Inhumanism

Chapter Three

The plan was finalised on Sunday evening.

For the first time, my mother came to me rather than the other way round.

At around seven, she knocks on my door and opens it.

'Come with us, Elektra.'

I put the book down that I had been reading - The Great Gatsby, an Old World novel - and look behind me. Otty is beside Mother, trying to smile, trying to please her. As much as I love Otty, he is loyal to our mother to the point of contempt.

The two of them both turn around without a word and make their way to the living room whilst I follow behind them.

~~~

'Otis and I have written out the procedure.' My mother says as she makes herself comfortable on our couch. 'It is all here.'

She throws me the curled up piece of paper, and when I open it the digitised words and numbers start appearing.

Everything is planned out to the finest detail, like what pants should be worn and when Otty should cut his hand open in relation to Mother, etcetera.

After grabbing the knife (3:30 am) I'll be using to supposedly kill them both, I'll be fleeing the scene and taking a jet to the bunker my mother was speaking about (3:55 am). She has already entered the location and set the jet up, so all I'll need to do is get in, turn the machine on and put it on self-driving mode. And after I arrive, the jet will be sent back to its original position waiting for Otty and Mother to board it and escape.

We don't know who will be the lucky person to find blood all over our place - though I know it won't be long until someone notices that their minister has been oddly quiet, or that neither Otis or Elektra Hawke have been attending school.

I can't help but be amazed at the detail and effort Mr. Surrey and Mother have gone to. You'd think Surrey must be somewhat of an expert of covering things up - but I suppose after all of those years working with criminals and gaining insight into the criminal brain, he'd have to be.

Afterwards, Mother tells me to keep the sheet of paper as a reminder of Tuesday's procedure. I can't be bothered memorising it, because I'll have it on me during the supposed murder and I'll be taking it on the jet so that it can't be used as evidence.

I clasp my hands together, trying to reassure myself everything will be OK. But it's not the procedure that I'm worried about.

~~~

A few years ago I met Lisa. I was a lonely ten-year-old, grieving my late father. Being the daughter of the Minister, I was an outcast. A loner, and a freak. A god-damn rich freak, at that. Lisa was all of the above, excluding the very latter. She was a god-damn poor freak.

My mother forbade me befriending children of the lower class, but I'd never been one to play by the rules. As I was walking home one day from school, I decided to pass through Laval Avenue. I knew this lane was dangerous; hence, Mother had warned me not to go near it. But I didn't care.

I walked through it - simply for the pleasure of rebelling - and passed criminals, addicts and genetically de-modified outcasts alike. Many of them muttered, snorted or scowled in my general direction, probably because my uniform gave away the fact that I attended Montgomery's School for Girls, implying that I was wealthy. Some of them may have known me as the Minister's daughter - although if they did, they'd probably have killed me then and there. I'd heard Mother was quite unpopular with the lower class.

As a strolled down Laval, holding my breath around smokers and smiling horridly at every snide remark made at me, I passed a girl who looked about my age. She was scruffy, dirty, awful - and wearing a Montgomery uniform. The girl didn't appear to be armed, so I figured it would be OK to ask where she got the uniform from. She couldn't possibly attend my school - she wouldn't be allowed within a ten-metre radius of the school gates - and no one at Montgomery's would near the Laval area, let alone be so close to all these people on the street.

I didn't notice that I was staring at Lisa.

'Something wrong?'

I jump back, startled. I hesitantly start walking away, muttering 'no, no, everything is just fine; really, I'm OK, thank you...'

Then I break into a run, and I hear a scream behind me.

'WAIT!'

I don't stop. I run home like a maniac, slam the door shut and lay on my bed, panting. I decide to never go near Laval again.

I didn't have to.

~~~

A few weeks later, I spotted the girl again. Yet this time, she doesn't look like a homeless de-modified outcast. She looks normal. And normal, in my sense, is well-dressed and not remarkably skinny, as she was when I last saw her. I recognised her by her eyes. In the darkness of Laval, her eyes were like lights. Bright blue, like they were piercing your soul. I recognise her immediately and turn away.

She walks over to me, not put off by what I look back on as rudeness, and introduces herself as Lisa. I am weary of her at first, but then begin to engage in the conversation. It was the first time I'd had a real conversation with anyone my age, excluding a certain brother of mine.

Our friendship bloomed out of that like a flower, but I'm afraid it will crumple and die after I become known as a girl who killed the last remnants of her family.

But I don't have a choice.