Diary Of A Murderess [Completed]

Section Four - The Suicide Note Writer

My pen scratched on the paper, the ink slowly coming to a halt. The last one had taken quite a lot of writing - that was what I hated about killing wordy people. Their suicide notes had to be wordy too. As I refilled my pen with forest green ink, I thought about why I continued to do this. My scarred hand reached out almost automatically to the notebook underneath my bed.  To keep my identity secret, of course I couldn’t say it aloud, but I could write it.

 

 “The ferry from Dublin was fairly empty - why travel from Dublin to London, a place pretty much equally rainy? Unless you were running away of course. Like me.

 

The cool sea breeze pushed its way through my tangled cinnamon hair as I leaned over the side of the ship, my heart free and my mind adventurous. A shadow fell over me, blocking the rays of sun that had been playing happily and guilt-free on my back. I turned round, apprehensive suddenly.

 

“Casey O’ Hara? Is that you?” I squinted in the bright sunlight, making out a tall figure in front of me. “Your uncle is going out of his mind!” Just my luck to run into my uncle’s old boss, just twenty minutes before I could’ve escaped into a whole new life. Stefan Holden’s cosmetically altered teeth glinted in the light of noon. Despite the whole ton of trouble I was in, Stefan looked genuinely pleased to see me.

 

“Come down to my cabin for a drink, will you Casey? Then when we get to the coast, we can hop on the next flight out to Dublin, get you back to your uncle, huh?” he gently took my arm and guided me down the flight of stairs that led to the cabins.  “Did you hear the news? Your uncle woke up to find old Jim dead next to him on the floor! Talk about creepy. The last thing he remembers if being strangled by someone. He can’t speak at the moment; he’s having therapy at the hospital.” We reached his first class cabin and entered. Stefan relaxed into an armchair like he owned the whole world while I stood uncomfortably in the corner. In reality, I knew that the cabin was brightly coloured and sparkling clean and yet in my imagination, all I could see was that old flat that I used to live in, the cobwebs in the corners, with the fading light of yet another miserable day. It scared me, much more than it had at the time.

 

My hands rubbed against each other, twiddling my broken, painful thumb. Stephan noticed: “What’s wrong with your thumb?”

        “I hurt it.” was my curt answer. Stefan shrugged as if accepting that, really, it was none of his business.

        “Anyway, Jim was killed by someone’s bare hands, it seemed. Punching him on the temple. They dented his skull! Must’ve hurt their hands pretty bad.” At his last words, he looked up. “Yes,” he said, more slowly, drawing out the words. “It must’ve hurt their hands!” He marched over to me in three long strides and grabbed my hand, holding it fast. Oh, why did my thumb have to break? Stefan looked me up and down, before bending down to examine my legs. His hand clasped on the material of my trousers and his face peered up, his eyes meeting mine, questioning. “Casey O’ Hara, this looks like blood! Did you have anything to do with Jim’s death? Is that why you ran away from Dublin?”

 

Panicking now, I ran for the door, but before I could get there, Stefan was in the way, bolting the door shut. Quick as a whiplash, he drew his phone from his pocket and snapped a photo of me. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the cheese knife from the plate and drew it on him, slashing at his neck and reaching my target. His body went still, but not before the two texts had sent. The words ‘Casey O’Hara murdered Jim Bryans, SOS’. The same text twice, to two different people. Little did they know that they were about to become my next victims… The words for Stefan’s suicide note rang out clearly in my mind.” A subtle hand returned the red leather notebook to its place underneath the mattress, as if it had never existed at all.