Jane pondered the canvas on her easel. Had she used too much red? Berating herself for letting her mind wander too far, she took a step back to judge her canvas. In any case, suicide only worked as revenge if you were alive to enjoy people's reactions. And since she didn't know how to get around the logistics of that problem... Her bedroom door creaked and she turned to see Trent leaning in the doorway.
"Hey, Janey, I-" Trent stopped mid sentence, his face paling.
Jane laughed. "Oh, come on, Trent. It's not the first time I've spilled paint."
"Janey..." It came out as a sort of strangled whisper.
"Trent, what's wrong?" Jane took a step towards him, confused. Trent backed away, into the hallway. Jane's voice jumped up in pitch. "Trent, what's wrong!"
Trent just shook his head, still staring at something behind Jane. Not understanding, Jane turned.
And screamed.