THE BEAUTIFUL ONES
Part Thirteen: Target
Gaz entered the bathroom and switched on the light over the sink, illuminating herself in the mirror. Her face was cut and bruised from repeated contact with fists and soles. She grabbed a cloth, soaked it in water and held it up to her wounds, wincing as the damp cloth came into contact with her open flesh. She was making a concerted effort not to cry. She never showed weakness, not to other people, not even to herself.
It was a bit late for that though wasn't it? She had been rescued, by a green-skinned egomaniac no less, and had puored her love on her rescuer like some damsel in distress. If anyone saw her fighting they would quickly conclude that she was no damsel, as she had left many of her attackers in much the same condition as she was now. But that very last scene, surrendering herself like that, receiving the bout of cruel laughter, it was too much.
She saw herself in the mirror, but no longer saw a head-strong, independent person looking back. She saw a pathetic little girl. She noticed a tear was beginning to run down her cheek. Inflamed at this act of weakness she drew her fist up and smashed the mirror. Gaz ignored the deep cuts this had inflicted on her hand. Pain was a sympton of weakness. And she would never be weak again.
Suddenly she perceived a presence entering the house. A draft had entered the bathroom, supposedly from a window opening somewhere. The bathroom light suddenly went out. She quickly drew her own conclusions. She ran from the bathroom into the middle of the house and attempted to get a bearing on where the presence was. The kitchen. She had been classed as a weakling, but she would get her status back. She was going to find the killer, and she was going to kill it.
Gaz crept into the kitchen as quietly as she could, never daring to turn on the light in case she might betray her position. The lights were probably all out anyway. She kept to the shadows around the base of the kitchen, keeping as silent as possible. The killer was moving in much the same way, but she could perceive where it was, as she had years of experience doing this.
Professor Membrane was away on a scientific conference in Uruguay, and Dib was...Dib was just 'out', she never asked where. She already knew. There was no other target but her in the house, so she decided to use that as an advantage. She crept into the centre of the kitchen, exposing herself to the thing. A casual observer wouldn't notice Gaz becoming any more obvious than she used to, but to a trained stalker it made all the difference in the world.
She sensed the killer approaching behind her. Waiting for it to draw in close, she suddenly lunged in the direction of the presence. But no one was there. Fatally confused, she punched and kicked in every conceivable direction the presence might be. But the killer managed to grab her from behind unnoticed. Gaz finally relented. She had been beaten at her own game. She offered no resistance as the feel of cold steel entered her gut. The killer's final comment was revealing.
"Freaks attract freaks..."
NO! She was NOT going to be the victim, not of this psycho and not of ANYONE! As the knife still worked it's way towards Gaz's major organs she elbowed the figure behind her, sending it to the floor momentarily. Clutching the gaping wound in her abdomen, she ran from the kitchen towards any avenue of escape. She first thought of the front door, but found it barred and shut. Her mind worked quickly as the killer approached from behind her, recovering from the brief shock. It must have planned it's own way out, Gaz thought.
And there it was, next to the door the window was slightly ajar, the killer's way in and out of the killing grounds. Gaz ran to the window and forced it open, feeling the killer's loose grip on her foot as she dropped to the other side. The fall irritated her wound, and as she winced she looked down at her dress. It was covered in her own blood. She began feeling queezy as the blood loss affected her mental state. She saw the killer slowly open the window above her.
Unless she did something dramatic then this late surge in her prospects would have been all for nothing. She noticed a car drive along the road in front of her. Yes, that would do it. She got up and limped as fast as she could towards the road. The path in front of her became hazy and disorientating as the blood loss continued to affect her. She still clung to her wound as the killer approached her from behind, promising nothing but malice.
As she reached the road too much of her senses had already drained out of her. Bereft of alternatives she flung herself into the path of an oncoming car. The driver swerved to avoid her and braked to a halt mere inches from her blood-soaked body. The car's headlights briefly illuminated the path the killer was on, but it was long gone before Gaz had a chance to look. She wouldn't have been able to anyway, as the loss of blood had finally forced her into unconsciousness...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Part Thirteen: Target
Gaz entered the bathroom and switched on the light over the sink, illuminating herself in the mirror. Her face was cut and bruised from repeated contact with fists and soles. She grabbed a cloth, soaked it in water and held it up to her wounds, wincing as the damp cloth came into contact with her open flesh. She was making a concerted effort not to cry. She never showed weakness, not to other people, not even to herself.
It was a bit late for that though wasn't it? She had been rescued, by a green-skinned egomaniac no less, and had puored her love on her rescuer like some damsel in distress. If anyone saw her fighting they would quickly conclude that she was no damsel, as she had left many of her attackers in much the same condition as she was now. But that very last scene, surrendering herself like that, receiving the bout of cruel laughter, it was too much.
She saw herself in the mirror, but no longer saw a head-strong, independent person looking back. She saw a pathetic little girl. She noticed a tear was beginning to run down her cheek. Inflamed at this act of weakness she drew her fist up and smashed the mirror. Gaz ignored the deep cuts this had inflicted on her hand. Pain was a sympton of weakness. And she would never be weak again.
Suddenly she perceived a presence entering the house. A draft had entered the bathroom, supposedly from a window opening somewhere. The bathroom light suddenly went out. She quickly drew her own conclusions. She ran from the bathroom into the middle of the house and attempted to get a bearing on where the presence was. The kitchen. She had been classed as a weakling, but she would get her status back. She was going to find the killer, and she was going to kill it.
Gaz crept into the kitchen as quietly as she could, never daring to turn on the light in case she might betray her position. The lights were probably all out anyway. She kept to the shadows around the base of the kitchen, keeping as silent as possible. The killer was moving in much the same way, but she could perceive where it was, as she had years of experience doing this.
Professor Membrane was away on a scientific conference in Uruguay, and Dib was...Dib was just 'out', she never asked where. She already knew. There was no other target but her in the house, so she decided to use that as an advantage. She crept into the centre of the kitchen, exposing herself to the thing. A casual observer wouldn't notice Gaz becoming any more obvious than she used to, but to a trained stalker it made all the difference in the world.
She sensed the killer approaching behind her. Waiting for it to draw in close, she suddenly lunged in the direction of the presence. But no one was there. Fatally confused, she punched and kicked in every conceivable direction the presence might be. But the killer managed to grab her from behind unnoticed. Gaz finally relented. She had been beaten at her own game. She offered no resistance as the feel of cold steel entered her gut. The killer's final comment was revealing.
"Freaks attract freaks..."
NO! She was NOT going to be the victim, not of this psycho and not of ANYONE! As the knife still worked it's way towards Gaz's major organs she elbowed the figure behind her, sending it to the floor momentarily. Clutching the gaping wound in her abdomen, she ran from the kitchen towards any avenue of escape. She first thought of the front door, but found it barred and shut. Her mind worked quickly as the killer approached from behind her, recovering from the brief shock. It must have planned it's own way out, Gaz thought.
And there it was, next to the door the window was slightly ajar, the killer's way in and out of the killing grounds. Gaz ran to the window and forced it open, feeling the killer's loose grip on her foot as she dropped to the other side. The fall irritated her wound, and as she winced she looked down at her dress. It was covered in her own blood. She began feeling queezy as the blood loss affected her mental state. She saw the killer slowly open the window above her.
Unless she did something dramatic then this late surge in her prospects would have been all for nothing. She noticed a car drive along the road in front of her. Yes, that would do it. She got up and limped as fast as she could towards the road. The path in front of her became hazy and disorientating as the blood loss continued to affect her. She still clung to her wound as the killer approached her from behind, promising nothing but malice.
As she reached the road too much of her senses had already drained out of her. Bereft of alternatives she flung herself into the path of an oncoming car. The driver swerved to avoid her and braked to a halt mere inches from her blood-soaked body. The car's headlights briefly illuminated the path the killer was on, but it was long gone before Gaz had a chance to look. She wouldn't have been able to anyway, as the loss of blood had finally forced her into unconsciousness...
TO BE CONTINUED...