her from all sides, forming a tight circle. The sudden onslaught of honking horns and blaring sirens battered her ears, each sound sharper and louder than the last.
Vivian's heart raced. Moments ago, she had been wrestling with Max's proposal, the weight of his words still pressing on her chest. Now, this sudden confrontation felt like a blow she wasn't prepared for. Panic surged within her as the doors of the nearest jeep flung open. Sarah Blake stepped out, flanked by two officers, stun guns in their hands, their faces cold and unreadable.
Vivian's pulse quickened, her breath growing shallow. Her mind raced, struggling to process the scene. She darted glances to her left, right, and behind, but everywhere she looked, there were figures closing in on her like a pack of predators stalking prey. She was trapped. She felt like a lone wolf, cornered, hopeless.
Sarah's eyes, steely and unrelenting, locked onto Vivian. She took a step forward, her voice slicing through the cacophony, "Vivian Donovan. You are under suspicion for murder."
Vivian's body stiffened. "I told you," her voice broke through in a frantic shout, "Don't come near me without a warrant!" Her words reverberated through the air, but there was no hesitation in Sarah's advance.
The stun gun remained aimed as Sarah approached. Vivian, instinctively backing away, felt the cold metal of her car's side mirror graze her back. She flinched, fear jolting her very senses. In that moment of distraction, Sarah lunged. Her grip was iron, slamming Vivian's body against the car with a force that left her breathless. Pain shot up her spine as her hands were yanked behind her and cuffed, the cold steel biting into her wrists, creating scar in all her struggle to set herself free
Vivian thrashed like a fish out of water, her mind in a haze. "Let me go!" she screeched, her voice shrill, trembling with fear and confusion. The image of Max flashed before her eyes—him holding the sleeping Ava, his gentle voice asking for a future, and now this nightmare, too fast and too harsh.
Tears blurred her vision. "What have I done?" she sobbed, her voice cracking as she struggled, her knees buckling. But Sarah's grip did not falter. Her voice was methodical, detached, as she recited, "Vivian Donovan, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Albert Donovan. You have the right to remain silent...."
Rest of the words went numb she could hear no more. The words that Sarah just spoke, sliced through Vivian's mind like a knife. Her body went rigid as she heard the name.
Albert Donovan.
Murder suspect.
Albert.
Her ears roared, drowning out the rest of Sarah's words. The parking lot blurred around her as memories of Albert's helpless face flashed before her eyes; his sad, pleading gaze, his fragile demeanor.
How? Why?
Her chest tightened. "Albert…" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "Albert…" Her head swam, and she could no longer feel her own body. The sound of Sarah's voice faded into a distant hum. She stopped struggling.
"What happened to Albert?" Vivian's voice cracked as she spoke again, weaker now, her words like broken glass. "What happened to him?" she cried out, but no one answered.
"I said, what happened to Albert?" Her voice trembled, rising in panic, but still, there was silence. The officers around her exchanged glances, their faces blank.
Desperation boiled over. "SARAH!" she screamed, her voice erupting with raw agony.
Sarah Blake froze. For a brief second, she felt a chill crawl down her body, rocking her very soul. Vivian's cry had shattered something within her, the pain and terror so palpable, it left her shaken. She turned to face Vivian, her grip tightening on the cuffs as if it were the only thing grounding her in the moment.
"He's dead," Sarah's voice was barely a whisper, almost too soft for the harsh scene around them. It hung in the air like a stone, heavy and suffocating.
Vivian's knees buckled beneath her as the words hit her. Her body collapsed to the ground, the weight of those two words breaking her in ways she never thought possible. Her mind spiraled, unable to accept it, Albert, dead? No, this wasn't real, this couldn't be real. Her heart raced, each beat painful and jagged as her world closed in around her.
"Vivian, stop struggling, you will only hurt yourself! " Sarah said, her tone losing its authority, now laced with something close to pity. Maya, one of the officers, knelt beside her to help her stand. Together, they lifted her into the car, her body limp, her mind lost in a storm of grief and confusion.
The drive to the station was silent, but inside the car, Sarah was far from calm. She had wanted this for so long, had been so sure of her steps, of her investigation, but now; seeing Vivian's collapse, hearing the pain in her voice; something gnawed at her. Doubt crept in, like a shadow she couldn't shake.
She stared out the window, her jaw clenched tight. The case was closed, wasn't it? Vivian Donovan, the murderer of Albert Donovan. Yet why did she feel so unsettled? Why did she feel like something wasn't right?
Vivian sat, motionless, her hands still bound, her eyes staring blankly ahead. She was not struggling anymore… Inside, her heart was in freefall. She was not thinking anything. She was totally blank and in a trance like state.
And though Sarah had finally captured the woman she had been chasing for so long, the victory was hollow. There was no triumph, only a deep, gnawing unease. She thought she had found the killer. But the truth, it seemed, was far more elusive than she had imagined.
i know you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?
and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days. just join and give me comment under the chapter and i will open the chapter for you till midnight! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Vivian's heart raced. Moments ago, she had been wrestling with Max's proposal, the weight of his words still pressing on her chest. Now, this sudden confrontation felt like a blow she wasn't prepared for. Panic surged within her as the doors of the nearest jeep flung open. Sarah Blake stepped out, flanked by two officers, stun guns in their hands, their faces cold and unreadable.
Vivian's pulse quickened, her breath growing shallow. Her mind raced, struggling to process the scene. She darted glances to her left, right, and behind, but everywhere she looked, there were figures closing in on her like a pack of predators stalking prey. She was trapped. She felt like a lone wolf, cornered, hopeless.
Sarah's eyes, steely and unrelenting, locked onto Vivian. She took a step forward, her voice slicing through the cacophony, "Vivian Donovan. You are under suspicion for murder."
Vivian's body stiffened. "I told you," her voice broke through in a frantic shout, "Don't come near me without a warrant!" Her words reverberated through the air, but there was no hesitation in Sarah's advance.
The stun gun remained aimed as Sarah approached. Vivian, instinctively backing away, felt the cold metal of her car's side mirror graze her back. She flinched, fear jolting her very senses. In that moment of distraction, Sarah lunged. Her grip was iron, slamming Vivian's body against the car with a force that left her breathless. Pain shot up her spine as her hands were yanked behind her and cuffed, the cold steel biting into her wrists, creating scar in all her struggle to set herself free
Vivian thrashed like a fish out of water, her mind in a haze. "Let me go!" she screeched, her voice shrill, trembling with fear and confusion. The image of Max flashed before her eyes—him holding the sleeping Ava, his gentle voice asking for a future, and now this nightmare, too fast and too harsh.
Tears blurred her vision. "What have I done?" she sobbed, her voice cracking as she struggled, her knees buckling. But Sarah's grip did not falter. Her voice was methodical, detached, as she recited, "Vivian Donovan, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Albert Donovan. You have the right to remain silent...."
Rest of the words went numb she could hear no more. The words that Sarah just spoke, sliced through Vivian's mind like a knife. Her body went rigid as she heard the name.
Albert Donovan.
Murder suspect.
Albert.
Her ears roared, drowning out the rest of Sarah's words. The parking lot blurred around her as memories of Albert's helpless face flashed before her eyes; his sad, pleading gaze, his fragile demeanor.
How? Why?
Her chest tightened. "Albert…" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "Albert…" Her head swam, and she could no longer feel her own body. The sound of Sarah's voice faded into a distant hum. She stopped struggling.
"What happened to Albert?" Vivian's voice cracked as she spoke again, weaker now, her words like broken glass. "What happened to him?" she cried out, but no one answered.
"I said, what happened to Albert?" Her voice trembled, rising in panic, but still, there was silence. The officers around her exchanged glances, their faces blank.
Desperation boiled over. "SARAH!" she screamed, her voice erupting with raw agony.
Sarah Blake froze. For a brief second, she felt a chill crawl down her body, rocking her very soul. Vivian's cry had shattered something within her, the pain and terror so palpable, it left her shaken. She turned to face Vivian, her grip tightening on the cuffs as if it were the only thing grounding her in the moment.
"He's dead," Sarah's voice was barely a whisper, almost too soft for the harsh scene around them. It hung in the air like a stone, heavy and suffocating.
Vivian's knees buckled beneath her as the words hit her. Her body collapsed to the ground, the weight of those two words breaking her in ways she never thought possible. Her mind spiraled, unable to accept it, Albert, dead? No, this wasn't real, this couldn't be real. Her heart raced, each beat painful and jagged as her world closed in around her.
"Vivian, stop struggling, you will only hurt yourself! " Sarah said, her tone losing its authority, now laced with something close to pity. Maya, one of the officers, knelt beside her to help her stand. Together, they lifted her into the car, her body limp, her mind lost in a storm of grief and confusion.
The drive to the station was silent, but inside the car, Sarah was far from calm. She had wanted this for so long, had been so sure of her steps, of her investigation, but now; seeing Vivian's collapse, hearing the pain in her voice; something gnawed at her. Doubt crept in, like a shadow she couldn't shake.
She stared out the window, her jaw clenched tight. The case was closed, wasn't it? Vivian Donovan, the murderer of Albert Donovan. Yet why did she feel so unsettled? Why did she feel like something wasn't right?
Vivian sat, motionless, her hands still bound, her eyes staring blankly ahead. She was not struggling anymore… Inside, her heart was in freefall. She was not thinking anything. She was totally blank and in a trance like state.
And though Sarah had finally captured the woman she had been chasing for so long, the victory was hollow. There was no triumph, only a deep, gnawing unease. She thought she had found the killer. But the truth, it seemed, was far more elusive than she had imagined.
i know you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days. just join and give me comment under the chapter and i will open the chapter for you till midnight! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Bad Daughter: Chapter 22
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
In the dimly lit room, a single overhead bulb cast a harsh light on Vivian Donovan, whose disheveled appearance contrasted with the cold, metallic surroundings of the police station's interrogation room. Her hands were still cuffed, resting on the cold metal table in front of her. She looked exhausted, her eyes hollow and swollen, but her demeanor remained defiant. The only sound was the ticking of a clock on the wall, echoing the tension in the air.
The iron door creaked open with a groan, and Detective Sarah Blake walked in, her expression grave but professional. She carried a stack of files, the weight of the case visibly pressing on her shoulders. Without a word, she sat down across from Vivian, pressing the recording button beneath the table, the soft beep marking the beginning of the interrogation.
"Ms. Vivian Donovan, I am Detective Sarah Blake, and I'll be leading this investigation. You've been named as a suspect in three murder cases, with strong evidence linking you to one of them. I need you to answer my questions truthfully."
Vivian remained silent, her eyes unwavering. Sarah inhaled deeply, preparing for what she anticipated would be a long and frustrating process.
"How do you know Albert Donovan?"
"I don't know," Vivian replied flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.
"You don't know?" Sarah raised an eyebrow. "We found your business card in his hand at the crime scene, where he was found murdered."
"I don't know," Vivian repeated, her tone unchanged.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"I don't know."
"According to witnesses, you were seen arguing with him in the lobby of your company a few days before he was killed. What were you fighting about?"
"I don't know."
Sarah's jaw clenched, the frustration starting to mount. "Witnesses also saw him getting into your car that day. What happened in the car?"
"I don't know."
"What about Saturday night? Where were you?"
"I don't know."
Sarah's patience was wearing thin, but she leaned back in her chair, observing Vivian's unchanging expression. "Ms. Donovan, you need to understand that your refusal to cooperate doesn't help you. You were seen with the victim, he was found dead with your card in his hand, and security cameras were down that night. All evidence points to you."
Vivian remained silent, her gaze distant but unwavering.
Sarah continued, her voice becoming firmer. "If you cooperate, if you tell us the truth, we can clear this up. We don't want to hold an innocent person."
Vivian blinked, her eyes slowly focusing on Sarah. She spoke, her voice low and cold. "If you know everything, then you also know I'm not the murderer."
Sarah leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Then Prove it! Give us an alibi. Explain yourself. Help me help you."
But Vivian clammed up again, staring at the table, her face a blank slate. Minutes turned into an hour, but she said nothing more. Frustrated and at a dead end, Sarah finally rose from her seat, turning off the recorder. She glanced one last time at Vivian, her face twisted with concern, before walking out of the room.
In the hallway, Sarah rubbed her temples, her head pounding. Maya, her colleague, approached her with two cups of coffee, her expression softening as she saw the stress etched on Sarah's face.
"Rough in there?" Maya asked, handing her one of the cups.
Sarah nodded, taking a sip. "I don't know what to think, Maya. She's just… stonewalling. No tears, no panic, nothing."
Maya leaned against the wall, thoughtful. "Do you think she's the killer?"
"I don't know anymore." Sarah sighed, her frustration clear. "Everything points to her, but something feels off. It's almost too… easy. She's not sloppy, and now, suddenly, she's the prime suspect?"
Maya nodded. "Exactly. She's never left a trace before, so why now? It's like someone's framing her. And there's another problem..."
Maya glanced around before lowering her voice. "I think we have a mole in the department."
Sarah's eyes widened in shock. "A mole? What do you mean?"
"Someone's leaking information to the real killer. How else would they stay one step ahead of us? And think about it—why would Vivian's card be in Albert's hand, so obvious? It's too convenient."
Sarah's mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle swirling in her head. Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Hey, ladies," John Blake, Sarah's husband and fellow detective, approached with a smile, two more coffees in hand. He kissed Sarah on the cheek, handing one cup to Maya. "Working hard, huh?"
"Something like that," Maya muttered, glancing at Sarah, who was still deep in thought.
"So, how's the case going? Any confessions yet? She said anything?" John asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
Maya's eyes narrowed slightly, and she shot Sarah a pointed look before responding quickly. "Nothing yet. But we're close. We've got the evidence."
Sarah, catching the tension between the two, stayed quiet, her mind replaying John's question. Why did he say "she"? Why was he so certain it was Vivian?
Maya pressed, her voice casual but sharp. "Who do you mean by 'she,' John?"
John blinked, momentarily taken aback. "What? Oh, just… I meant the suspect, whoever it is."
Maya's lips curled into a tight smile. "Right. Whoever it is."
John glanced at his phone, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Well, I've got to get back to it. Keep me posted on the case, okay?" He gave Sarah a quick kiss on the cheek again and hurried off.
As he disappeared down the hall, Maya turned to Sarah, her eyes serious. "There's something wrong, Sarah. I don't trust him. He's too involved in this case…
Maya I think you are misunderstanding him, he just had a slip-up right now" Sarah said, confusingly. she herself not believing what she was saying. She herself an experienced person, knew that this was not just a mistake against her own loving HUSBAND… but her stacks were too high to gamble, that she couldn't afford.
" It wasn't a mistake. And you know it" Maya responded
Sarah felt her stomach twist. She had always trusted John implicitly, but now… doubt was creeping in.
"What do I do, Maya?" Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible.
Maya placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice steady. "We keep digging. Quietly. If there's a mole, we need to flush them out before anyone else gets hurt. And right now, Sarah… we can't trust anyone."
Sarah nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The case had just taken a dangerous turn, and now she wasn't just investigating a murder; she was questioning the loyalty of the people closest to her.
i know you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?
and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
The iron door creaked open with a groan, and Detective Sarah Blake walked in, her expression grave but professional. She carried a stack of files, the weight of the case visibly pressing on her shoulders. Without a word, she sat down across from Vivian, pressing the recording button beneath the table, the soft beep marking the beginning of the interrogation.
"Ms. Vivian Donovan, I am Detective Sarah Blake, and I'll be leading this investigation. You've been named as a suspect in three murder cases, with strong evidence linking you to one of them. I need you to answer my questions truthfully."
Vivian remained silent, her eyes unwavering. Sarah inhaled deeply, preparing for what she anticipated would be a long and frustrating process.
"How do you know Albert Donovan?"
"I don't know," Vivian replied flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.
"You don't know?" Sarah raised an eyebrow. "We found your business card in his hand at the crime scene, where he was found murdered."
"I don't know," Vivian repeated, her tone unchanged.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"I don't know."
"According to witnesses, you were seen arguing with him in the lobby of your company a few days before he was killed. What were you fighting about?"
"I don't know."
Sarah's jaw clenched, the frustration starting to mount. "Witnesses also saw him getting into your car that day. What happened in the car?"
"I don't know."
"What about Saturday night? Where were you?"
"I don't know."
Sarah's patience was wearing thin, but she leaned back in her chair, observing Vivian's unchanging expression. "Ms. Donovan, you need to understand that your refusal to cooperate doesn't help you. You were seen with the victim, he was found dead with your card in his hand, and security cameras were down that night. All evidence points to you."
Vivian remained silent, her gaze distant but unwavering.
Sarah continued, her voice becoming firmer. "If you cooperate, if you tell us the truth, we can clear this up. We don't want to hold an innocent person."
Vivian blinked, her eyes slowly focusing on Sarah. She spoke, her voice low and cold. "If you know everything, then you also know I'm not the murderer."
Sarah leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Then Prove it! Give us an alibi. Explain yourself. Help me help you."
But Vivian clammed up again, staring at the table, her face a blank slate. Minutes turned into an hour, but she said nothing more. Frustrated and at a dead end, Sarah finally rose from her seat, turning off the recorder. She glanced one last time at Vivian, her face twisted with concern, before walking out of the room.
In the hallway, Sarah rubbed her temples, her head pounding. Maya, her colleague, approached her with two cups of coffee, her expression softening as she saw the stress etched on Sarah's face.
"Rough in there?" Maya asked, handing her one of the cups.
Sarah nodded, taking a sip. "I don't know what to think, Maya. She's just… stonewalling. No tears, no panic, nothing."
Maya leaned against the wall, thoughtful. "Do you think she's the killer?"
"I don't know anymore." Sarah sighed, her frustration clear. "Everything points to her, but something feels off. It's almost too… easy. She's not sloppy, and now, suddenly, she's the prime suspect?"
Maya nodded. "Exactly. She's never left a trace before, so why now? It's like someone's framing her. And there's another problem..."
Maya glanced around before lowering her voice. "I think we have a mole in the department."
Sarah's eyes widened in shock. "A mole? What do you mean?"
"Someone's leaking information to the real killer. How else would they stay one step ahead of us? And think about it—why would Vivian's card be in Albert's hand, so obvious? It's too convenient."
Sarah's mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle swirling in her head. Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Hey, ladies," John Blake, Sarah's husband and fellow detective, approached with a smile, two more coffees in hand. He kissed Sarah on the cheek, handing one cup to Maya. "Working hard, huh?"
"Something like that," Maya muttered, glancing at Sarah, who was still deep in thought.
"So, how's the case going? Any confessions yet? She said anything?" John asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
Maya's eyes narrowed slightly, and she shot Sarah a pointed look before responding quickly. "Nothing yet. But we're close. We've got the evidence."
Sarah, catching the tension between the two, stayed quiet, her mind replaying John's question. Why did he say "she"? Why was he so certain it was Vivian?
Maya pressed, her voice casual but sharp. "Who do you mean by 'she,' John?"
John blinked, momentarily taken aback. "What? Oh, just… I meant the suspect, whoever it is."
Maya's lips curled into a tight smile. "Right. Whoever it is."
John glanced at his phone, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Well, I've got to get back to it. Keep me posted on the case, okay?" He gave Sarah a quick kiss on the cheek again and hurried off.
As he disappeared down the hall, Maya turned to Sarah, her eyes serious. "There's something wrong, Sarah. I don't trust him. He's too involved in this case…
Maya I think you are misunderstanding him, he just had a slip-up right now" Sarah said, confusingly. she herself not believing what she was saying. She herself an experienced person, knew that this was not just a mistake against her own loving HUSBAND… but her stacks were too high to gamble, that she couldn't afford.
" It wasn't a mistake. And you know it" Maya responded
Sarah felt her stomach twist. She had always trusted John implicitly, but now… doubt was creeping in.
"What do I do, Maya?" Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible.
Maya placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice steady. "We keep digging. Quietly. If there's a mole, we need to flush them out before anyone else gets hurt. And right now, Sarah… we can't trust anyone."
Sarah nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The case had just taken a dangerous turn, and now she wasn't just investigating a murder; she was questioning the loyalty of the people closest to her.
i know you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Bad Daughter: Chapter 23
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Laura swayed in the dimly lit living room, her body moving in time to the music only she could hear through her earbuds. The soft glow from the lamps cast the shadows that danced with her, while a half-empty glass of red wine hung loosely from her fingers. Her other hand floated freely in the air, tracing invisible patterns as if painting the room with her emotions. She was lost in her own world, carefree and slightly tipsy, when John approached her from behind.
He slipped his arms around her, pulling her into a loose embrace. He looked sleepy and tired his head still feeling drowsy, he asked in a low pitched, teasing voice with a smile , "What are you doing, dancing all alone?"
Laura giggled, her movements slowing but not stopping. She twisted her head to glance at him over her shoulder. "You're awake already, did I disturb you?? You can sleep more if you want," she said, playfully shrugging him off as she moved away to get away from his embrace.
John smiled lazily, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You look happy. Care to share the secret? I could use some of that," he said, his eyes gleaming as he reached out to run his fingers through her golden hair. He gently tugged a strand, playing with her hair carefully so as to not break them.
Laura turned to him, folding her arms around his neck and said softly, "Aren't you happy? Is everythhgin alright?"
He sighed, his smile fading just a touch. "I've had a hell of a day at work. Felt like I was knocked out cold, I slept like a dog." His laughter was tired but genuine as he took the glass of wine from her hand, raising it to his lips. He sipped thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers. Then, with one fluid motion, he reached for her ear and pressed the button on her Bluetooth earpod, silencing the music.
The room became eerily quiet and still, except for the soft symphony still playing from Laura's phone. They stood there for a moment, holding each other, dancing to the unknown symphony that was playing. John still holding the the wine glass in one hand and his other hand absentmindedly tangling in her hair, playing with them.
After a while of silent rhapsody, Laura broke the silence first, her voice soft and curious. "How's Vivian?"
John hesitated, the question catching him off guard. "Vivian? Who's that?"
She frowned playfully, her head tilting. "You know, my boss... The one who got arrested in that murder case."
"Ah," John exhaled, dragging out the word as he gulped down the last of the wine. His hand fell from her hair as he dropped onto the couch, his demeanor shifting from playful to serious. "That woman..."
Laura hurried over, sitting beside him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it? Tell me. You said you'd ask about the case at the station."
John sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. "It's bad. Really bad. She's not cooperating with the investigation. She's practically digging her own grave. I don't think it will be easy for her, seeing how she is acting"
Laura's hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. "She's the culprit?"
John's eyes darkened, his voice growing more solemn. "Of course she is. If she wasn't, why wouldn't she defend herself? Why stay silent? And play along like this…"
Laura's eyes gleamed with a mixture of emotions; fear, excitement, something darker. "What's going to happen now? Will they lock her up? will she be sent to the jail??? Will I ever be able to see hre again??? What about her estate and about her company??? "
John shrugged, his gaze drifting. "It'll probably close soon if she keeps this up. She's refusing to give them anything to work with."
"what about the case??? Will it be closed now???" she asked again her eyes widening up with a light. That john couldn't quite understand…
he himself was an officer and an experienced one at that, but was too blinded by his guilty pleasure that, he didn't even dare to think the evitable or inevitable…
The case it will soon be closed maybe…
Laura leaned in closer, her voice low but fill with dark insistent. "MAYBE?!!! There is still a maybe??? You just said, she is the murderer!!!! Why don't you find out more? You're at the station all the time. It's your job to know."
John's expression hardened. His jaw tightened as he turned his gaze away from her. "Stop pushing, Laura. I already raised enough suspicion today with Sarah. I can't risk it."
"So WHATTT John!!!" Laura replied, her voice sharp and dismissive. "Sarah's your wife. You have every right to know what she's working on. You're her husband, after all."
John looked at her, astonished at her audacity. There was a coldness in her tone that sent a chill down his spine, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on the couch. When he returned, he was holding his jacket.
"Look, Laura," he said, his voice now quiet but firm, "I know you're concerned about Vivian, but you need to stay out of this. It's dangerous. Just keep your distance from that woman. Trust me, it's for the best."
Without waiting for a reply, John headed for the door, his footsteps heavy with frustration. He unlocked it and stepped out into the night, leaving Laura alone.
She watched him go, her lips curling into a sly smile as the door clicked shut.
"Idiots..." she whispered to herself, her voice dripping with venom. "Embarrassed about your affair and still cheating on your wife, @#$%^&***s"
"You should be the ones avoiding me." Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she tilted her head back, her fingers drumming lightly on the wine glass. "Vivian, you better get locked up soon. Set me free from this little game."
i know you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?
and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
He slipped his arms around her, pulling her into a loose embrace. He looked sleepy and tired his head still feeling drowsy, he asked in a low pitched, teasing voice with a smile , "What are you doing, dancing all alone?"
Laura giggled, her movements slowing but not stopping. She twisted her head to glance at him over her shoulder. "You're awake already, did I disturb you?? You can sleep more if you want," she said, playfully shrugging him off as she moved away to get away from his embrace.
John smiled lazily, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You look happy. Care to share the secret? I could use some of that," he said, his eyes gleaming as he reached out to run his fingers through her golden hair. He gently tugged a strand, playing with her hair carefully so as to not break them.
Laura turned to him, folding her arms around his neck and said softly, "Aren't you happy? Is everythhgin alright?"
He sighed, his smile fading just a touch. "I've had a hell of a day at work. Felt like I was knocked out cold, I slept like a dog." His laughter was tired but genuine as he took the glass of wine from her hand, raising it to his lips. He sipped thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers. Then, with one fluid motion, he reached for her ear and pressed the button on her Bluetooth earpod, silencing the music.
The room became eerily quiet and still, except for the soft symphony still playing from Laura's phone. They stood there for a moment, holding each other, dancing to the unknown symphony that was playing. John still holding the the wine glass in one hand and his other hand absentmindedly tangling in her hair, playing with them.
After a while of silent rhapsody, Laura broke the silence first, her voice soft and curious. "How's Vivian?"
John hesitated, the question catching him off guard. "Vivian? Who's that?"
She frowned playfully, her head tilting. "You know, my boss... The one who got arrested in that murder case."
"Ah," John exhaled, dragging out the word as he gulped down the last of the wine. His hand fell from her hair as he dropped onto the couch, his demeanor shifting from playful to serious. "That woman..."
Laura hurried over, sitting beside him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it? Tell me. You said you'd ask about the case at the station."
John sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. "It's bad. Really bad. She's not cooperating with the investigation. She's practically digging her own grave. I don't think it will be easy for her, seeing how she is acting"
Laura's hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. "She's the culprit?"
John's eyes darkened, his voice growing more solemn. "Of course she is. If she wasn't, why wouldn't she defend herself? Why stay silent? And play along like this…"
Laura's eyes gleamed with a mixture of emotions; fear, excitement, something darker. "What's going to happen now? Will they lock her up? will she be sent to the jail??? Will I ever be able to see hre again??? What about her estate and about her company??? "
John shrugged, his gaze drifting. "It'll probably close soon if she keeps this up. She's refusing to give them anything to work with."
"what about the case??? Will it be closed now???" she asked again her eyes widening up with a light. That john couldn't quite understand…
he himself was an officer and an experienced one at that, but was too blinded by his guilty pleasure that, he didn't even dare to think the evitable or inevitable…
The case it will soon be closed maybe…
Laura leaned in closer, her voice low but fill with dark insistent. "MAYBE?!!! There is still a maybe??? You just said, she is the murderer!!!! Why don't you find out more? You're at the station all the time. It's your job to know."
John's expression hardened. His jaw tightened as he turned his gaze away from her. "Stop pushing, Laura. I already raised enough suspicion today with Sarah. I can't risk it."
"So WHATTT John!!!" Laura replied, her voice sharp and dismissive. "Sarah's your wife. You have every right to know what she's working on. You're her husband, after all."
John looked at her, astonished at her audacity. There was a coldness in her tone that sent a chill down his spine, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on the couch. When he returned, he was holding his jacket.
"Look, Laura," he said, his voice now quiet but firm, "I know you're concerned about Vivian, but you need to stay out of this. It's dangerous. Just keep your distance from that woman. Trust me, it's for the best."
Without waiting for a reply, John headed for the door, his footsteps heavy with frustration. He unlocked it and stepped out into the night, leaving Laura alone.
She watched him go, her lips curling into a sly smile as the door clicked shut.
"Idiots..." she whispered to herself, her voice dripping with venom. "Embarrassed about your affair and still cheating on your wife, @#$%^&***s"
"You should be the ones avoiding me." Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she tilted her head back, her fingers drumming lightly on the wine glass. "Vivian, you better get locked up soon. Set me free from this little game."
i know you Want to know more than ever what happens next before anyone else?and right now my hands are tied, only way is accuscripter's Patreon, but i can make in exception for you!!!! you can try it FREE for 7 days! shhhh our little secret
Your support helps me keep writing.
patreon.com/accuscripter
Bad Daughter: Chapter 24
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Sarah entered her apartment, the familiar creak of the door barely offering comfort after the chaos of her recent day. She felt a cold dread creep down her spine, a sensation that had lingered ever since the discovery of the corpses in those dark, empty apartments. It was as if a shadow had followed her home. She let out a heavy sigh, shut the door behind her, and hung her keys on the hook with a soft clink. After slipping off her shoes, she stood in the entryway for a moment.
"John!" she called, her voice clear and unconscious, more out of habit than necessity. "John, are you home?"
Silence answered her. Still, she repeated herself, the words echoing back in the quiet, dark space.
"John? Honey?"
Nothing. No one was home.
She let out another sigh, this time filled with disappointment, and walked into the living room. Dropping onto the sofa, she grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, scrolling mindlessly and aimlessly through the channels. Each station showed something more disconnected from her reality than the last. Some channels showing the vulgarity of the society far from the reality, some showing reality far too much stretched into vulgarity.
Her body felt heavy, weighed down by more than just the day. A loneliness pressed against her chest, wrapping tighter as she stretched out on the sofa, tossing the remote aside. The TV was now showing a documentary about animals migrating for winter, their instinctual need to move reminding her of her own internal restlessness.
She couldn't take the silence anymore. Sarah picked up her phone and dialed John's number.
"The number you have dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again later."
She frowned, redialing immediately, a knot forming in her stomach.
"The number you have dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again later."
She stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down. The TV continued to play in the background, but she wasn't paying attention. Her thoughts were consumed by John's absence. She dialed again.
"The number you have dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again later."
She stared at the phone for a moment, her mind struggling to process the absence of his voice. Slowly, she set it down, but her thoughts stayed on John.
She opened a text message and typed quickly, her fingers dancing on the bare screen.
"Honey, where are you?"
"Are you at the station?"
She put the phone down again, staring at the screen, waiting for it to light up with a reply. After twenty minutes of silence, she picked it up again and typed another message.
"John, if you're coming home, tell me. What do you want to eat? I can order us something."
Still, nothing. The seconds felt like hours, and her mind began to wander into the suspicious places she always tried to stay away from to protect her marriage and protect her lover. The empty feeling gnawed at her, growing louder with every unanswered call, every minute that passed without a response.
She texted him again.
"Will you be back tonight?"
Her thumb hovered over the send button before she pressed it. The text felt heavier, more desperate. She had never been this anxious about John before, but something about today was different. What happened earlier at the station had left her unsettled, a small crack in her unwavering belief in him. Despite everything, she trusted him. They'd been married for twenty years—twenty years of building a life together, of shared secrets and laughter, of fights that always ended with forgiveness. But lately, there was something off, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Her instincts as a detective had been whispering to her for months that something wasn't right with John. It was small at first, his late nights, the distance between them that seemed to grow wider with each passing week. She had brushed it off, blaming the stress of work or the routine of married life. But when Maya, her colleague, confirmed her worst fears, that John had been acting suspiciously, Sarah couldn't ignore it anymore.
But how could she confront him? How could she turn her sharp instincts on the man she loved? They had been through so much together. She wasn't just a detective; she was his wife, and that bond had always been stronger than anything else.
Now, though, that bond felt fragile. The woman who faced down criminals without flinching, who carried the weight of her job on her shoulders without complaint, found herself unable to face the possibility that her marriage was unraveling. There was a deep, feminine dread gnawing at her, a primal fear that perhaps, despite everything, she was losing him. She couldn't shake the feeling that their twenty years together were slipping through her fingers, and that terrified her more than any case she'd ever worked.
And the worst part? She didn't know if she could stop it.
Sarah stared at her phone, her heart sinking further with every minute that passed without a response. She texted him again, this time the desperation bleeding through in every word.
"John, answer me. I just want to know you're okay."
She sent one last message.
"John, I need to talk to you. Please come home."
As she lay on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, the feminine feeling of dread wrapped tighter around her heart. it was not easy for her to leave her companion of 20 years. she was a brave woman, but the feminine feeling of being loyal and not realizing until the last point was becoming a bane for her.
Fuel my caffeine addiction, feed my cat, and join the awesomeness! Support me on Patreon for exclusive goodies, behind-the-scenes shenanigans, and irreversible creativity .
"John!" she called, her voice clear and unconscious, more out of habit than necessity. "John, are you home?"
Silence answered her. Still, she repeated herself, the words echoing back in the quiet, dark space.
"John? Honey?"
Nothing. No one was home.
She let out another sigh, this time filled with disappointment, and walked into the living room. Dropping onto the sofa, she grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, scrolling mindlessly and aimlessly through the channels. Each station showed something more disconnected from her reality than the last. Some channels showing the vulgarity of the society far from the reality, some showing reality far too much stretched into vulgarity.
Her body felt heavy, weighed down by more than just the day. A loneliness pressed against her chest, wrapping tighter as she stretched out on the sofa, tossing the remote aside. The TV was now showing a documentary about animals migrating for winter, their instinctual need to move reminding her of her own internal restlessness.
She couldn't take the silence anymore. Sarah picked up her phone and dialed John's number.
"The number you have dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again later."
She frowned, redialing immediately, a knot forming in her stomach.
"The number you have dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again later."
She stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down. The TV continued to play in the background, but she wasn't paying attention. Her thoughts were consumed by John's absence. She dialed again.
"The number you have dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again later."
She stared at the phone for a moment, her mind struggling to process the absence of his voice. Slowly, she set it down, but her thoughts stayed on John.
She opened a text message and typed quickly, her fingers dancing on the bare screen.
"Honey, where are you?"
"Are you at the station?"
She put the phone down again, staring at the screen, waiting for it to light up with a reply. After twenty minutes of silence, she picked it up again and typed another message.
"John, if you're coming home, tell me. What do you want to eat? I can order us something."
Still, nothing. The seconds felt like hours, and her mind began to wander into the suspicious places she always tried to stay away from to protect her marriage and protect her lover. The empty feeling gnawed at her, growing louder with every unanswered call, every minute that passed without a response.
She texted him again.
"Will you be back tonight?"
Her thumb hovered over the send button before she pressed it. The text felt heavier, more desperate. She had never been this anxious about John before, but something about today was different. What happened earlier at the station had left her unsettled, a small crack in her unwavering belief in him. Despite everything, she trusted him. They'd been married for twenty years—twenty years of building a life together, of shared secrets and laughter, of fights that always ended with forgiveness. But lately, there was something off, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Her instincts as a detective had been whispering to her for months that something wasn't right with John. It was small at first, his late nights, the distance between them that seemed to grow wider with each passing week. She had brushed it off, blaming the stress of work or the routine of married life. But when Maya, her colleague, confirmed her worst fears, that John had been acting suspiciously, Sarah couldn't ignore it anymore.
But how could she confront him? How could she turn her sharp instincts on the man she loved? They had been through so much together. She wasn't just a detective; she was his wife, and that bond had always been stronger than anything else.
Now, though, that bond felt fragile. The woman who faced down criminals without flinching, who carried the weight of her job on her shoulders without complaint, found herself unable to face the possibility that her marriage was unraveling. There was a deep, feminine dread gnawing at her, a primal fear that perhaps, despite everything, she was losing him. She couldn't shake the feeling that their twenty years together were slipping through her fingers, and that terrified her more than any case she'd ever worked.
And the worst part? She didn't know if she could stop it.
Sarah stared at her phone, her heart sinking further with every minute that passed without a response. She texted him again, this time the desperation bleeding through in every word.
"John, answer me. I just want to know you're okay."
She sent one last message.
"John, I need to talk to you. Please come home."
As she lay on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, the feminine feeling of dread wrapped tighter around her heart. it was not easy for her to leave her companion of 20 years. she was a brave woman, but the feminine feeling of being loyal and not realizing until the last point was becoming a bane for her.
Fuel my caffeine addiction, feed my cat, and join the awesomeness! Support me on Patreon for exclusive goodies, behind-the-scenes shenanigans, and irreversible creativity
.
Bad Daughter: Chapter 25
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
Sarah lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a hollow, vacant expression. Her eyes were swollen and puffy from the sleepless night that stretched endlessly behind her. She hadn't slept a wink, her mind consumed by a gnawing dread that refused to let go. The possibility that her loving husband John; could be involved in something so dark, so insidious, had burrowed into her heart and soul like a parasite. Even if the worst wasn't true, the mere thought that he might be betraying her, cheating on her, was tearing her apart from the inside.
She had spent the entire night lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, turning over every detail in her mind, trying to make sense of it all. What should she do? How could she confront him, the man she had trusted for two decades, about the fears that were now her constant companions? She couldn't let herself hesitate. If he was involved in something dangerous, something criminal, there was no room for doubt. But how does a woman confront her own husband when everything inside her is screaming that the truth will destroy everything she knows?
As the first rays of morning light filtered through the blinds, Sarah swung her legs over the edge of the bed and forced herself to stand. Her body felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion and uncertainty. She dragged herself to the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath her feet grounding her, if only for a moment. She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto her face, rubbing her skin hard, as if she could scrub away the doubt, the fear, the betrayal.
When she finally lifted her head and looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Her curly afro hair, usually lively and framing her face with confidence, was disheveled and wild, obscuring her tired, red-rimmed eyes. Her face, worn and darkened by sleepless nights and too many hours of work, looked hollow, almost ghostly. The exhaustion had seeped into her very bones, and yet, beneath it all, there was an intensity, a fierceness that made her look more intimidating than ever. It was the look of a woman who was preparing for battle, even if that battle was against the man she loved.
She pulled herself away from the mirror and grabbed her iron. Each movement was precise, almost mechanical, as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. It was a ritual, a way to regain control, even if everything else in her life was spiraling out of her grasp. She slipped into the dress, its sharp lines and dark fabric making her feel armored, protected. She reached up to gather her hair into a tight bun, a symbol of her professionalism, her control. But just as her fingers were about to secure it, she hesitated.
She looked at herself again. Something in her eyes had changed, they had more resolve, and clarity. She let her hair fall back down, the wild curls framing her face freely. If she was going to face the truth, to confront whatever it was that John had hidden from her, she wasn't going to do it with restraint. She would face this as herself, unfiltered, unapologetic.
She slid her black-framed glasses onto her face, grabbed her keys from the table, and locked the apartment door behind her. Every step was deliberate, every action slow, as if she were performing for an unseen audience. Maybe she was. In her mind, she imagined John watching her, sensing her readiness, her willingness to sever the ties of twenty years if they had been built on lies. She would not hesitate. If her marriage, her life, had been compromised, she would tear it down, brick by brick, no matter how much it hurt.
She got into her car, rolling the keys between her fingers for a moment before starting the engine. The hum of the vehicle beneath her feet felt like the beginning of something—the calm before the storm. As she pulled out of the parking lot, her foot pressed firmly on the pedal, each turn of the wheel sharp, precise. She was no longer drifting through her life in a fog of doubt; she was focused, ready.
When she arrived at the station, she pushed through the doors with a sense of purpose. Her colleagues glanced at her, sensing the tension that radiated off her in waves. She didn't need to say anything for them to know something was wrong, something big. Sarah made her way to Maya's desk, her eyes hard, her voice steady.
"Maya, I need all the transaction records on this number," she said, handing over John's contact details with no hesitation. "And trace the vehicle records for his car. I want the call history on this phone number, too."
Maya's fingers froze over her keyboard as she looked up at Sarah with wide eyes. "Ms. Sarah Blake... you're sure?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, but definitely ready to combat. "He's your husband."
Sarah didn't flinch. Her voice was cold, measured. "I know, Maya. And you know it too. We don't have time to second-guess this. It's a dangerous situation, and if John is involved, we need to act now."
There was no room for hesitation now. If John had crossed the line, if he was a danger to her and to everyone else, she would do what needed to be done. Even if it meant breaking her own heart in the process.
Maya's trance lasted only a second in aww of Sarah, before she nodded, her hands quickly moving to carry out Sarah's requests. But Sarah wasn't finished. "And make sure no news gets out without my approval. Lock down security. I don't want him...or anyone aiding him, slipping through the cracks. We're going to catch him in his own game."
Maya's fingers flew across the keyboard, her face set with determination. "Understood, ma'am."
"And Maya," Sarah added, her voice softening for just a moment, "I need you to check on Vivian. Find out how she's doing. Does she have a lawyer yet? Ask her for that and if she doesn't have anyone then let me know, then we can decide to have someone for her from the city center"
Maya glanced up at her, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "I'll get right on it."
Sarah turned and walked back to her table. She felt the weight of her decisions pressing down on her, but she didn't falter.
She sat at her desk and pulled out her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keys as she composed an email to the higher authorities, detailing the recent events. She laid it all out, the evidence that was beginning to mount, the need for discretion. As she typed, she felt a pang of grief, a quiet mourning for the life she had once known, the life she had believed in. but right now she didn't mention a thing about John. Maybe she still wanted to prove herself wrong and that maybe it was her own suspicion only.
Fuel my caffeine addiction, feed my cat, and join the awesomeness! Support me on Patreon for exclusive goodies, behind-the-scenes shenanigans, and irreversible creativity .
She had spent the entire night lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, turning over every detail in her mind, trying to make sense of it all. What should she do? How could she confront him, the man she had trusted for two decades, about the fears that were now her constant companions? She couldn't let herself hesitate. If he was involved in something dangerous, something criminal, there was no room for doubt. But how does a woman confront her own husband when everything inside her is screaming that the truth will destroy everything she knows?
As the first rays of morning light filtered through the blinds, Sarah swung her legs over the edge of the bed and forced herself to stand. Her body felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion and uncertainty. She dragged herself to the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath her feet grounding her, if only for a moment. She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto her face, rubbing her skin hard, as if she could scrub away the doubt, the fear, the betrayal.
When she finally lifted her head and looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Her curly afro hair, usually lively and framing her face with confidence, was disheveled and wild, obscuring her tired, red-rimmed eyes. Her face, worn and darkened by sleepless nights and too many hours of work, looked hollow, almost ghostly. The exhaustion had seeped into her very bones, and yet, beneath it all, there was an intensity, a fierceness that made her look more intimidating than ever. It was the look of a woman who was preparing for battle, even if that battle was against the man she loved.
She pulled herself away from the mirror and grabbed her iron. Each movement was precise, almost mechanical, as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. It was a ritual, a way to regain control, even if everything else in her life was spiraling out of her grasp. She slipped into the dress, its sharp lines and dark fabric making her feel armored, protected. She reached up to gather her hair into a tight bun, a symbol of her professionalism, her control. But just as her fingers were about to secure it, she hesitated.
She looked at herself again. Something in her eyes had changed, they had more resolve, and clarity. She let her hair fall back down, the wild curls framing her face freely. If she was going to face the truth, to confront whatever it was that John had hidden from her, she wasn't going to do it with restraint. She would face this as herself, unfiltered, unapologetic.
She slid her black-framed glasses onto her face, grabbed her keys from the table, and locked the apartment door behind her. Every step was deliberate, every action slow, as if she were performing for an unseen audience. Maybe she was. In her mind, she imagined John watching her, sensing her readiness, her willingness to sever the ties of twenty years if they had been built on lies. She would not hesitate. If her marriage, her life, had been compromised, she would tear it down, brick by brick, no matter how much it hurt.
She got into her car, rolling the keys between her fingers for a moment before starting the engine. The hum of the vehicle beneath her feet felt like the beginning of something—the calm before the storm. As she pulled out of the parking lot, her foot pressed firmly on the pedal, each turn of the wheel sharp, precise. She was no longer drifting through her life in a fog of doubt; she was focused, ready.
When she arrived at the station, she pushed through the doors with a sense of purpose. Her colleagues glanced at her, sensing the tension that radiated off her in waves. She didn't need to say anything for them to know something was wrong, something big. Sarah made her way to Maya's desk, her eyes hard, her voice steady.
"Maya, I need all the transaction records on this number," she said, handing over John's contact details with no hesitation. "And trace the vehicle records for his car. I want the call history on this phone number, too."
Maya's fingers froze over her keyboard as she looked up at Sarah with wide eyes. "Ms. Sarah Blake... you're sure?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, but definitely ready to combat. "He's your husband."
Sarah didn't flinch. Her voice was cold, measured. "I know, Maya. And you know it too. We don't have time to second-guess this. It's a dangerous situation, and if John is involved, we need to act now."
There was no room for hesitation now. If John had crossed the line, if he was a danger to her and to everyone else, she would do what needed to be done. Even if it meant breaking her own heart in the process.
Maya's trance lasted only a second in aww of Sarah, before she nodded, her hands quickly moving to carry out Sarah's requests. But Sarah wasn't finished. "And make sure no news gets out without my approval. Lock down security. I don't want him...or anyone aiding him, slipping through the cracks. We're going to catch him in his own game."
Maya's fingers flew across the keyboard, her face set with determination. "Understood, ma'am."
"And Maya," Sarah added, her voice softening for just a moment, "I need you to check on Vivian. Find out how she's doing. Does she have a lawyer yet? Ask her for that and if she doesn't have anyone then let me know, then we can decide to have someone for her from the city center"
Maya glanced up at her, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "I'll get right on it."
Sarah turned and walked back to her table. She felt the weight of her decisions pressing down on her, but she didn't falter.
She sat at her desk and pulled out her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keys as she composed an email to the higher authorities, detailing the recent events. She laid it all out, the evidence that was beginning to mount, the need for discretion. As she typed, she felt a pang of grief, a quiet mourning for the life she had once known, the life she had believed in. but right now she didn't mention a thing about John. Maybe she still wanted to prove herself wrong and that maybe it was her own suspicion only.
Fuel my caffeine addiction, feed my cat, and join the awesomeness! Support me on Patreon for exclusive goodies, behind-the-scenes shenanigans, and irreversible creativity
.
Bad Daughter: Chapter 26
New
accuscripter
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2025
- Messages
- 123
- Likes received
- 49
It had been 20 long hours since Vivian Donovan had been taken into custody, and still, she had not uttered a single word. Her food tray sat untouched on the cold metal table, the steam long gone, its contents cold and congealed. She sat on the floor in her cell, knees drawn up to her chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her eyes, swollen from the weight of exhaustion, had taken on a distant, hollow look. The fluorescent lights above cast harsh shadows, making her gaunt face seem even more haunted. She hadn't moved. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't spoken.
Maya, tasked with watching over her, was growing restless. She approached the cell cautiously, standing just outside the bars. "Ms. Vivian Donovan," she began softly, "would you like to hire yourself a lawyer?"
No response. Vivian's eyes remained fixed on a crack in the ceiling as if she could lose herself in the tiny fracture. Maya tried again, her voice more insistent this time, "Ms. Donovan, it would be in your best interest to..."
Still nothing.
Maya let out a tired breath, rubbing her forehead in frustration. The silence was oppressive, thickening the air in the room. Every question she asked felt like it was bouncing off a brick wall, and after a few more attempts, Maya gave up. She shook her head, defeated, and walked out of the room. Her legs felt heavy as she made her way back to her desk, ready to send in a request for a court-appointed lawyer.
She had barely sat down when the door to the station swung open. A tall man in his early thirties walked in, his presence immediately drawing attention. His hair was a mix of black and streaks of grey, neatly combed, and his sharp features were softened by an air of calm confidence. He wore a well-tailored coat, and as he unbuttoned it, he reached into the inner pocket, retrieving a business card. His steps were deliberate, and with a graceful hand, he passed the card to the officer sitting near the door.
The officer glanced at the card, eyebrows raised in recognition, and without a word, made his way toward Maya. Maya, who had been watching the entire exchange with curiosity, now looked up as the officer approached, holding the card in front of her.
"This man is a lawyer," the officer announced, handing the card to her.
Maya took the card and studied it for a moment. "Mr. Max Stillenski…" she murmured, her voice trailing off as she processed the name. She looked up at the man, now standing a few feet away from her desk. "A lawyer… and you're here for..."
Before she could finish her sentence, Max cut her off, his voice smooth and precise. "I'm here to represent my client, Ms. Vivian Donovan. She is here, yes?"
Maya let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "Ahh… Vivian Donovan." It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Yes, of course. Follow me."
She led Max down a narrow corridor toward the holding cells. The air in the station seemed to shift, the gravity of the situation pulling at Maya's nerves. When they reached the room, Maya pushed the door open and motioned toward a small compartment, separated from the rest of the room by cold steel bars. Inside, Vivian was sitting on the floor, just as Maya had left her, her body curled in on itself, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling.
Max stepped forward, his polished shoes echoing lightly against the floor. Maya lingered near the door, her eyes on the two of them, watching from behind the partial glass wall.
Max approached the bars slowly, his movements deliberate, but instead of immediately engaging, he simply sat down on the floor, mirroring Vivian's posture. His knees bent, arms draped over them, he leaned back slightly, his head tilted up toward the same crack in the ceiling that seemed to have captivated Vivian's attention. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke.
The silence hung in the air like a thick fog, but then, Max broke it with an exaggerated sigh. "Ahhh... alas, I couldn't poke a hole in the ceiling with my stare..."
Vivian blinked, her trance-like state shattered by the unexpected voice. She jumped slightly, her head snapping toward the direction of the sound. Her eyes, bloodshot and blurry, focused on the man sitting just outside her cell. For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and wariness.
Max, still lounging on the floor, hadn't even glanced at her. He continued to gaze upward, a small, mischievous smile playing on his lips. His demeanor was calm, relaxed, almost too casual for the situation. But when he finally turned his head to look at her, his own eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and tired as though he, too, was barely holding back an emotional collapse.
his eyes were saying, "at last, I found you"
After a while he broke his gaze and spoke again.
"Hello, Ms. Vivian Donovan," he said, his hand sliding between the bars, palm up in a gesture of hand shake. "I'm Max Stillenski, your lawyer."
Vivian didn't move. She stared at his hand, her mind struggling to process what was happening. There was something almost surreal about the moment; their shared exhaustion, the quiet vulnerability between them.
Her lips parted as though she was going to speak, but no words came out. Her throat was dry, parched from hours of silence, and when she finally tried to speak, it was with a rasp that barely resembled her own voice.
"I don't… need a lawyer." The words were slow, heavy, as if they were physically painful to utter.
Max didn't react, at least not outwardly. He simply kept his hand outstretched, his gaze soft but steady.
"I think you do," he said quietly.
Vivian's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her body stiffening as she turned her head away from him. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hands trembling as she pressed them in a fist holding close to herself, as if trying to block out the world, trying to wake herself from a nightmare. She let out a slow, shaky exhale, her entire body curling further inward.
Max sat there, patient, calm, his hand slowly retracting, resting now on his knee. His posture remained relaxed, his face resting gently against the wall of bars as he continued to watch her with a mix of empathy.
For a long while, neither of them spoke again. The room seemed to shrink around them, the silence enveloping them both like a cocoon. It was as if they were suspended in time, the tension between them palpable, but neither ready to confront it fully.
Vivian's eyes fluttered open, but she still didn't look at him. Her voice, when it came again, was barely a whisper.
"I don't need saving." It was a lie, one she told herself more than anyone else.
Max's expression softened, a flicker of sadness passing across his features. He leaned his head back, letting it rest against the cold bars, and stared up at the ceiling once more.
"Maybe not," he said quietly, "but sometimes we all need someone to stand with us when the walls start closing in."
Maya, tasked with watching over her, was growing restless. She approached the cell cautiously, standing just outside the bars. "Ms. Vivian Donovan," she began softly, "would you like to hire yourself a lawyer?"
No response. Vivian's eyes remained fixed on a crack in the ceiling as if she could lose herself in the tiny fracture. Maya tried again, her voice more insistent this time, "Ms. Donovan, it would be in your best interest to..."
Still nothing.
Maya let out a tired breath, rubbing her forehead in frustration. The silence was oppressive, thickening the air in the room. Every question she asked felt like it was bouncing off a brick wall, and after a few more attempts, Maya gave up. She shook her head, defeated, and walked out of the room. Her legs felt heavy as she made her way back to her desk, ready to send in a request for a court-appointed lawyer.
She had barely sat down when the door to the station swung open. A tall man in his early thirties walked in, his presence immediately drawing attention. His hair was a mix of black and streaks of grey, neatly combed, and his sharp features were softened by an air of calm confidence. He wore a well-tailored coat, and as he unbuttoned it, he reached into the inner pocket, retrieving a business card. His steps were deliberate, and with a graceful hand, he passed the card to the officer sitting near the door.
The officer glanced at the card, eyebrows raised in recognition, and without a word, made his way toward Maya. Maya, who had been watching the entire exchange with curiosity, now looked up as the officer approached, holding the card in front of her.
"This man is a lawyer," the officer announced, handing the card to her.
Maya took the card and studied it for a moment. "Mr. Max Stillenski…" she murmured, her voice trailing off as she processed the name. She looked up at the man, now standing a few feet away from her desk. "A lawyer… and you're here for..."
Before she could finish her sentence, Max cut her off, his voice smooth and precise. "I'm here to represent my client, Ms. Vivian Donovan. She is here, yes?"
Maya let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "Ahh… Vivian Donovan." It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Yes, of course. Follow me."
She led Max down a narrow corridor toward the holding cells. The air in the station seemed to shift, the gravity of the situation pulling at Maya's nerves. When they reached the room, Maya pushed the door open and motioned toward a small compartment, separated from the rest of the room by cold steel bars. Inside, Vivian was sitting on the floor, just as Maya had left her, her body curled in on itself, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling.
Max stepped forward, his polished shoes echoing lightly against the floor. Maya lingered near the door, her eyes on the two of them, watching from behind the partial glass wall.
Max approached the bars slowly, his movements deliberate, but instead of immediately engaging, he simply sat down on the floor, mirroring Vivian's posture. His knees bent, arms draped over them, he leaned back slightly, his head tilted up toward the same crack in the ceiling that seemed to have captivated Vivian's attention. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke.
The silence hung in the air like a thick fog, but then, Max broke it with an exaggerated sigh. "Ahhh... alas, I couldn't poke a hole in the ceiling with my stare..."
Vivian blinked, her trance-like state shattered by the unexpected voice. She jumped slightly, her head snapping toward the direction of the sound. Her eyes, bloodshot and blurry, focused on the man sitting just outside her cell. For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and wariness.
Max, still lounging on the floor, hadn't even glanced at her. He continued to gaze upward, a small, mischievous smile playing on his lips. His demeanor was calm, relaxed, almost too casual for the situation. But when he finally turned his head to look at her, his own eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and tired as though he, too, was barely holding back an emotional collapse.
his eyes were saying, "at last, I found you"
After a while he broke his gaze and spoke again.
"Hello, Ms. Vivian Donovan," he said, his hand sliding between the bars, palm up in a gesture of hand shake. "I'm Max Stillenski, your lawyer."
Vivian didn't move. She stared at his hand, her mind struggling to process what was happening. There was something almost surreal about the moment; their shared exhaustion, the quiet vulnerability between them.
Her lips parted as though she was going to speak, but no words came out. Her throat was dry, parched from hours of silence, and when she finally tried to speak, it was with a rasp that barely resembled her own voice.
"I don't… need a lawyer." The words were slow, heavy, as if they were physically painful to utter.
Max didn't react, at least not outwardly. He simply kept his hand outstretched, his gaze soft but steady.
"I think you do," he said quietly.
Vivian's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her body stiffening as she turned her head away from him. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hands trembling as she pressed them in a fist holding close to herself, as if trying to block out the world, trying to wake herself from a nightmare. She let out a slow, shaky exhale, her entire body curling further inward.
Max sat there, patient, calm, his hand slowly retracting, resting now on his knee. His posture remained relaxed, his face resting gently against the wall of bars as he continued to watch her with a mix of empathy.
For a long while, neither of them spoke again. The room seemed to shrink around them, the silence enveloping them both like a cocoon. It was as if they were suspended in time, the tension between them palpable, but neither ready to confront it fully.
Vivian's eyes fluttered open, but she still didn't look at him. Her voice, when it came again, was barely a whisper.
"I don't need saving." It was a lie, one she told herself more than anyone else.
Max's expression softened, a flicker of sadness passing across his features. He leaned his head back, letting it rest against the cold bars, and stared up at the ceiling once more.
"Maybe not," he said quietly, "but sometimes we all need someone to stand with us when the walls start closing in."