***
Moments after I watched her walk away, I conflicted within myself. Had I done right by rejecting her invitation? What if something went wrong? Something I'd have been able to prevent had I been there?
Shoving off my pessimism, I pulled out Stella's Robber's Heart from underneath my pillow and buried myself in it.
In barely an hour time, I found the last page of the book. It ended with Katherine's death bridging the gap between her mother and the robber. At this point I wished I hadn't even read the book from the start. I'd fallen in love with Kat, only for Stella to kill her in the name of her mum's careless mistake. Why read a depressing book when my life already had all the depression the world could offer? Stella had constructed a perfect story only to mess it all up in the end. Not cool.
My thoughts drifted to my sister, my exact opposite. Deep down, a part of me feared our personal differences would threaten our new bond. I scrolled through the pictures on my phone. With the smiles know our faces, one could mistake this for a magazine front-cover. We were the perfect family. Or at least could have been. If only stepmother's love was true. What about me did she despise so much? Did the overdose of hate not wear her down?
Something crashed into my door. With a gasp that sounded more like a shriek, I sprang to my feet. I tiptoed to the door and peeked through the lens. My heart thumped at the sight of my stepmother knocking like her life depended on it. What did she want?
"Victoria, open up," she said, her speech slurred. Even from a distance, I could tell the stench of alcohol camped around her. "I know you're in there."
She waited a few more seconds, after which she said, "You stupid, stupid girl. You should have let me in yourself. But stupid is stupid-"
Her voice trailed off as she staggered away. I let out the breath I'd been holding. That was a close one. What if I hadn't remembered to lock the door? What would have become of me?
I'd escaped her this time, but soon she would surely return. I would not wait to find out how soon. I moved to my closet and pulled out my travelling bag. Placing it on my bed, I stuffed my clothes and my other belongings into it.
The sound of footsteps and the jingle of keys rooted me to the spot. I barely had a moment to react when the door flung open. Hands held behind her back, my stepmother strolled in as though she were stepping into her own room. My heart thumped in harmony with her footsteps.
"I called you," she said. "And I knocked. And knocked. And knocked. You were right here. You didn't let me in. You silly, silly girl."
Her right hand flew out of hiding. I gasped, not at her swiftness, but at that which she brandished; a gun, aimed at my head. I raised my hands in defense. "Mum. Mum...mum, please."
"I have told you again and again, you stupid girl." She waved the gun, but never lost her aim. "Don't you ever call me mum!"
"Okay, okay," I said, words heavy on my chest. "I will never call you mum, if that's what you want. I'll do...I'll do anything you want me to, I promise. Please don't kill me. Please mum, please."
I eyed the gun, trying to find a way to play 'hero'. But she gripped the weapon with a fierce determination that spelt the death of me. Slow desolate tears streamed down my unblinking eyes.
"Mum, mum please calm down," I said. "You're upset right now and-" Hell, what was I even saying? She was buying none of this.
Smirking at the contents of my unzipped traveling bag, she said, "You even made plans to leave?"
"It's not what you think," I said.
She waved off my little white lie. "Had Cynthia not gotten in the way, we wouldn't have gotten to this moment. I wanted you dead. And I still do. One way or another, you have to die."
I sobbed. "Mum please what are you saying?"
As though the gun weighed heavy on one hand, she gripped it with both hands. "What part of 'you have to die' do you not understand?"
"Mum I know that you don't like me, and you don't ever want to cross paths with me, and I can understand that. But I don't understand why-" I hiccupped. I couldn't even say those words.
"Mum please tell me," I pleaded. "If I am going to die, can I at least know why?"
"You are alive," she blurted out. "I cannot stand the sight of you. You are everything my daughter is not."
"Mum-" The bitter tears I'd had started to shed could not make her mind grow soft toward me. But I didn't sob because I needed compassion. I sobbed because it was the only thing I could do at the moment.
Raising the gun she had lowered barely a second ago, she said, "You will not interrupt while I speak, or I swear I will make this a very slow and tortuous process. Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes." I followed the gun with my frantic gaze. I stood like a statue, barely breathing as she walked slow circles around me. I could feel her piercing glare thrashing its way through the back of my head.
"That guardian of yours," she said. "Aaron. He poked his ugly nose in matters that don't concern him. How dare he threaten to have me serve a Child Abuse sentence? No, my life is way too precious to be wasted like that. But we can't blame him now, can we? Had he known who he was messing with, he would have thought twice. As the fast thinker I am, I devised a plan to bring you back here."
It all made sense. She had faked the sickness. This explained why she had so strongly opposed the idea of a hospital.
As though reading my mind, she said, "Yes. I faked it. Are you surprised? Really, I am surprised that you believed the whole drama. But then again, I shouldn't be surprised. The offspring of two full-grown fools cannot be anything other than a fool. When I faked that sickness, I had already resolved in my heart to kill you. You don't know how I feel each time you come close to either me or my daughter. It took so much effort not to strangle you to death. Every time you came close to me, I killed you a million times over in my mind. And now's the time for your death scene to play out in reality. It wasn't easy deciding the method to go with. Strangling would involve a strenuous struggle and I really am not ready to have your filthy sweat all over me. Stabbing would be a really messy situation, with your blood defiling the whole place. This brought us down to two options. The first, as you already know, failed, thanks to my nosy daughter. But I will not miss this chance. It will be so much fun shooting you with the very same gun your father had bought for self defense. Poor, poor him. If only he knew."
"It's hard to get away with murder," I said, hoping to ignite fear in her. "The police will get you. What will you do then?"
She barked out a laugh. "The police? The police are stupid. They believe whatever I bring before them. Don't worry, it's all under control. I have already portrayed myself as a better mother. Everyone believes I'm a changed person. So, even when I kill you and bury you in the backyard, no one will suspect me. I'll discard some of your belongings to make it seem like you ran away. And then I'll play the part of a worried mother. It will work out."
My mind revolved around a way out of this mess. I could launch at her and knock out the gun. But what guaranteed my survival?
"Okay, enough talking," she said, her finger on the trigger. Her voice, strident and cold, worked its way into me, shattering what was left of my broken heart.
I looked toward the doorway and found a sliver of hope. "Cynthia?"