Female Sereal Killer

The estate was grand with luscious green rolling hills and fountains. Off in the distance I saw her fanning her extraordinary long eyelashes at a handsome dark-haired muscular man. She smiled at him and I could tell that she had already mastered him with her beauty. He blushed. She gave him a bashful giggle starting for the house. She saw me and her sweet eyes turned wicked.

"She is my best friend you know, but she has been acting a bit strange lately. Also, I know that this sounds super weird, but I could have sworn that her hair morphed from blond to black to blond out of the corner of my eye yesterday and as it happened she growled like a lioness. A shiver went up my spine and it has not left."

She tapped me on my shoulder and with a slight accusation said, "Paloma?"

We both, her and I, chimed, "Yes?"

I could feel the word crawling out of her throat and vice versa.

"I have to go and clean up for the party."

She whispered, but I could hear it more in my head and less from her, "Yes, Paloma. We both know that he would be angry if we were not prepared. He might even hurt us."

If he did, I would hurt him back. I'd kick him and bash his knees in with the closest object and then run down that hill sliding on that dewy grass. I'd probably fall, but I'd pick myself up.

She disappeared into the mansion floating and glowing like an innocent child. I saw him in the corner watching her. He was a creepy voyeur, but he always ignored me. When he would rage at her his forceful physique would draw through me and cruel intentions permeated my flesh. I had forgotten what I looked like and took comfort in the fact that she and I looked so similar. All I had to do was look at her to see myself: beautiful, manipulative, a victim and sometimes mean.

The guests started arriving and begging for money and food. The air was chilly, but the sun was out so she shined. They adored her and fell victim to her naive warmth. Like sweet puppies they followed her as she toured the palace. I reached out to the stragglers, but they didn't acknowledge me. As he watched her his jealousy filled the room. He then rushed from the corner and grabbed her left arm and tugged her upstairs. No one fought him, not even me because for some odd reason I felt like she deserved it. He locked her in a room on the third floor and sat outside like a bouncer.

Politicians and the police started arriving for the extravaganza and each were perplexed by her absence. A party without a hostess almost doesn't seem like a party.

I walked up the stairs and saw him sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. I unlocked the door and found her wickedly crouched in the corner with blood all over her face and hands. She was shaking. She fanned her gorgeous locks over her face and then whipped them back. The blood disappeared and her face looked precious and soft. A sharp ringing commenced and I could hear people screaming, "He's here! The sereal killer is here!"

The news vans arrived and the politians brushed the lint from their suits to speak after sharing whispers with the police.

Clearing their throats, "Yes, as you can see here," fanning their well-manicured hands towards the cementary to the side of the house, "the plane crashed and they buried their bodies here." The people gasped and rushed towards her as she came outside. She hunched over and failed to speak. The masses wrapped their arms around her and tried to console her.

They cooed, "He won't hurt you, again. You are safe now."

A Latin cop sauntered through the crowd and told them, "Back away! She's coming with us!"

Her eyes went wicked and we all lost sight of her, but I could hear her screaming and something else was screaming, too.

When we found her the bloody paw was resting near her. Her face was smeared with blood, bones and flesh and her eyes were wild. I looked at her face and then to the miles of cementary and then back. She was smiling. She was smiling at her victims in their coffins and no one knew, but me and when I looked down to see myself there was nothing to see.