Marie (Chapter One)

** I thought I would share my 90-minute thriller about a stylish female psychopath’s awakening for free on my blog. I hope you enjoy it. Viewer discretion is advised. As she’s a violent psychopath (with past trauma), there will be some disturbing moments in this story.**

I knew that I was different from most people even when I was a small child. I never cried. I never wanted to be coddled. The first time I remember wanting to crush someone was on the daycare playground when I was four. There was a little boy one year younger than me. I still remember how his hair was so light it reminded me of the sun. I’ve never liked the sun. He was small not just in body, but in mind. A gentle creature who needed to be conquered by someone stronger. Me.

I dropped my toys as I watched him play under a big tractor tire. I walked over to him and kicked him in the side. Hard. His pained cries didn’t make me want to stop as he fell into the gravel. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted him to cry more. I pushed him hard into the tire’s crevice. He cried again, not bothering to fight me back. I shoved his head into the warm rubber. One of the early childhood educators saw what I was doing and moved me away from the victim. They told me I was cruel; they forced me to apologize to my crying little blond toy. I didn’t care what they thought of me and I didn’t regret it. I was suspended from the playground for a month.

I am now a woman in my thirties sitting by a pool in my black swimsuit. I wear a hat to protect my smooth, well-moisturized face from sun damage as I read a magazine. Black sunglasses shield my eyes from the brightness. I’ve always hated direct sunlight because it makes me aggressive. Splashing draws my attention away from an article on fall fashion’s economic influences. I look over at the pool.

Something small and brown is struggling in the blue water. One of the baby bunnies has fallen in again. I stand up and watch the little ripples stretch out from the drowning creature as it tries in vain to get out of its trap. I walk up to it until my feet reach the pool’s edge.

The tiny rabbit is fighting with all its might to survive, but it isn’t crying the way most of them do when they are trapped in there. I roll up my magazine and use it to push the bunny’s head below the water’s surface. I move my hand away and its head bops above the surface again. Now it screams. I hate how hideous it sounds. I push it under the water again to drown out the noise.

“Is everything alright?” calls an annoyingly familiar voice.

It is the pool boy. The skin on my face becomes hot as I quickly move away from the drowning bunny and cover my mouth.

“Help me, please!” I cry. “I’m trying to save this bunny, but I’m scared it will bite me!”

I step aside as he quickly rushes over and grabs the thing with his bare hands. He lifts it out of the water. It looks so small in his grasp. It stops shrieking as it gasps for air. He walks over to the flower garden and lets it go. Rage fills my veins as I watch him handle the meaningless thing with such care. He’s robbed me of my enjoyment for the afternoon. He is not supposed to be here at this time of day.

He turns back to me with a big smile on his face. He reminds me so much of a golden retriever – happy, dumb, and people-pleasing. He is twenty-two with sandy hair, big brown eyes, and a fit body. He hasn’t taken off his shirt yet, but he looks delicious in his shorts and tank top. My physical attraction to him settles my anger, but it doesn’t make me want to push him into the pool any less.

I force a smile. “You’re a hero. Thank you for helping me.”

He grins wider. I wonder how someone can always look so happy. What is he hiding?

“Those poor little guys have so much going against them. I’m happy to help,” he says.

“Why are you here so early today?” I ask, feeling my smile waver.

He seems to sense my displeasure as his untimely arrival; his grin drops. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped my boundaries, Mrs. Robson. It’s just that Mr. Robson said I could come to your place a little early to work on my assignment for school. I don’t have Wi-Fi where I’m living right now and it’s pretty noisy there”

“I see.”

It is just like Mr. Robson to make decisions without consulting me. Corey Patrick Robson is his full name. He’s the big shot pilot with hundreds of friends. We met on a dating app last year. Six months after our first date, I was able to get him to propose to me with a stunning diamond ring and our wedding was soon after in Dubai.

“It’s okay that I’m here, right?” asks the pool boy. “I mean, I’d never want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.”

His face is now beat red. His awkwardness is grating my nerves. Why can’t he just do his job and shut up?

“Of course, you can study here before you clean the pool,” I say sweetly, walking past him. “Don’t mind me. I’m just the housewife.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Robson.”

I exhale loudly as he leaves. My magazine is ruined from dipping it in the water and I didn’t even get to watch the rabbit die. What a waste of pretty paper. I toss it in the trash and go up to my room to shower. We have a double date this evening with my husband’s colleague and his wife.

I am grateful Corey is a pilot. It is why I have a beautiful house and the luxury of sitting by the pool reading fashion magazines on hot days. I could work, but I have other things I’d rather do. My beauty routine is a part-time job itself. I go to the spa twice per week for skin treatments to keep my skin soft, smooth, and dewy. I go to the salon to have my nails done once per week and I get my dark roots touched up every two weeks so my blonde hair never looks the least bit cheap. My workout routines are intensive and regular. I train like a Victoria’s Secret model, but I eat well to prevent myself from becoming too skinny.

My husband loves me only because I am beautiful. I need to be stunning at all times. That way he will give me whatever I want in return. This existence of mine will vanish if I begin to look unremarkable in any way.

I can’t be replaced before I kill him.

The dinner conversation is contrived as usual, but I make a game out of fake laughing every time Corey’s friend tells a lame joke. His wife has less personality than he does. We manage to avoid speaking with one another for most of the night, allowing our husbands to have the spotlight. I wonder if she’s as bored as I am. Maybe she’s planning to kill her beloved, too. I study her for a few moments. She smiles with her eyes and seems genuinely interested in the men’s conversation. She works full-time at an office downtown and volunteers at a children’s charity every Sunday. Her dress bothers me. The cut is a little too loose on her trim frame. Crow’s feet already appear around her eyes and she is no older than me. Her reputation is that she’ll move heaven and earth to accommodate her friends and loved ones. She does not seem clever enough to plan a murder. Selfless people are the dumbest ones of all.

When we return home, the pool boy is just leaving through the front door.

“Thank you both and good night!” he says quickly, rushing past us.

Corey chuckles. “See ya later, kid.”

“Shouldn’t he have been gone hours ago?” I ask.

“I told him he could stay until we get back. He’s a good kid from a not-so-good background. I’m happy to open our home to him when he needs it.”

I glare at him. “This is our home and you let him stay there alone? We hardly know him. Why do you like him so much?”

“Brad joined our men’s soccer team recently and we hit it off. He’s a great asset to the team. You and I have a big house and no kids … yet. We might as well let a friend enjoy it.”

I clench my fists. This is not acceptable. Having a person who shows up at our house unexpectedly will complicate my life tremendously. Corey has given me a good reason to end him. He has allowed an intruder to invade my palace. Soon, I will have all his money and I can move to a nicer home where no one can bother me. Once he’s dead.

The next day after Corey leaves, I start to set my plans in motion. I need to act fast before he and Brad form a stronger bond. I want it to be a clean kill, but I need to do it outside of the house because of Brad. I fume at the thought of that boy having keys to our home. Corey has no idea who Brad is. For all we know, he has plans to kill us and take all our money.

I go with my idea to lead Corey out to the woods after drugging his drink. He will follow me willingly thinking it’s some kinky new thing I want to try. The method in which I will kill him is still up in the air. I could choose from many interesting methods. There have been wolves passing through the forest behind our house recently. They often do at this time of year. I think of attaching raw meat to his corpse to attract them to him, but the disgusting imagery of what would follow prevents me from doing so. I like imagining disturbing things, but I hate filth. The idea of a mess in the woods so close to my home will drive me to madness. Besides, someone might see it if they happen to be walking close by. There are trails all around that forest.

“Scratch that idea. A clean murder it will be,” I whisper to myself.

I call one of my contacts on a payphone. His name is Steve. He’s a thirty-something millionaire who I met at a party last year. He was keen to hook me up with the best drugs last time we spoke. Now is his chance. When he answers my call, I ask if I can fly a kite with him. That is his code for ketamine – he doesn’t use common terms for drugs.

We meet in the park after sunset and make our exchange without a word, but I do not miss the curious look he gives me before walking back to his vehicle. Now that I have the ketamine and a small bag of syringes in my purse, I can get rid of Corey.

The next morning, I am greeted by Brad’s sickening smile by the pool. Why the hell is he so happy? The kid is so poor that he has to leech off his new friend for food, a study space, and Wi-Fi. If another small animal falls into the pool, he will be sure to save it. I pout and sit down on the soft chair by the pool. I am not going to stay away from my favourite place just because the pool boy is there.

“Good morning, Mrs. Robson,” he says.

“Morning, bitch,” I say under my breath

I wave at him with a wide grin. He smiles. It doesn’t seem like he heard me.

He is going to pay one day for trespassing on my peace. I flip through another magazine in annoyance. A sudden splash brings me out of my momentary fantasy world. My heart races as I sit up. How I crave to relish in that little one’s tortuous death by drowning.

“Poor little guy,” I hear Brad say as he moves toward the edge of the pool. 

He bends down and helps another bunny out of the water. It claws at him as he lifts it out. He drops it instinctively and it scurries toward the bushes. His hair looks golden in the sunlight as he watches the little rabbit hop away. Brad’s gentle disposition is like a warm summer breeze. I hate him for that.

He examines the red scratches on his arms. I don’t want to help him. I am glad he is suffering for intruding on my morning.

“Let me help you clean those battle wounds, young man,” I say with a syrupy tone. “Those scratches must hurt.”

“I don’t think you’re old enough to call me ‘young man’,” he says with a chuckle.

I raise an eyebrow at him. I like it when people speak the truth. He smiles bashfully as his eyes scan my figure. I am wearing a red bikini. I don’t bother to cover up with my sarong as I lead him into the house. I have worked hard to maintain my tight, svelte figure so I should show it off.

I find a first aid kit and give him the items needed to clean the little wounds on his skin.

“You’re sweet, Mrs. Robson,” he says.

Oh, how I want him to think of me that way. I utter a soft laugh. “You’re the kind one saving those innocent little animals from drowning.”

He responds to the sound of my voice by moving closer. He stares at my lips. I can’t help but smile at him admiring me, but I’d prefer him to view me from a distance. Men will always respect a woman more when she seems unattainable to them. 

“Now, off you go,” I say, playfully shooing him out of the room. “Time for you to go back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, face flushed.

I go up to my room to plan out the rest of Corey’s murder. I can’t have that blushing fool distracting me. If only I hadn’t misplaced the paper that has my brain storming on it. I am not normally so careless. The words I wrote on it are so abstract that if someone were to find it and read it, they likely wouldn’t suspect it as anything more than random scribblings. I am just a stupid housewife, after all.

I sit on my bed and go over the different murder scenarios in my head then I determine the risks for each one. I can’t wait much longer. I will have to act while everyone still believes I am Corey’s sweet little wife. I can only hide my true nature for so long. People would be safer if they stayed away from me, but some of them insist on overstepping my boundaries. It is their own fault for getting killed.

To be continued …

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7 comments

  1. I love how you use description. Every situation comes alive for the reader. You make the reader believe and see every word. A outstanding tale.

  2. […] I love February. The month is so fresh due to its cooler weather and new year energy. You start to see later sunsets and in some areas, early flower blooms start to appear. I enjoyed posting Marie, my 90 minute thriller, for free on my blog. If you haven’t had a chance to read her yet, please check out Chapter One here. […]

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