Ok so right off the bat this is just shameful filler, not even hiding it haha.
Not to say I’m not proud of it but it’s padding because I ran out of Green Sunday chapters and I don’t have any 3 ring chapters proof read right now, just pure laziness haha. But I’m having a great time going through the chapters of Diana again (the fourth time now I think) with a fine tooth come just making sure every I is dotted and every T is crossed for when it goes out to agents which should be soon, before the end of the year at least.
I know there will be people that want the full manuscript because there were people who wanted it for TOTCB and that was a piece of shit I wrote in 30 days haha (not a piece of shit, by comparison haha) so I don’t want to fuck around this time, I want it to be the best it can be. Not perfect because then I’d never get it sent out but damn near as close as I possibly can get it.
So that’s what I’m doing today haha. And despite it being proofread multiple times and edited, still finding minor errors, doing some reading out loud, things like that. I’m getting excited for it but also really impatient.
Personal life as usual in the toilet, might be looking to get a new job maybe cut back on my writing/gaming/jerking off haha. It’s like I’m straddling the fence of destiny and I either fall off or get on that ladder, if Diana gets zero attention I’m pretty much fucked. I mean I invested a lot of hope in Cur for a back up because my ex was telling me that Diana wasn’t me. Something I disagree with, but I get what she was saying, because I was inspired by Dexter but the reason I loved Dexter was because it resonated with me, it was me. So in a lot of ways Diana is me, maybe the best of me, it’s still definitely the best thing I’ve ever written to date. I was so inspired writing it.
Cur went well but I feel like I kinda lost it towards the end, the subsequent chapters fall short of the fire in the first chapter and I think it requires a lot of work to attain the same level of greatness. A lot of time needs to be spent going over it I think. Maybe my expectations of it were a little too high.
Anyway, Parker novel I’m reading right now is kinda ok, I don’t really feel like I’ve got to the meat of it yet, they’re kinda just faffing around and I haven’t had much time to read it lately because my body is still wrecked from doing the exercise thing haha. And every time I get down to read I want to sleep instead haha.
Ok, I gotta finish this otherwise I won’t get any ‘real work’ done today.
I squeaked my chair back an inch. I felt…numb, like I was vibrating, happy, satisfied, complete. Like lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the board of a four poster bed.
What was this, what was that?
Could it have been real?
It could’ve been faked, easily. Movie magic and all, clever editing, a fake head. Something in her eyes and something, that thing, deep inside, deep in the dark well told me it was all too real. Its tinny little laugh rang like a hunchback swinging on a church bell screaming ‘sanctuary’.
My skin was damp, a refreshing tingling sensation going up and down. Working up my spine and down my legs. My heartbeat slowing, breathing going back to normal.
I’ll have what she’s having, or what he’s having.
Dazed, tension working loose on my muscles, making them slack, weak, shaking as I logged off and stumbled goggled-eyed out of the library.
My arms were like limp noodles, useless pieces of string pulled along by a runaway kite.
I almost ran through the halls, tripping over my own feet; hearing only my shoes screeching against the cool silence in the empty school.
I meant to get printouts of the newspapers, and some of the juvie records but I forgot and it was already nearing closing time. So I decided to drop off the rest of my stuff in my locker and walk home.
Tomorrow is another day, Diana.
The lock on my locker came off easy, like I hadn’t locked it. I must’ve forgotten, in my daze. Not like I kept anything valuable in there, unless futures in deflated volleyballs had sky rocketed in the last couple of hours.
I unloaded my satchel into it. Put the notepad and pens back in their rightful place.
Casting a wanton glance at the volleyball, almost like a mascot, I might as well paint a face on it and start talking to it. Something caught the corner of my eye.
There was already a face on it.
Someone had drawn a big smiley face on the deflated ball, complete with eyelashes in black marker.
Then there was a strange noise, the creak of a pirate skull’s lower jaw opening, then the feeling like a giant boulder was going to roll down the hall. As if I’d stepped right on an X someone had carefully placed just for me.
The noise was coming from Wendy’s locker, to the left of mine.
I closed my locker and locked it this time.
Wendy’s locker was ajar. The lock was sheared off, as if it’d been cut with a set of bolt cutters.
Why use those on her locker and not mine? Maybe I really had left it open, or he knew the combination.
This was getting to be too much, I was getting carried away. This was silly, all in my head.
Not everything is about me. I’m not the center of the universe.
I was going to open this locker and there was going to be absolutely nothing inside it because this had been a simple robbery.
Maybe someone saw Wendy leave a MacBook in it and just had to have it.
A simple explanation for a simple buttoned down world.
Was I going to open it?
That was what he wanted me to do.
Does that mean I should?
Should I play his game. That was what he wanted, he wanted to play.
I want to play, too. I really do.
A shiver danced up my spine, as my true intentions became known to me. The darkness inside stretched like a cat, clawing the inside of my head playfully pricking my brain.
I put one finger inside the tiny dark opening and nudged it open, then let gravity do the rest.
The door swung open slow, creaking all the way, giving me that long lost pirate ghost laugh. Behold ye, not-so buried treasure.
I wanted to gasp but all my breath was stolen.
There it was.
There he was.
“Hello, Benjamin,” I said. My voice had an echoing that vibrated through me.
Both voices coming together and smirking as a puzzle piece fell into place.
A man’s head, bisected at the neck sat atop the top shelf of Wendy’s locker.
There was no blood, the head was clean and perfect, it looked like a mannequin head.
A ghost remained of the color it once had.
The cut was clean and even, one fast perfect kiss, and it was free. It looked like it could be reconnected, or it might start reciting Shakespeare.
I wanted to touch it, wanted to keep it. The head was for me, wasn’t it?
I knew what I had to do.
I called 9-1-1.
The cops were there within the hour. The Orange county sheriffs department were notoriously laid back. Unless it was an active shooter or a terrorist bombing, a dead body—not even a full one didn’t get their juices going.
How terribly anticlimactic.
But what else could I have done?
They wouldn’t all fit in my locker.
All four of them to be exact.
It took a step back to really see the full glory of it, what was it called?
Four lockers, four heads.
The four lockers in a row, on either side of mine. It was on odd scene, all four open, with mine closed in the middle.
Evidence techs in full body suits went over it like they were searching for Barb from stranger things. Looking for trace evidence and dusting for prints, spraying for blood and shaking their heads.
Needless to say, I took the time to remove the deflated volleyball with the face on it; that was mine after all. Of course they’d search my locker eventually, so anything that could link me to this had to be disposed of.
What good would it do me to call this in and put a big red X over my name?
That was assuming there wasn’t already a big red X over my name just for finding them.
One was missing, the woman’s head; the German barmaid without a name.
Well I’m sure it’ll turn up.
“What’s this girl doing here?”
I heard a nasal voice say off to my right.
“She’s the one that called it in,” One of the techs in the mask said without looking up.
“And why is she still in an active crime scene?” He didn’t wait for an answer. His eyes landed on mine. “Come with me, Miss, you shouldn’t have to see this at your age.” The man stepped to my right. He was a tall slim black man with a shaved head and a light complexion. A sort of dull friendly expression on his face, like he’d forgotten how to frown. “Would you mind coming with me and answering a few questions? Has anyone called your parents?” He made one of those fake-concern faces news anchors made when they were pretending to care about tragedies. But the dim smile was still there, as he made deep lines appear on his brow.
“Err,” I said, eloquent and erudite as ever. “I live with my aunt.”
He led me outside like I just came off the short bus, with a light but firm grip on my upper arm. Told me his name was Detective Cantwell, and repeated he was going to ask me some questions.
“What were you doing when you found the…umm?”
“Diana! Are you all right?”
I heard my aunt’s voice.
She rushed to my side, her legs looking like they were chaffing against her little bike shorts. Dharma grabbed me in a really uncomfortable hug, like she’d just seen my face on a milk carton. She looked up at the cop, then back at me. “I heard your name over the radio, and I came as fast as I could.”
I believed her, because she was still wearing her pointy cop bike helmet and shades.
She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder to look at Cantwell. “Is she all right, can I take her home?”
The detective made a noise in his throat, like a punctured bicycle tire and sucked his bottom lip. Then he looked at me again. “Yeah, she can go.” His tensed jaw betrayed his reluctance, and he exhaled loudly again.
I’d already left my name and address with the arriving officers, so I was only a hop skip and a jump away. Slipped the net once but the pool was small enough, and they could trust my true blue aunt to wrangle me in if need be.
Before I could make any sense of the day’s activity, I was back in the front seat of my aunt’s car, like I was coming home from an especially stimulating field trip. For some reason, she wasn’t saying anything.
Dharma held the nervousness of a getaway driver as she hunkered over the wheel. She backed out of her crude parking spot, and back onto Campus Drive.
The rest of the drive wasn’t much different. I watched her keep her eyes locked straight forward; only glancing up to check the rear-view mirror once in a while. Her muscles only relaxed as we pulled out of sight of the school.
I was still feeling sort of buzzed and happy so I didn’t feel like popping that bubble, silence it was for all of the two-minute drive home.
It was darker now, the sky bleeding red and orange, one way to waste a day.
It seemed like a jump cut in a movie and I was standing in the entryway of our house, bouncing on my heels as my aunt dithered locking and dead bolting the door, top and bottom.
I wanted to collapse on a chaise lounge.
Dharma disappeared into the kitchen without a word, and I heard frantic dialing of the kitchen phone.
The receiver was missing, and she was behind the locked door of the bathroom in the laundry room.
My mental capacity was in tatters at this point and for all intents and purposes, used up.
Kicking off my shoes I stumbled into my room ready to crawl under a pile of dirty clothes like some sort of happy insect who’d been rolling dung uphill all day.
A glance at my phone, revealed lots of missed calls from Paul and Wendy. I had it on silent for the library. After narrowly missing two awkward conversations in a row, I decided to quit while I was ahead and turn my phone off. Not like I was going anywhere. I didn’t really want to know how they’d found out so fast, but word gets around easy enough here.
Body parts start turning up around someone, and people find things to talk about, and have to tell all their friends.
I went to the door of my bedroom and there was an odd jolt of electricity from the door handle, not just static.
A warning, from the deep depths. The dark sea from my dream bubbling.
I opened the door cautiously.
My hovel of a room materialized one piece of trash at a time. It looked the same, but it had a different aura, like I was playing a game with the Mad Hatter. As if everything had been picked up and swapped around and put back exactly in their places again. Only to give the illusion of things staying the same but keeping that static energy of a wicked prank.
The room hummed with potential. A cloistered violence clinging to the sheets. I could almost smell it. The pheromones of another monster stalking through, poking into the dark crevices and laughing.
It wasn’t a dream; it was real.
I’d seen the heads, almost took one home. Where would I have even put it? The pictures would have to do. My only souvenir. To come that close without even a picture would’ve been a crime.
Someone had been here.
No, I was paranoid, tumbling down the rabbit hole of my own narcissistic personality disorder.
Did that mean the heads were a fluke? A cruel coincidence?
Someone just happened to pick the day I went to the library and specifically chose to skip my locker when they were giving out heads?
I grabbed my laptop from my bed and smirked. All those articles from all those ‘real journalists’. They couldn’t dream of pictures this good, this rife with meaning.
Clean and crisp, without their tacky headlines and small minded narratives or nicknames. Out done by some amateur hack, some nobody on the internet, scooping them and mounting them as the tired beasts they were.
I set my laptop on my desk and booted it up. I found my computer chair on its side; just where I’d left it, and wheeled to the desk as the computer took its sweet time to fire up.
That feeling came rushing back, long cold and pointy fingertips working their way down my back.
The wheel had rolled—the sock was gone.
I jumped off my seat and let the chair fall. All the wheels spun.
I scanned my room, waiting for some ghost-faced killer to spring up out of the pile of clothes on my bed with a hunting knife gleaming in the wicked dim daylight.
No such thing came, just a cool quiet calm, and the incessant song of crickets outside.
I searched my room for my own peace of mind, turning over wrappers and empty bottles. Nothing was taken, there was nothing to take. My laptop was the only thing of value in the room, and evidently he found value enough in it to take a peek at it. My closet was in the corner. I rarely used it, as my bed and floor seemed to be working just fine.
I opened the door and clicked the light on, the magic clicking of the lamp dispelling all evil spirits and cleansing the dark dingy space.
On the floor was a Malibu Barbie I got when I was eight. It was naked and missing its head, but admittedly, that was probably me.
However, I remembered it being in a box with my other ‘victims’. Old toys in varying stages of dismemberment.
Silliness crept over me again; I was getting caught up in coincidences. My aunt probably moved the sock—or I did and forgot about it.
But who took the doll out, and who put its head on the top shelf to stare at me?
If you want to read the rest the of the chapter you’ll have to buy the book when it comes out sucka haha #trolled. No seriously though you can find the raw unedited copy on my inkitt if you’re that impatient and cheap haha.
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