Summary: Why she ran. The First appears to Annabelle. season 7
Driven OutGuess violent death just runs in her family. That's why she ran into its arms like she did.
They used to call me the Student. It was because of the books. I would drop them, and the girls would help me pick up the books, and the books would help me pick up the girls. Only the nicest girls help you pick up your books. Well brought up girls. Those are the ones I want.
Annabelle looks like her sister. The one who killed me - her and the old cop together. Sis kicked at the parking break as she struggled. I didn't even notice the car rolling till we hit a light post. She got hers though. But the car was smashed, and it got the cop on me. "You killed that little girl," he said and shot me. So unprofessional.
Bad luck getting killed like that. But now it's almost like I get to exist a little. Seeing the fear again is nice. Makes me tingly in all the right places.
"You wanted to be like her. You grew your hair long like her."
Annabelle backs up as I approach her and reach out my hand for her hair. I like long hair.
"You're dead," Annabelle says, shaking. Her back hits a chest of drawers and she starts to move sideways toward the door.
"Is that what they told you?"
"It was on the news," she says all pedantic like. I like this girl so much.
"They're always telling lies on the news. Did your parents tell you the same thing? Did they tell you what they saw when they got back from making sure it was her. Or did your mother just scream and scream into her pillow while your dad drank glass after glass of the good stuff and then threw up. Because the fuddy-duddy, old dear wasn't much of a drinker. He is now, though, isn't he? And when he drinks, he calls you by the wrong name and cries." Oh, that makes me laugh. I love the ripple effect. A little cutting and slicing, and the pain never seems to end. I just love it.
Annabelle doesn't love it. She shakes her head. She wants to shut her eyes. I can tell. It's like I opened a peephole into her home life and watched and watched.
"And you've tried to be so good. Study hard, tidy up, be helpful and cheerful. You were never a good student before, Annabelle. Oh, I see it's to make up for it. But you can't make them laugh like they used to with her. If they smile, they just show you their teeth and their eyes stay empty."
"You're dead," she says again.
"You're a bit slow. All that studying. Have you been scribbling like a good girl? Have you been taking notes? You still won't get top marks, Annabelle."
"You're dead." Like a mantra now. Like that will save her.
"Your Sis did kill me in a way. Didn't save her in the end. I did as I always do. Do you know what I did?"
She turns away a little. Looks like she might be sick. She knows.
"Did you sneak a look at the papers? Naughty girl. That will put you right off your supper. Was it the bits in the zipped baggie in my pocket? Is that why you look so green? Or is it all the other bits of girls floating in jelly jars in my flat? You can hardly tell what they are. But I know."
She's starting to hyperventilate. A wheezing sound comes out of her. She's ripe for it.
"Let's have a look at your bits and pieces, Annabelle," I move toward her again and she bolts.
She runs but she hesitates at the door remembering what's out there.
"Or wouldn't you like to see her again?"
She doesn't say.
"Annabelle," a soft voice, throat raspy from all the screaming.
Annabelle doesn't turn right away, though she must recognize the voice even so.
When Annabelle looks, it's a hand reaching out, skin and blood under the polished, broken nails turned backward. Clothes torn and blood soaked, fresh blood making them stick to her. Skin sliced. Pieces missing.
"Where are you going, Annabelle?"
There she goes running into the night. Now, what would make her go and do a thing like that?
The end