Page 78 of Kill Me

“What a shame,” she says bashfully.

He looks at her steadfastly. “Remember what I said to you, Magpie. Don’t push me.”

She stands up to go and put her journal away. “I could do with a workout.” She walks past me as I stand there laughing at him.

“Seems like you’ve met your match there, Little Cousin. See ya later, love you.”

“Love you, Lools. Be safe.” He stands up to give me a hug.

“Always.” We do our secret handshake, and before Quinn comes back into the garden, I’m out of the gate, on my sleek, matte black Harley-Davidson Breakout with neon pink accents to match the hair, riding off into the settling darkness, ready to rid the world of a couple more stains on society. Quinn thinks she was asking me for a favour. What she doesn’t realise is every time I do this, I’m healing a little bit of myself, too.

What Quinn doesn’t know is that with or without her permission, her mother was going to die tonight. Dane is a bonus kill. I knew she couldn’t heal with her mother alive, but she needed to come to that realisation herself. I’ve spent the last few weeks since I knew what had happened tracking her mother’s habits. She lives a pretty shitty life, to be honest, spending more time fawning over that fucking son of hers, not even giving a shit about the people around her.

Based on their weekly patterns, her dad is working away, and Eric works late this night every week with Dane.

I pull up on the corner of her street and park around the corner from the house. After detailed conversations with H, I know all about the night on the bridge next to the cemetery, and where to find it. I might even pay Auntie and Uncle a visit.

What better karma than for her mother to die the death she very nearly inflicted on her only daughter? What’s better than for her mother to know before she falls to her death that her daughter will forever know unconditional love while she burns in Hell? After all, what more could any mother want for their daughter?

There are no cars in the driveway, which matches my information, and I let myself in through the side gate and walk into the garden. I know she won’t come willingly, so I plan to entice her the only way I know how. Eric.

I walk through the doors and stand silently behind her while she clatters around the kitchen making herself a cuppa. Good. Dehydrated bitches are fucking miserable when it comes to being murdered. She turns around with her freshly brewed tea and drops it all over herself as the mug smashes to the floor.

“Who the fuck are you?” she shouts.

“Well, well, well, Andrea, wouldn’t you like to know?” I smirk at her as she tries to wipe up the mess she’s made. “Must be hard having to clean up your own mess nowadays. Not having your slave to do it for you?”

“My slave? I don’t have a—” The penny drops. “You’re here because of Quinn? Where is she? We’ve been so worried. I’ve looked everywhere for her. I’ve been out all night some nights trying to find her. Our family is broken.” She puts her hand on her heart like she’s making a Girl Guides promise. They don’t count for shit nowadays, since they excluded trans girls from being included in their organisation.

“Stop talking shit, Andrea. I know all about you.” I pull my helmet off of my head so she can take in my entire face. I have no qualms about her being able to identify me because by the end of the night she’ll be dead.

She’s speechless. Good.

“Does abusing your child make you feel good about yourself?" I ask.

“I don’t abuse my children.”

“I said child, not children. We know you obsess over Eric.”

“I treat my children the same, I’ll have you know, miss whatever your name is.”

“My name is Lulu. Not that that’s relevant to your current situation. My cousin is Harley, the guy you turned away on your doorstep for wanting to help your daughter.”

“I don’t know what they’ve told you.” She backs up against the counter as I stalk towards her. Each step is bouncier than the last. I fucking thrive on this shit.

“The truth. That’s all. And even if they hadn’t, I have my fingers in enough pies to be able to figure out the truth all by myself.”

Before I left the house, Harley gave me some liquid diazepam to help her be a little bit more agreeable. Based on the fact that Quinn never got any of her drugs, I’m sure she has high levels of it in her system already. But liquid gets into the system quicker. It’s not like this will be the first time she's tried it, is it?

“Do you remember the time you tried to kill yourself and take your son with you?” She looks at me, her face paling as I take another step closer to her. “No? You don’t? Quinn does. How about we try it again, but this time, you don’t get to take your favourite psychotic son with you?”

“My son is—”

“A fucking sadistic freak, I know. Did you know he raped your daughter?”

The look on her face tells me everything. There’s no shock. No outrage. Just plain fear. Fear of the unknown. “You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Wanna bet?” The only way to describe me when I switch into murder mode is vicious. I don’t care about their feelings. I don’t care if they have remorse. All I care about is the feeling of relief their victims feel once they graduate from victim to survivor. In my eyes, they’re never a victim because they’ve survived something harrowing. But sometimes the mentality they have takes a while to catch up.