Monster Minds [completed]

Chapter 11

"Tell me—after my head is chopped off, will I still be able to hear, at least for a moment, the sound of my own blood gushing from the stump of my neck? That would be the pleasure to end all pleasures."

– German serial killer Peter Kürten, known as the "Dusseldorf Vampire", murdered at least nine people before surrendering to police in 1931 and may have attempted 20 more killings between 1913-1929. He was executed by guillotine on July 2, 1931, in Cologne, Germany.

Chapter 11

My heels clinked against the hard stone floor as I made my way through the hallways. A distant scream echoed through the halls somewhere in the west wing. An odd feeling of déjà vu settled into the pit of my stomach. Not so long ago I had walked the same rout and heard the same scream before being thrown into a prison riot. I wouldn't be surprised if it happened again, knowing my luck.

I was, however, surprised to find my grounding lifted in the morning with a shopping list taped to my door. To the average person, that wouldn't seem like the end of grounding. But, for me, that was freedom on a sheet of paper. It meant that my mother was giving me permission to leave the house and, shopping or not, that meant she was sick of me hanging around the house all day. So, I had plastered a smile on my face and said a pleasant hello to her in the morning. She didn't return that hello but she didn't yell, so that was a start. She must have known that the only way to make me spill was to give me the silent treatment... so my days of solitude began.

I didn't know how she was coping with being fired as she had refused to utter a single word to me. Guilt continued to ebb away at the insides of my stomach, but I ignored it. I knew that being fired was not the worse case scenario. Worse case scenario was George and his framing for the murder of Harley James. That seemed a world more important to me.

When I dressed for the day ahead, I ditched the high heels for another day of sneaker filled comfort. My black slacks were loose on my legs, unflattering my already shapeless figure. I matched my look with a sleek black sweater, as to avoid the issue of possible bloodspot, and a tight bun to tame my mess of blonde hair. My skin was stretched like Botox as the hairstyle slicked back my hair to the extreme.

My tape recorder was placed securely inside my leg pocket, adjusted to perfection as to absorb every sound I heard, and those that I didn't. Sometimes I believed it had better hearing than a human on speed.

The smell of mold and freshly killed cow filled my nostrils as I neared the cafeteria. I cleared my throat before quietly coughing, disgusted by the bile that collected at the back of my throat.

It was lunchtime when I arrived at the doors that led to the feeding grounds. I could already hear the loud murmurs coming from within, building in volume with every step closer.  I paused, hand hovering on top of the large handle, afraid of what would become of me once I entered. I had not seen or spoke to any of the prisoners, well apart from Vans, after the brawl. I had no idea what had become of my fierce reputation; the 'woman who controls' might have become 'the woman who is controlled'. I couldn't let that happen.

I straightened my back to its full length, increasing my height to look dominant, and rubbed down my slacks, ridding them of any creases or dirt particles. I ran my hands over my hair, making sure every strand was elegantly placed, alluding to my intelligence. I breathed deeply and stretched out my hand, the cool metal handle calmed me and a small smile stretched onto my face. If I showed them that the recent events had not affected me, then they would have nothing more to say about the scared girl they saw when the guards took George away. It would be erased from their minds in an instant, gone like teenage gossip.

The door swung inwards as I applied force, the quiet 'swoosh' seemingly catching the attention I wanted. The heads of every inmate and guard turned my way. Some watched out of curiosity, others glared with silent hatred in their eyes, obviously intimidated by the power they knew I held. One word to my father and they were moved up on the list, dead within months.