Valerie had spent the last ten minutes, utterly dumbfounded, and equally petrified. She had walked up at down the immediate length of the highway several times - the emergency lane too. She had even searched the boot of her ride, the thought that a junkie could have just been looking for a hitch hike hadn't escaped her, naturally, this led to her checking under the car too. Alas, her efforts shored no avail. What the actual fuck was going on?
As it stood, Valerie had two choices.
1. Stick around until the first car that crossed her path. From an objective viewpoint, this seemed to be the most logical course of action. After all, Valerie couldn't bank on the musings of a madwoman, and walk all the way to that wretched tunnel, on the premise that there might be some truth to what the hag was saying. Could she?
2. As it turned out, she could. Not quite sure what possessed her to trust the disappearing act's word, Valerie set to dragging her luggage out. Careful to not break out into a sweat, she worked at a tediously drawn out pace. She had originally brought a large four wheel suitcase, its smaller twin, and a duffel bag. However, the largest suitcase was the victim of the airports incompetence, so she only had the smaller one and the duffel bag remaining. This reminder of her missing belongings ignited Valerie's anger once more. She was practically an aristocrat, she should not have to deal with missing bags, broken cars and decaying old women. Okay, 'aristocrat' was an exaggeration, but Valerie could think of no term to describe herself better. Filthy rich and insanely attractive? In her mind, she was an aristocrat alright. One might wonder where she inherited this pretentious, unbearable attitude from; and I, the omniscient narrator, would be inclined to tell you to use your brain. Where do all the ostentatious children learn their behavior from? Mothers and fathers, and their mothers and fathers, mothers and fathers. A perennial cycle of vulgar flamboyancy, which we; the honest, hard working citizens of the world are forced to sit and endure. It is at this point that I would like to suggest that you close this book if bratty teenagers are particularly irksome to you, because Valerie Saint-Gold is the epitome of your dislikes.
From the moment she came into this world, Valerie demanded attention. She was cute, back then, something lovable, something innocent. Her delicate eyelids fluttering, with ever so subtle wisps of golden eyelashes flicking up and down. Her tiny hands grasped at the air, and her mother responded to her unspoken wishes, slowly, gently placing her finger into the palm of her newborn daughters hand. A titchy little thing - her mothers finger, as spindly as it was, was comically large in the hands of baby Valerie. Nonetheless, her fingers curled around her mothers own, and squeezed tightly. And just like that, Katharine Saint-Gold fell in love. She knew in that very moment, that Valerie would become her prized possession, her most wonderful creation. Her perfect, beautiful daughter would be the picture of her own opulence. Of course, to any sane outsider this would sound like Katharine valued Valerie for what she might bring her, and not what she was, and you would be right to think so. But, regardless, Katharine's idée fixe presented itself in the form of love, and so Valerie never felt unloved.
In the short few minutes after Valerie was born, the makeshift delivery room, also known as the Saint-Gold's incredibly large foyer, was silent. The birth was unexpected, with not nearly enough time to make it to the hospital before baby Valerie popped out, and so the Saint-Gold's had brought the hospital to them. Howard Saint-Gold had sent for his personal attendants; included was an older lady, Selena Castillo, round-faced and pudgy, but with a warm heart. She tended to the Saint-Gold children like they were her own. Lawrence Saint-Gold; as arrogant and dogmatic as any oldest son and rightful heir is raised to be. He was a challenge alright, always contesting every rule Selena lay down, staying up hours past his bedtime, smearing food on the wall if it wasn't prepared to his liking - and always getting away with it too. He made the poor nurse's life a living hell. Naturally (shockingly, to the sound of mind) Katharine and Howard were proud of this.
Now, Everest Saint-Gold was a darling child, he couldn't wait to meet his little sister. He stood in the foyer, with a comically large grin on his face, before waddling over to greet his baby sister. What Everest failed to notice was that his hands were covered in paint, he had decidedly ignored Ms. Castillo's instructions to clean himself up it would seem. All those toxins and chemicals were bound to be harmful for a new baby, so Ms. Castillo grabbed onto his hand before he could smear his mess all over the baby. But, you see, Everest, motivated by such avidity to meet his new sister, was much more forceful than Ms. Castillo had anticipated. While she was holding him back, he was pulling forward, forward and forward, out of her grip and hurtling onto the floor. It was a meek fall, nothing that would require medical attention or future therapy sessions, but it was enough to make a small child cry anyhow. And cry Everest did. What's worse than one crying child? Two crying children. Poor baby Valerie, and her sensitive new ears did not take a liking to this horrible shrill sound emanating from her brother, and so she shrieked at an even more excruciating pitch.
At once, Katharine was ripped from her infatuated trance, and set alight with anger. Who would dare to make her darling newborn cry? Truly the answer to that question did not matter, Katharine just needed someone to blame. Her eyes landed squarely on Ms. Castillo.
"Get out."
"Madam Saint-Gold, I-I, I'm so sorry." Ms. Castillo didn't know what she was apologizing for, she never did. Her apologies only existed to placate Katharine's anger, not by any truth of her accusations.
"Out,out,out!" Katharine screeched, "You are fired! Don't ever come back!"
Maybe it was some sort of postnatal hormonal imbalance that was making Katharine act more rashly than usual. In any regular instance, she would just throw a few insults at Ms. Castillo and be on her way.
"Oh no, no you don't mean it Madam do you? You know how I need this job, m-my kids!"
"Well you should have thought about your own kids before you harmed mine!"
"Harm?! No! Madam you can't be serious!"
Quite fed up with the conversation, Katharine pointedly fanned her face with her hand and let out a theatrical sigh.
"That's quite enough, Ms. Castillo, please gather your things and be on your way." Howard interjected, a comforting hand placed on his wife's face, "You just focus on getting your strength back honey."
"Mr and Mrs Saint-Gold please, why are you doing this to me?" Ms. Castillo could no longer keep the tears from springing to her face.
"Oh that is quite enough Selena, compose yourself before I have you escorted out of here."
That image of poor old Ms. Castillo, reduced to a hysterical fountain of tears must have somehow seared itself into Valerie's mind, must have solidified itself in the intricate pathways of her cruel brain, and warped itself into something ugly. The type of ugly that lets you revel in another's pain. From that moment onward, Valerie took a depraved pleasure in tormenting others. Oh how joyful it was to watch the many ways in which one's face can contort into faces of despair and anguish. Right now, Valerie was imagining the face of that wretched pensioner done in with a baseball bat. See? Gleeful.
Every step she had to take, lugging her suitcases behind her, hailed a new string of curses and threats that any proper lady should not know, let alone speak aloud. The sun was starting to set, cirrus clouds basked in hues of cantaloupe and coral against a backdrop of cerulean painted a pretty picture, and in spite of herself, Valerie smiled. She would be a fool to not appreciate pretty things. The setting sun was making it difficult to see further out, but that was no trouble. The entrance to the tunnel stood about half a kilometer away from Valerie, and her long legs closed the distance fairly quickly. She peered around like a middle-schooler on a field trip, sizing up the tunnel as if it were an art installment to be judged. It's withering cement frame claimed made no claims to beauty yet Valerie sneered as though it did. Typical brutalist architecture, gray and boring, and stinking of piss from frequent junkie visits, and road-trip goers who apparently lacked the decorum to wait until they reached a toilet. Valerie sighed for the hundredth time that day.
"Well, lets get this over with."
