Flash Fiction – Janet

The First

What would drive you to take someone’s life? Jealousy, anger, love, hate, fear, revenge? Whatever, it would be something big, wouldn’t it? Life is precious. That’s what I thought, but it’s not true; it’s much less complicated than that.

I watch the dark red blood slowly seep out from the back of Mr Jones’s head, his small, beady eyes full of self-righteousness, staring glassily up at me. His vitriolic words still ringing in my ears. I know I should feel shocked and horrified at what I have done, it was an accident after all, wasn’t it? An argument that got out of hand. I should call for help or something, try to keep him alive until the ambulance has time to arrive, but I don’t do any of these things. Instead, I calmly button up my coat against the cold, wrap my scarf around my head to obscure my identity, pick up my backpack and watch as his life drains away. I step over the lifeless body, making my way out of the dark, stinking alley at the back of Nag’s Head, onto the street, just as the streetlights come on. That miserable bastard won’t be making mum’s life a misery about parking outside his house anymore, I think, smiling to myself, surprised at the overwhelming feeling of self-satisfaction coursing through my body rather than remorse or regret.  I catch the bus outside the post office, getting off at my normal stop a few doors down from our house. I let myself in as normal, take off my coat and greet mum with a big hug. Then, I wait. How long will it take for someone to find him? Will his death be considered suspicious? He was old, unsteady on his feet.  Did anyone see me following him into the alley and coming out alone? A multitude of questions swirl around my head.

He was my first, the one I am most proud of, the accident, but the one that gave me the taste for it.

Losing Yourself

I look around. The room is bright and clean, some would say homely, but I don’t feel like I’m at home. I feel so lost, so alone, photos of strangers staring at me from the bedside table, my only company. My heart starts to race. I can’t breathe. Panic takes hold. Where am I? Why am I here? Who am I? So many questions fill my head.

“Help!” I shout desperately

A young woman in a white uniform rushes into the room.

“It’s alright, Mary,” she says, taking my hand reassuringly and smiling kindly, “no need to panic, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.” 

Her touch calms me, but who is Mary?

It doesn’t happen overnight, you know, losing yourself. It’s very slow and gradual, like descending a deep mineshaft. Down and down deeper you go until any light there was has disappeared, and all that is left is an impenetrable blackness. Barely imperceptible, it’s the little things that you notice first, like misplacing your keys or momentarily forgetting someone’s name.  Things that can be easily explained. You were tired or distracted. Everyone does those things from time to time, even the young. Anyway, you can’t expect to grow older and for nothing to happen, can you? Then there’s the repetition, the doubting yourself. And the exasperation of loved ones. I did lock the front door, didn’t I? Of course you did, Mum, you checked it ten times before we left. Forgetting things is next. Not so bad if it’s just Jane coming for coffee, that’s easy to conceal, but the smoke-damaged kitchen and charcoaled cake, less so. Your daughters whispering about you, however, is the worst. I don’t think she should be on her own any longer. You saw what happened to the kitchen; what happens if she sets the house on fire next time? You are now a problem. Well, she can’t live with us; we don’t have the room. Don’t expect her to come to us either; you’re the one with all the free time. Post-it note reminders stuck around the house, don’t forget to switch off the oven and take your pills, and more frequent visits become the norm for a while. Until that is, you forget to eat, and then there is nothing left but a care home. You’ll love it. It’s like a home from home, and the staff are so friendly. It’s all true, but you’re angry. How dare they abandon you to this place, these strangers? Your rage drives them away, visits dwindling in spite of how much they love you. Finally, you are lost. Who are you again? More importantly, who am I?

Escape

“Final call for EasyJet flight, EZY 2769, to Paris Charles de Gaulle. All passengers, please proceed immediately to Gate 9. The gate will be closing shortly,” announced the Gate Attendant.

From her position in the seating area in the departure lounge, her face obscured by a wide-brimmed sun hat, Sarah watched a man running headlong towards the closing gate. There was no mistaking Julian, his sharp dress, neatly groomed beard and manicured fingernails.  She saw the sense of relief in his body language as the Gate Attendant checked his boarding pass and passport, then waved him through, smiling as he passed at the large bouquet of red roses he was carrying. It had to be red roses, Sarah thought, bound together forever but with hidden pain. She didn’t dare to relax until she saw that the doors at the gate were locked and the departure board indicated that the flight had departed. Only then did she dare to believe that her plan might work.

They’d been good together once, laughing at each other’s jokes, sharing the same interests, but then he got promoted to Senior Trader, and everything changed. He started to criticise her appearance, found excuses to stop her from seeing her old friends, accusing her of being unfaithful when she did, and making her feel inadequate at every turn, her self-confidence gradually eroding. The last straw came when she was out with her friend Ginny, enjoying a catch-up and a few glasses of wine in a new wine bar that had just opened in town, all exposed brickwork and high bar stools. I see you’ve bought your minder, Ginny had said, laughing, indicating through the bar window at a car parked outside. Sarah saw Julian sitting in the car, his eyes fixed on them. At that moment, she knew that she had to leave him.

Her plan was a simple one of misdirection. She knew that he would follow her; she just had to make sure that she wasn’t where he thought she was. Somewhere abroad, put distance between them, giving her enough time to disappear, and her plan started to take shape. She would lose contact with her friends for a time, of course; she couldn’t risk letting them in on her plan, as he was bound to interrogate them first, but that was a sacrifice worth making to be free. Anyway, she’d rekindle their friendship when the dust had settled. A few digital breadcrumbs for a flight to Paris and a booking for the Alberte Hôtel not far from the Eiffel Tower, and the plan was set. Meanwhile, her real destination was paid for in cash, tickets picked up at the airport; she’d find somewhere to stay when she got there. Change her name.

“All passengers for EasyJet flight, EZY 2707, to Madrid, please proceed to Gate 7,” rang out the announcement.

Sarah made her way to the Gate; her new life awaited.

Reinvention

Ms Jones’ words as she congratulated her on A Level results echoed in Kate’s mind.

“Three A*, well done, Joanna, your hard work paid off.”

She hadn’t bothered correcting her, but it had hurt. All those years at the same school, and she was her form tutor, and she still didn’t know her name; she was that insignificant. How had she let that happen? Why hadn’t she let her real self be seen at school? It was the bullying, of course. She was new to the area and didn’t know its unwritten rules, its hierarchy. She’d sat in Janice Pemberton’s place and had never been allowed to forget it. Sniped at for her ginger hair, picked on for being a scholarship girl and sidelined at every opportunity, she retreated into herself, becoming inconspicuous, invisible.

Sitting in her sparse university room, her parents having left a few minutes beforehand, Kate felt a strange feeling bubbling up inside her. She was free at last. No more Janice and her cronies, making her life miserable. She could finally be who she wanted to be. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” Kate shouted.

“Hi!” a small dark -haired girl said, entering the room, “I’m Clare, do you fancy grabbing a coffee and exploring?”

Kate looked at the girl and smiled.

“I’m Kat,” she replied, “and I’d love to.”

The transformation had begun.