Flytrap | WATTYS 2022 SHORTLIST

26 | Vein

Everything happened so quickly. As soon as the first ray of light hit Pamela, she started to burn.

It must've been absolutely excruciating. Hell, it was excruciating just to watch. Barbara could only imagine the pain Pamela was in as her once pale, smooth skin, like that of the finest porcelain, bubbled and singed.

But if Pamela was in agony, she never showed it. At least, not at the beginning. Instead, she raised her hand out to the sun as if she were offering herself to it, to death.

It wasn't long before Pamela's body was completely covered in flames. As was in most cases, it took only the smallest spark to latch onto a shred of her gown and spread out like a wildfire. And it was at that moment, when not an inch left of her was not on fire, did she open her mouth and finally start to scream.

Unable to tear her eyes off the horrifying sight in front of her, Barbara could only watch as the woman she wanted to kill for so long turned to ash.

And yet, she did not feel any sense of sadistic pleasure or relief like she expected. No, she felt nothing on the inside. Nothing but hollow.

Well, that was that then. Pamela had been reduced to an unrecognizable, smoldering pile on the floor. There was nothing left of her, not even a wisp of hair.

Seeing there was nothing left to do here, Barbara decided it was time to leave. Carefully rolling towards the front door, she glanced around at her surroundings, finally able to get a clear view of the manor thanks to the sunlight pouring in. The floor plan was similar to the Isley mansion, which Barbara imagined must have been built around the same time.

But where the two estates differed was in their condition. The Wayne Manor was nowhere near the decrepit state the Isley mansion had been in. Granted, the mansion had been abandoned for years, so maybe the comparison wasn't all that fair. Yet, the manor couldn't have been more elegant, more modern with its cushiony seats and a massive collection of books jutting out of the olive green walls.

Modern. That was the perfect way to describe the manor. Unlike the Isley mansion, which would forever remain frozen in time, Wayne Manor had shed its Victorian roots and embraced the twentieth century. Because nothing screamed modern like an electric chandelier and a pool table underneath.

Shaking her head, Barbara tore her eyes from the parlor and returned to the door in front of her. But as she started to turn the knob, she suddenly paused.

It didn't take any sort of enhanced instinct to realize there was someone else in the room with her.

"Where are you going, Barbara?"

Spinning around, Barbara glared up at the familiar figure standing in the dark hallway, one of the few areas where the sunlight would not reach.

"Home," she spat, never once taking her eyes off the figure.

It hobbled closer to her, using its arm to support itself against the wall. "You know we can't let you leave."

Barbara pressed her hand on the knob, her narrowed gaze daring him to take another step closer. "Watch me."

"You won't get very far. You know that, right?" His blue eyes gleamed in the dark. "You're miles away from the nearest house. Even further from the city."

"No, probably not," she admitted with a shrug. "But seeing you're now missing a leg, I'll take my chances... Richard."

He let out a soft chuckle. "It would seem we're both on equal footing then."

"Yeah, it seems like." She jutted out her chin; another challenge for him to approach. "It all comes down to who's faster. A crippled girl or a crippled bloodsucking parasite."