by Aimee Ash
Now it’s time for the world to discover that, Mandy Clark is a lesbian – not me. However, firstly I would just like to point out that I don’t have a problem with the gay people of the world. The only problem I have is with the bullying bastards of the world.
Clearing my throat after a few chocolate digestives, I go to work hacking into her Facebook profile and changing her status to, in a relationship, then I photo-shop a very sexy picture of me and her together, it’s her favourite one. Of course Scarlett hasn’t met Mandy in person, so for her birthday I emailed her a photo of us together that I’d photo shopped. Mandy loved it. Here it goes – with one push of a button she’s out! Our intimate messages have also been accidentally posted for all her friends and family to read and it will take her a while to delete them all, giving adequate time for at least a few of her friends and family to see the posts.
And there’s one to go, Billy Baker and I’ve been looking forward to this one the most! Billy has an online business selling insurance. He’s been doing very well of late and has practically offered to buy me the world, when I come back from Mexico after filming a music video for the latest young hot shot super-star that is. Now he’s going to be fast falling into a well of emptiness as I post messages about his fraudulent company and how his insurance is nothing but white noise. Not only that, but he’s been hiring hookers on a regular basis, her name - Scarlett Sullivan. Now, that just doesn’t look good for a business man does it? Especially if he’s being paying for prostitutes out of the company account. After I’ve posted photos of our photo-shopped photographs on his business Facebook profile I proceed to let the local newspaper know what has been going on, giving an explicit interview and earning a few quid for myself too.
Bye Bye Billy.
Farewell Mandy.
See ya Nathan.
Then comes the hardest part, Saying goodbye to Scarlett Sullivan who has been a pleasure to work with for the past year. Feeling choked up I kiss the screen and with a heavy heart I delete her profile. Scarlett Sullivan is gone, but my next alter ego is waiting in the wings to take her place.
There is a sudden knock on my door which startles me. My heart begins to race and tingles of anxiety surge through my body. Nobody comes to see me and I’m not expecting my Tesco delivery until Friday evening. My entire body stiffens as I hear a man calling out my name through the door. I don’t recognise his voice, but I already know who he is.
‘Rebecca Russell, this is Constable Hughes and I have a warrant for your arrest.’
Retribution day has finally arrived, but I knew it was coming.
With a smile on my face I pick up my lap top, close the lid and carry it underneath my arm as I make my way to the kitchen.
‘Rebecca Russell, open this door!’ he yells and I laugh quietly under my breath as I have no intention of letting him into my personal space, my sanctuary.
Opening the kitchen drawer I pull out a knife and a pack of matches. Placing the knife in my pocket I head back to the tiny lounge which is littered with sweet, chocolate and crisp wrappers, along with all the meaningless crap I own. Grabbing a bottle of vodka off the fire place I begin to drench my sofa with the flammable liquid. Taking a deep breath and feeling a little sad that my life is going to end like this, I light a match and throw it onto the sofa. Boom! The, hot flames take hold of the stained, corduroy material and I resign myself to the fact that my time has ended.
All good things eventually come to an end though, don’t they?
Releasing my life from my hands, I launch my laptop into the flames, but shockingly my plan has been unexpectedly scuppered. I hadn’t had time to get the knife out of my pocket and now three policemen are tackling me down onto the soiled and stained, carpeted floor.
‘Bastards!’ I shout and that is my final word. Ever.
‘Rebecca Russell, you are under arrest for the murder of Patrick and Mary Russell and the murder of your brother, Robert Russell.’
He blathers away reading me my rights but I can barely hear him. In fact I can’t hear anything anymore. My mind is blank and before me there is a blackness that consumes me. Is it my depression taking strong a hold over me or just despair as my conscious tries to battle through the terrible things I’ve done?
So maybe I am a little crazy, but they made me do it! All of them. It’s their fault that they’re dead. They deserved to die for what they done to me. For how they made me feel. For abandoning me. I won’t take it back, never – I killed them, but only because they gave me no other option. Is this justice for all my wrongdoings or is it the work of Karma?
I’m shoved rather roughly through my open front door and I can feel my thighs being squashed by the door frame. I think I’m bundled into a car, oh hell I’m outside in the real world. Anxiety. Panic. I can’t breathe and I think I’m going to die. If only I’d managed to get the knife out of my pocket, then I could have ended my life on my terms. Now I’ll either be locked up in a padded cell for the rest of my living days or tossed into jail with all the other murderers who will probably immediately see that I’m a walking target for bullying. Just like all those other people saw I was weak and impressionable.
My hands are in cuffs and my skin is folding over the metal which strangles my plump wrists. There must be a way to get to the knife. I repeatedly hit my head against the metal bars in front of my in the car, screaming, knocking my two front teeth out and there is blood everywhere. The force of my weight prevents the two police officers from restraining me and I take my hard head to theirs knocking one of them out cold.
The car pulls over and the officer driving assists the one officer I hadn’t managed to knock into an unconscious state. My wrists are blue and my hands are numb, the officer has seen this and reluctantly removes the cuffs. For a split second I had an opportunity and I took it. With little life left in my hands I elbow the officer in the side of his face and press my hefty weight against the other, smothering their face. I find the knife and plunge it into my chest.
Hallelujah, praise the Lord above, I’ve done it. I’m bleeding out and with a smile spreading across my blood stained face I feel elated. I don’t feel the pain of my severed skin. That pain is nothing compared to how I’ve suffered at the hands of bullies for my entire life. Nothing can hurt me anymore. I’m safe from harm. I’m gone.
About the Author
Aimee Ash lives in London, United Kingdom. She is an animal lover, especially of dogs, and has two of her own. She is a movie buff and loves nothing more than spending time with her family. She is always looking for the next character in her books, so watch out, as you might be the next inspiration for one yourself!
As a lover of the thriller and paranormal genre, Aimee discovered there were thousands of books about Vampires, Wolves, Witches, Demons, etc., which she loves. But she wanted to write about something different, something unique which her imagination alone had created. That is when Enigma was created.
Enigma is part one of an epic trilogy that is a bestseller. Part two, Secrets is currently available for download and part three, Forever will be released December 2013. Aimee has had several kind comments stating that Enigma is indeed different from other paranormal romance books and at the date of this publication is currently rated four stars on Amazon.
If you want a taste of Enigma, the first three chapters are on the following pages or you can download Enigma right now for FREE!
Aimee also has a paranormal novella series which is available for download too. Due to popular demand, Aimee is currently adapting one of the novella’s, Hunted which will now be a two part book series due for release early 2014.
You can email Aimee directly via her website and sign up for her Newsletter: www.aimeeash.co.uk
Follow her on Twitter: @authoraimeeash
Like her author page on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Aimee-Ash/328044110539051
ENIGMA
By
AIMEE ASH
CHAPTER 1
; The Californian sunshine beamed brightly through my windows. Wincing, I peeked at my clock. It was eight, and time for me to get up, but I couldn’t resist having five more minutes of peace before chaos erupted. We had moved into our new house late yesterday afternoon, and after spending the remainder of the day unpacking, I was exhausted. This was our fifth move in six years and I was quite a pro at upheaval; I hadn’t even bothered unpacking some of my boxes from when we had moved the last time. Every gated community now looked the same to me; even the people somehow seemed familiar.
My father, Doctor Bryce Harris, had promised that this would be our last move for at least a couple of years. He’d bought an office in the heart of Long Beach, where plastic surgery was routine for the wealthy. My father had dragged us around the country and had made quite a reputable name for himself. Whatever you wanted lifted, tucked, enhanced, reduced, reconstructed, implanted, or sucked out, he could do it—for a price, of course. My mother was Exhibit A, and my ghastly, narcissistic sister, Heather, was Exhibit B; I had no intention of becoming Exhibit C.
Feeling a sense of despair, I hoped that we could finally settle, especially since I was starting college the next day. While I convinced myself to get out of my comfortable bed, a familiar feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Ever since I can remember, I’d felt emotionally deprived; I’d never had a best friend and I was always the new girl: popular for the first week and then dropped like a lead balloon when old friends reunited. I only wanted to belong, to feel connected to someone or someplace, but after our fifth move, I decided it wasn’t even worth making the effort to find a friend; the pain of rejection was dreadful.
Feeling refreshed after a hot shower, I was as ready as I’d ever be. I sauntered down the grand, gold-trimmed staircase, knowing exactly what everyone would be doing in the kitchen before I walked through the door. Even though we’d moved, the breakfast routine remained the same. My mother, Camilla Harris, would have a pot of chamomile tea placed to her left and would be eating a berry and banana fruit salad with organic probiotic yogurt—zero fat. Her rosy cheekbones would exaggerate themselves as she sipped her tea, and her champagne-blonde, bobbed hair would bounce above her slender shoulders as she reached across the table for the newspaper that she didn’t actually have any interest in reading.
Ahh yes, then there’s my older sister. Heather would be back from her morning walk wearing her custom-made, shape-up sneakers, yet she wouldn’t have broken into a sweat. She would be sitting with her spindly legs crossed while sipping a fruit smoothie, with her thin lips firmly clasped around an eco-friendly straw, avoiding all traces of carbohydrates. Her long, platinum-blonde hair would fall around her skinny face and she would glare at me while I ate pancakes—her worst enemy. Almost every day, she’d tell us that being a model was a lifestyle for her, not just a job, and then we’d hear about how it took dedication and commitment to look as good as she did.
And let’s not forget my father. He would be rushing out while eating the last of his breakfast to tend to his patients who made appointments at unearthly hours to avoid being seen in daylight. His clothes—as predictable as he was—would be freshly pressed. He’d be wearing a fitted shirt with his initials embroidered on the chest, and it would be complimented by expensive cuff links that matched the gold clasp on his imported silk tie. His brown, Italian-leather loafers would complete his outfit and as he slipped into his silver Mercedes-Benz, he’d wave to the neighbors, making sure everyone had seen him. I’d cringe by the window and watch as the neighbors shook their heads as he turned the corner.
As for my baby brother, Brett, who knew when he would surface? He would have been out all night at yet another keg party, and I had no doubt that he would have drank far too much, like he always did. His tendency to show off around girls had gotten out of control, but he loved the attention far too much to stop. Being such a popular high school heartthrob was a full-time job for him. His tousled, wavy-blond hair and soft gray eyes were just two of the many things he had going for him. But he could be so much more if he wanted to be.
Sometimes I thought that Brett deliberately aimed to fail just to irk our father, who had nothing but negative words for him. I’d cringe as my father shouted at and demoralized Brett, tearing him apart with every word when he thought nobody was listening.
After his outburst, my dad would retreat to the garden to suck on a cigar and Brett would sulk off to his bedroom. I’d tiptoe to his door and listen to him cry. Sometimes he’d throw books around the room, and then sometimes there would be nothing but silence. When there was silence, I knew I had to watch him. Before I entered the kitchen, I paused and glanced at my reflection in the antique, pewter mirror, which had hung in the foyer of every house we’d ever lived in. It was a hideous, gothic, and eerie-looking family heirloom given to my father by his great uncle.
I let down my wavy, ash-blonde hair and weaved my fingers through it, trying to rearrange it in an attempt at making myself look like less of a tousled mess. My pale complexion accentuated the dark circles under my sunken eyes. Heather would say that I needed a good dose of vitamin D. I turned to the side, placing my hands down the length of my thighs, and studied my figure. The skinny jeans I wore hugged me in the right places and my loose shirt covered my flaws. My lack of trendy dress sense annoyed my mother, and Heather always had something to say about my casual attire.
Approving myself for the day, I stepped into the kitchen and smelled something delicious. I was ready to eat and get out of there; I had more unpacking to do, and I had to prepare for my first day of college.
As I sat at the table, Heather glared at me with her bright, blue eyes, inspecting my clothes as usual. Her long, wiry hair flowed neatly down her back and with her every move; it gracefully fell around her face, making her beauty even more apparent. She was a bitch, but a beautiful bitch. My mother looked up from her newspaper and joined Heather in observing me.
“Kate, darling, are you okay? You aren’t wearing any makeup, not even a dash of mascara. Oh, look at you.” She wrinkled her nose and poked at my pale face.
“Mom, don’t fuss with her. She hates it. Just leave her alone. If she wants to look that way, then let her face the consequences,” Heather said.
“Heather, you should look out for Kate.”
“I have been, Mom. But I’ve lost count of the times I’ve told her about the importance of vitamin D. If she didn’t sulk around the house like a vampire, then perhaps she would’ve heard of that yellow thing in the sky.” Heather smiled at me with pure evil hidden behind her shiny, veneered teeth. My mother shot her a disapproving look.
“I’m not fussing; I just want Kate to make the best of what she has,” she said, while pouting at me in an attempt to offer me sympathy for my plain looks.
I hung my head and placed a napkin on my lap. My confidence was already low and it had just taken another hit. I’d accepted early on in life that it was stupid to consider myself anything but average, especially when standing next to Heather, whom I avoided as much as possible. It was Brett who had reassured me that I didn’t look like Frankenstein’s bride; he said I looked like a normal girl and there was nothing wrong with that.
I took a sip of juice and looked around the new kitchen, which looked pretty much the same as all the others. It had all the usual features and marble countertops—predictable really. Heather eyed me while stirring her smoothie. She was just as predictable as anything else in the kitchen and was quick to pass another unwanted comment.
“Please tell me you’ve unpacked some of your halfway-decent clothes. For your sake, do not go dressed like a boy for your first day in college. If you have any hope of joining a sorority, then put some makeup on your pale face and treat your feet to some heels. You can’t rely solely on our family name to get you by; you have to make an effort.” Heather flicked her hair away from her eyes. She had a degree in deceit and honors in manipulation, although my mother thought every word that came out of her mouth was the absolute truth
. But I knew different.
I refused to give Heather the satisfaction of even looking over at her. She would be itching for a reaction from me and as much as I wanted to give her hell for being so mean, I refrained, knowing that ignoring her would annoy her more.
I walked over to Nanny Flo and stood behind her, avoiding her silver gray hair, which was wound up into a neat bun. I bent down to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Flo had been my ally since I was born; she was my role model and had been nothing but an inspiration to me. Every time I felt low, I’d think of her smooth chocolate brown eyes looking at me, and would remember her telling me what really mattered in life. She insisted that our fate and happiness was guided by our own destiny, and that anything in life was attainable with positivity and drive. Flo was certainly a true Italian lady; she could put you in your place in a heartbeat, but would also smother you with kisses. She’d been like a mother to me; she was the mother that every child would want—a mother that every child deserved.
When I was thirteen, I found Nanny Flo sobbing in the garden. I’d never seen her cry before, so I put my arm around her and she held me so tight, like she would never let me go. That day, she told me a secret she had buried inside of her for years. Nanny Flo confessed that sixteen years ago, she’d given birth to a beautiful baby girl named Maddelena.
While shopping at their local market in Italy, Maddelena, who’d just turned three years old, went missing. Flo searched for her baby girl for years, hoping that one day she would find her, but Maddelena had never been found. Her obsession with finding her daughter eventually destroyed her marriage. Sadly, she never had more children and never found love again. After ten years of searching for the missing piece of her heart, Flo moved to California to start a new life. She came to work for my parents two days after Heather was born, and since that day, she moved wherever we moved, truly dedicated to our family.