The first time Kelly Jones had been scared the events had been remarkably different. Instead of gaining a broken ankle and concussion, she lost her father to a neatly placed bullet through the head.
She'd returned to a quiet house after school, thrown her bag over the stairs and kicked her shoes off to place them neatly next to her father's slippers. When Kelly thought back, she knew that was the first sign of something being... wrong, even though at the time, she'd only been consumed by the proud satisfaction that young children feel when they copied their parents. Her father had a unwavering routine. He arrived home at 2:45 every day from work and spent an hour answering emails in his study. By four, around the time Kelly returned from school, he would be firmly settled in his favourite chair, newspaper open and slippers on his feet. Not by the foot of the stairs.
This day however, when Kelly opened the door to the lounge expecting to find her father in his chair, grinning affectionately at her over his newspaper, there was nothing.
So she went to investigate his office; cheerily shouting for him up the stairs.
She found the office door unlocked and wide open, with her father's body stretched across the length of the room, seeping red into her mother's painstakingly selected beige carpets.
The newspapers reported it with the mundane day to day tone with which they reported everything. His death was tucked away on page 7, next to a sworn by crème brulee recipe and an ad for 'Millie' who was 'guaranteed to show you a good time'.
Another day, another act of terrorism, another MI6 informant found dead.
AN: sorry, I've sort of neglected this story. In fact I completely forgot about it. But the St Trinian obession has gripped me once again after watching 'Fritton's Gold' so... here I am :) Eventually I am hoping to weave some Annabelle/Kelly in, and I promise it shouldn't be too depressing after this chapter. Thanks for reading and please (from a self-confessed review whore) review. Ta.