The Murderer: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Paul Smith

  She heard Lara's footsteps moving away, so Michelle slipped into the living room where Lara had just been.

  She spotted the small, silver cellphone on the table and pocketed it.

  She couldn't have Lara calling up the police and framing her when she tried to confront her about her crimes.

  Before she could change her mind and back out, Michelle stepped into the kitchen, where Lara stood.

  Lara's back was towards her, and she was busy spreading something on a piece of toast.

  "Lara," Michelle said. She had tried to keep her voice low, but it still was much, much too loud--like a knife cutting through delicate tissue paper.

  Lara jumped violently and spun around.

  "M-Michelle," she stuttered, pale as a ghost. "Oh my goodness, what are you doing here?!"

  Michelle watched as the shock on Lara's face slowly morphed into incredulousness and then anger.

  "I can't believe you!" She yelled, eyes bulging. "You broke into my house?!"

  Michelle decided to cut right to the chase.

  "I know what you're hiding," She stated, crossing her arms.

  Lara blinked slowly, and Michelle knew that she was feigning innocence.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "About Adam," Michelle said, staring at Lara's face.

  Lara's eye twitched ever so slightly upon hearing Adam's name. She clenched her fists and then unclenched them.

  There was a pause.

  "Okay, I admit it," Lara finally said, exhaling loudly.

  Michelle's eyes widened in disbelief.

  Is she confessing? Why would she confess?

  "I admit, at one point I was rather...taken with him, if you will," Lara continued slowly as if it were taking a lot of effort for her to force out the words.

  What is she talking about? Michelle was utterly bemused, at this point.

  "It was always completely one-sided, though, Michelle. I promise you that. It was unrequited love on my part, and I don't see why you feel the need to harass me like this about something that I didn't do--a desire that I never even acted on," Lara said, her doe-like eyes welling up with tears. "I was jealous, yes, but I never did anything. I know Adam's death has been hard on you, but please don't take it out on me. Please. I can't bear it."

  I can't believe this, Michelle thought, almost laughing in disbelief and fury. She's smarter than I thought. She's trying to fool me into thinking that all she's guilty of is being 'in love' with Adam.

  Michelle wanted to scream at Lara.

  You murdered him! She thought viciously, glaring at Lara.

  "Why did you go to a pawn shop today?" Michelle asked coolly. "And why did you take a taxi?"

  Lara instantly flushed red, and her mouth fell open.

  "You-you followed me?"

  "Answer the question," Michelle said flatly.

  Lara shook her head slowly as if she were disgusted. Nonetheless, she answered, "If you must know, I wanted to sell some of my jewellery."

  "And why on earth would rich little Lara do that?" Michelle asked with a sardonic smile. She was growing angrier and more annoyed each second that she looked at Lara. Why couldn't she just admit what she had done?

  Lara's face turned an even deeper shade of red if that was even possible.

  "You seem determined to humiliate me, Michelle. I thought we were friends," Lara said in a sad voice.

  She's a good actress, Michelle acknowledged. I'll give her that.

  After a pause, Lara continued.

  "Look, I'm in debt," she said, not looking at Michelle. "I...I was fired from my job just recently."

  Michelle raised an eyebrow. Some might have interpreted Lara's inability to look her in the face as a sign of embarrassment, but Michelle knew that she was trying to hide the fact that she was lying.

  "Of course you're in debt," Michelle scoffed.

  Lara looked at Michelle and glared with pure hatred. It was unsettling to see that innocent, child-like face with such a malicious expression. Michelle couldn't help but wonder if that was the expression that Lara had worn when she had killed Adam.

  Whether she had done it herself or with an accomplice, Michelle knew that Lara had caused Adam's death.

  "Stop it," Michelle said, teeth gritted. "Stop acting innocent."

  Lara stared at Michelle with an indecipherable expression.

  "Get out of my house," she finally said, her mouth set in a harsh line. "Get out, and if you ever harass me again, things will get ugly."

  There was a strange glint in Lara's eyes, and it made Michelle shudder.

  "In fact, I won't forgive you for your behaviour today," Lara continued with that same look. "So watch your back."

  She's threatening me. She'll try to kill me, too, Michelle realised.

  "You'd better be gone by the time I get back here," Lara said before storming out of the kitchen.

  Michelle let out the breath that she had been holding for the past few seconds.

  She's going to kill me. She's going to kill me, Michelle thought frantically. If not now, she's going to kill me tomorrow. And I still don't have enough proof to turn her over!

  "She's guilty!" Michelle whispered out loud, frustrated.

  Just then, Michelle caught sight of a small, sharp knife sitting on the kitchen counter.

  She slowly reached her hand out and wrapped her fingers around the plastic handle.

  I'll confront her one more time, Michelle decided. And I'll keep this for self-defence.

  Michelle carefully tucked the knife into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled Lara's cellphone out of the other pocket and turned on the voice recorder before pocketing the phone again.

  She is guilty, after all. She needs to admit to her crimes.

  Chapter 7: Criminal

  Instead of waiting for Lara to come downstairs, Michelle went upstairs on her own.

  Assuming that the structure of this house was identical to that of Adam's house, Michelle deduced that the first door to the right would be the main bedroom. Lara's bedroom.

  Without hesitating, Michelle yanked the door open.

  Lara was sitting in front of her dresser, and she spun around with a startled cry.

  "You're still here?" Lara exclaimed furiously once she caught sight of Michelle. "I told you to get out! I was trying not to be too uncivil, since we were friends, and I know it must be difficult for you to deal with Adam's death, but this is too much. Get out or I'll call the police."

  "I know you killed Adam," Michelle said, keeping her voice firm and steady. "I know you were involved with his murder."

  Lara's eyes looked like they were about to pop right out of their sockets.

  "Are...are you insane?" She finally whispered. "You think I...killed him?"

  Lara's attempt at feigning innocence, yet again, only made Michelle angrier.

  "Admit it," she demanded. "Admit that you killed him."

  "Michelle, stop it," Lara said, and Michelle could see it in Lara's eyes at that moment. She could see that Lara was prepared to kill her, too, now that she knew the truth about what she'd done to Adam.

  Lara got up and began to walk towards Michelle.

  No, no, no!

  Fear began to consume Michelle.

  I can't die yet!

  Michelle pulled the kitchen knife out of her pocket. She closed her eyes, and in one swift, fluid motion, she plunged it into Lara's body.

  Michelle heard a strange, animalistic cry.

  She opened her eyes, and Lara was kneeling over on the ground. She was still alive, writhing like a fish out of the water.

  No, she's alive! She'll kill me!

  In a frenzy of terror, Michelle continued to drive the knife into the torso of this criminal.

  Once, twice, three times.

  All Michelle could see was red, red, everywhere. She lost count of the number of times that she stabbed the woman.

  When she stopped, she was surrounded by a pool of blood, and Lara was motionless. Michelle star
ed at the sweet, angelic face of the murderer that she had killed.

  "Who would have thought that someone as sweet as you would be a killer?" Michelle said out loud. "A criminal."

  Criminal, criminal, criminal, she chanted in her head.

  Chapter 8: Dan's bar

  A few minutes later--or maybe it was a few hours, Michelle wasn't sure--she heard the sound of someone barging into the house.

  "Search the place," she heard someone say.

  She heard footsteps going in all directions. Someone was coming upstairs.

  Michelle stared dully at the woman that entered Lara's bedroom.

  She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman in a uniform. She had a gun.

  The woman took in the scene before her eyes. Her expression was smooth as a statue's. The only thing that gave away her revulsion was the look in her deep-set eyes.

  "She's here," The woman said in a clear voice.

  Three more officers sprinted up the stairs and entered the room.

  "She got another one," the woman added once they were inside.

  One of the officers inhaled sharply through his nose once he caught sight of Lara's mangled corpse and Michelle sitting in a crimson pool.

  After a short moment, one of the officers, a tall man with a haggard face, strode over to Michelle and handcuffed her within a split second.

  "You are under arrest for the murder of Adam Chappell," he began.

  "That's not possible," Michelle said calmly. "I was at Dan's bar that night."

  The female officer and the man who had handcuffed her changed a confused look.

  "Dan's bar," Michelle repeated. "It's just a few miles from my apartment. You can ask the bartender, I was there that night. Ask the bartender with the weary eyes."

  "Anna?" The man with the haggard face asked, looking at the female officer.

  She shook her head.

  "I know for a fact that there's no such place in that area. In fact, I've never heard of a 'Dan's bar' anywhere in the city, and I know this city like the back of my hand."

  "NO!" Michelle screamed as she was carried out of the house. "NO, IT WAS LARA! I WAS AT DAN'S BAR!"

  ***a few days later***

  "Dr Alam, what's the deduction?"

  Dr Alam, a thin balding man with a hint of a foreign accent, cleared his throat.

  "Michelle Maguire suffers from schizophrenia."

  There was a murmur among the officials.

  "According to what the detectives have discovered, during her marriage to Adam Chappell, she would become paranoid that he was having multiple affairs. She would intrude into the homes of the women that she suspected to be involved with him, and would vandalise their belongings. Mr. Chappell would pay large amounts of money to these women to get them to remain silent about these happenings."

  Dr Alam paused and took a breath before going on.

  "After performing such acts, Michelle would never recall what she had done. Eventually, her husband divorced her and she moved out. She was soon fired from her job, and, one night, out of some sort of paranoia and hatred, she murdered Adam Chappell after sneaking into his home and stabbing him with a knife. She convinced herself that she had not committed this crime, and no amount of questioning has made her admit to her crime. She claims to have been in an imaginary bar that night.

  Upon the investigation of the detectives, the knife that had been used to murder Mr. Chappell was found in his home. Michelle's fingerprints were found on the knife, and her hairs were found on the floor.

  During the time that the investigation was going on, Michelle seemed to have convinced herself that her ex-husband's neighbour was, in fact, the murderer.

  Perhaps out of guilt, Michelle felt the need to stalk and harass Ms. Lara instead of face the fact that she had murdered her own ex-husband. According to a voice recording on Ms. Lara's phone, she had been acting suspiciously due to the fact that she was in severe debt. These suspicious actions, in conjunction with Michelle's disease, also caused her to believe that she was being threatened by this woman and that she would kill Michelle if she did not do something.

  She murdered the woman in what she believed to be self-defence."

  Once again, Dr Alam paused.

  "Since it has been found that Michelle Maguire is not sane, she will not be sent to prison, but to a correctional institution," he finished.

  Everyone in the room was silent.

  It was so strange, really, how a person could murder others in cold blood, yet still be convinced of their innocence.

  It was truly chilling, and the people in the room were speechless for a good few moments.

  However, life went on.

  Everyone proceeded with their lives as usual, forgetting about the incident of Michelle Maguire, the schizophrenic murderer.

  “The End”

  Fighting Goliath

  Chapter 1—Brave Warrior

  James Findlay considered himself to be a modern day rebel. If he was to be successful, he needed to be cunning, like the Scottish warriors of old. Outside the window, clouds spotted the French countryside with intermittent shadow. Occasionally, the slender box in which they rode pierced one or another of those clouds. Soon, the landscape below became crowded with buildings and streets. Ever so gradually, the details came up to reveal themselves more closely. People transformed from tiny insects, into identifiable kindred.

  "Of course I want to marry you," he said softly, turning back to look at Moira in the seat next to his. "Why don't we elope here in Paris?"

  "Be reasonable, Jimmy," she replied, furrowing her brow, not in anger, but with concern. "If you do it, your reputation may be the least of our worries."

  "What are you saying?" James raked his fingers through his black hair, making his receding hairline more visible. "Don't tell me you think they would kill me for talking to other delegates."

  "Wouldn't they?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "If this is as important to you-know-who as you say it is, then I don't want to be a widow before giving my vows."

  "Oh, come on." James chuckled softly. "The world press will be there. What are they going to do? Shoot me? Besides, this is important. The future of the world is at stake. Someone has to do something."

  "Precautionary principle?"

  "What a laugh that bit of rubbish is. That principle only works if you're headed in the right direction. These laggards are headed in completely the wrong direction." James looked out the window, again. He heard a ding and the captain announcing final approach.

  "Charles de Gaulle Airport," the captain's voice announced, "has light snow and temperature of minus four Celsius—twenty-five Fahrenheit. Be certain to dress warmly."

  As they made their way out of the terminal toward the uneasy row of taxis, Moira yawned and shook her head. "Still daylight. Back home," she stopped and looked at her watch. "My God, two A.M."

  "Yes, sleep." James bumped her shoulder with his.

  "Nothing else," she replied, nodding rapidly. "I'm too tired to eat. Don't even think—"

  "Taxi?" asked one of the waiting drivers.

  "Yes, Hotel Accès de Joie, in Le Bourget."

  The driver's mouth turned down. He rocked his head back and forth with cautious approval of the hotel's name. "Surge of happiness?" He nodded and winked at James.

  "Let's not give him any ideas," said Moira. "Please!"

  "British?" asked the driver, as he lifted their luggage into the trunk of his taxi.

  "No," said James, "Caledonian. Not New—the other Caledonia in the South Pacific. And no, I don't speak French."

  "COP21?" asked the driver. "The climate conference?"

  "Yes," said James and exhaled sharply. He opened the door for Moira and they both got in.

  At the hotel, check-in seemed a blur. When finally they were alone, Moira disrobed, leaving everything on the floor in a trail toward the bed. James took a shower and climbed in next to her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and felt the soft, warm bedding consume him.
/>   Chapter 2—First Introductions

  When James opened his eyes, Moira was standing next to the bed half dressed.

  "Hungry?" she asked.

  "What time is it?" He swallowed, nodded and answered her question. "Yes, a little."

  "Well, get dressed. I doubt if this," she paused, "quaint hotel has room service, especially at four in the morning."

  The night clerk found them a taxi and soon they were sitting at a 24-hour bakery and coffee shop.

  "If I'm not mistaken, we're not far from the conference venue."

  Moira nodded and picked another tuft from her croissant. "How are you going to disrupt the proceedings?"

  James took another sip of coffee and finished chewing his pastry. "Disrupt? That may be too harsh—"

  "But you disagree with their consensus, right?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "And they're likely to call you a 'denier' for your views."

  "That's just the crazy part. Deny what?"

  Both of them looked toward the door as three other customers came in. Each of them wore a name tag for the COP21 Climate Conference.

  "Hello," said James. "I see you're with the climate conference."

  The three of them looked at him with eyes wide. One of them nodded slightly and they moved toward the counter to place their order. The one looked back at James and Moira.

  "The only reason I say that," said James, "I'm also a delegate—James Findlay, from the sovereign Republic of Caledonia."

  The man looking back worked his eyebrows and lifted his head in half a nod. They placed their orders, then the one led them to a table adjacent to that of James and Moira.

  "Hello," said the man, extending his hand toward James. "Hector de la Cruz y Gutierrez, Republic of Sonora. These are my—como se dice—hombres, uh—associates. Pablo Martinez y Bustamante and José Cisneros y Rojas." Each man nodded as introduced. "I apologize. My ingles no esta—how is it—not very good. Habla ústed español?"

  James gave a hesitant laugh and shook his head. "Uh. Enough to say 'no.' English is pretty much it, for me." He turned slightly, "And this is Moira Ferguson, my fiancée."