vMayhem At Prescott High - C.M. Stunich Page 0,144
every much enjoy skinning me alive.
“You cocksucking piece of shit,” he growls, looking me up and down like he’s trying to decide what to cut first. “That blond psychopath of yours killed four of my boys and blew Timmy to kingdom motherfucking come. Not to mention, my car is trashed. Nice try though. You fuckers messed up.” Mitch starts to smile as he takes a step closer to me, ignoring the way Kali’s body tenses up.
He pauses at the sound of more footsteps, and Ophelia and Tom enter the room next. The former doesn’t look pleased to see Mitch here.
“Mitch Charter,” she says, opening a sparkly handbag that matches her blue dress.
“Yeah?” he asks, turning around to look at Victor’s mother. Guess we were right when we figured Ophelia was responsible for all of the shit with the Charter Crew.
“I’m sorry to say, but I’m going to have to let you go.” Ophelia rummages around in her bag as Mitch gapes at her.
“The fuck? I’ve been working my ass off for—” He doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Ophelia pulls a small caliber handgun fitted with a silencer from her bag and shoots Mitch in the forehead. Nobody in that room seems surprised as blood flecks Ophelia’s pale face, and Mitch’s body slumps to the floor.
There’s no exit wound since the bullet is so small. Some people think that makes a weapon less effective. Not necessarily true. If the bullet is small enough, it just bounces around inside of you and fucks you up good. Looks like that’s what just happened to Mitch.
Kali doesn’t seem at all bothered to see her boyfriend lying dead on the floor at her feet. Even Tom looks bored by the situation.
“Get this cleaned up,” Ophelia orders, putting the gun away, and then gesturing at Mitch’s body with her purse. There isn’t a ton of blood, but it is leaking from his head to stain the rustic wood floor planks. “I have a dinner party tonight, so I won’t be here. I assume you’re staying?” She removes a white handkerchief from her bag and then dabs at the blood on her face, wiping it clean.
“I’d like to attend the dance,” Kali hazards, shrugging her shoulders. “But somebody has to watch Aaron.”
“You don’t need to go to the dance,” Ophelia corrects, adjusting her attention to me. “If you’re right about Aaron, then we no longer have any use for Bernadette.” She turns to leave, as if the conversation is over, but Kali stands up, following a few steps before Ophelia glances back at her with an annoyed expression on her pretty face. Tom just follows along like the pet dog he so very clearly is.
“We can still kill her,” Kali argues, gesturing with her pink acrylics. “Double down, make sure you get the money.” Ophelia doesn’t seem convinced, nor does she look like she wants to have an argument with someone she considers an underling.
“My darling, listen up. When you get older, you’ll understand that the quickest route between two points is a straight line. I don’t need to kill that girl and have my son start hunting me in the dark. I’ll do it, if I have to, but I like your idea of using Aaron instead. Let’s stick with the plan, shall we?” She turns away, ignoring Kali’s protests, and I hear the creaking of stairs shortly after, followed by the front door. Somewhere outside, an engine turns over and the sound of tires on gravel drifts up and over to me.
Mitch is still lying on the floor, bleeding everywhere, while Kali stares after Ophelia with a deep-set frown on her face. She looks back down at Mitch and sighs.
“God, this fucking sucks,” she grumbles, bending down to grab his arm. In heels and booty-shorts, Kali starts to drag the dead boy toward the door and into the hallway. A few short minutes later, and I can hear the awful sound of something tumbling down the stairs.
Son of a bitch.
This is not looking good for me, not at all.
I close my eyes and test out the bindings on my arms and legs, but there’s no give, none at all.
If I’m going to get out of here, I’m going to have to use Kali’s obsession with me to do it.
Hael Harbin
Bernadette looks positively miserable as she steps into the living room in the flouncy pink cocktail dress we stole from downtown Fuller. The top part is made of lace, and it’s almost entirely see-through