Carrie was a beautiful, olive toned intelligent women. For someone like Carrie, it was inevitable that within her there lay deep, dark and dirty secrets. Her natural plump lips, her elegantly shaped collar-bones and her incredibly well kept posture were a strategically devised demeanour. She was almost perfect.
Every morning she would wake on the dot of the hour. Four o’clock, five o’clock, six o’ clock. Never later than six. Sitting up before sliding her legs off the bed and placing her feet in a pair of clean, white slippers. A calculated manoeuvre that her mind was accustomed to. She would fold the sheets as neatly as you can imagine and then stand in front of the mirror blank spaced as she brushed her thick, black hair. This was the only time in Carrie’s day that she did not keep track of. Well, to a certain extent. Her neck would twitch involuntarily shaking her from her zone, reminding her that it was time to move on. To brush her teeth, wash her face, wear her clothes, eat her breakfast and finally leave for work. Each of these acts lasted a mere minute to five depending on her mood. Her mood never appeared on her face though, it was always kept hidden away for herself. Level-headed, organised and emotionless, almost as if she were a robot…. But she wasn’t, Carrie had a living beating heart. A heart that was half black to the core and for this reason, Carrie was a murderer.
Carrie was a twenty year old writer who owned a small fashion company. Recent events had got the best of her, she had reached what some would call a writer’s block and her sense of fashion had become drained and typical ‘workaholic’. Her every day wardrobe consisted of a black pencil skirt, black stockings and smart black heels. Her top half was the only feature displaying some change. From a chiffon, white, collared, sleeveless shirt to a chiffon, white, collared, long sleeve shirt. Every now and then, the white would change to peach, to beige or another pastel colour. Her hair, always in the same high and tidy pony tail. At first, her employees didn’t notice her declining enthusiasm surrounding her outfit choices and when they did, they muttered judgements under their breaths. The sudden shift of Carrie’s behaviour offended them, they believed she had lost her sense of creativity. Little did they know, her creativity was spiralling, it was not that she had lost it, it was directed elsewhere for the time being. After all, there is only one thing worse than a murderer, a murderer who enjoyed being one.
Three months prior came Carrie’s first kill. The prices were high, the quality was high, the demand was exceedingly high, but the stock was low. Carrie’s business provided professional hand-made state of the art fashion. Each item was a unique original piece of her imagination. Since the day she started, she made sure that there were no duplicates of any one item. Soon she would be having to create fifty new pieces for fifty new clients, for just one event. It was a small business, but it grew until it was impossible for her to take it all upon herself. Being unusually stubborn, she made the irrational decision to withdraw her clients’ offer and focus on expanding her collection rather than her revenue. It was the first big kill to Carrie’s company, her employees were certainly not happy. Carrie however, had more pressing issues, her husband-to-be was acting very strange.
Carrie was engaged to an equally handsome and intelligent man. Glowing chocolate skin, chiselled cheeks and a sharp jaw. His inevitable piercing blue eyes were quite mesmerising too and just like Carrie, this man was too perfect. It is safe to say that Aaron made Carrie everything she was today. His eloquent, witty words and a dimple on one cheek had her falling for him in no time. It was not until they moved in together, that Carrie noticed Aaron’s calculative behaviour and strict routine. He would wake up every morning on the dot of the hour. Four o’ clock, five o’ clock, six o’ clock. Never later than six. He would stand in the mirror as he combed his hair and smiled to himself a most peculiar smile. Previously his outfits usually included a new clean-cut silk suit every day, Carrie started to notice he wore his navy one more often than normal. This was not the man she had originally met, fell in love, moved in with and agreed to marry. It dawned on her that this man may not be who he claimed to be. She couldn’t confront him directly though, on the off chance she was wrong. Then there was the possibility that he was obsessed with her and would never let her go. One thing was for sure though, Carrie’s intuition was true. Something was definitely not right with Aaron.
Carrie began to investigate, her creative mind placed her in the shoes of a detective. She worked her way down from the top, cleverly taking time off work to follow his footsteps. She became his shadow, his second, quiet, secret shadow. She watched through her binoculars as he entered his favourite pub and exited out the back. She watched as he looked suspiciously left and right. As he headed to his office and wouldn’t come out for lunch. As he left at the exact same time every day. Soon, she found that this was his immaculately followed routine, down to head turns and handshakes, every manoeuvre carefully calculated. She could not for the love of her, gather what was going on with Aaron. She began to question her own state of mind. Was she becoming overly protective of Aaron? Afraid of losing him? Well, she was afraid of losing him, but were his actions really extraordinary? Oddly the answer finally came to her at a time when she was in her office. An old newspaper lay buried on her desk revealing the words ‘Crystal Bar & Restaurant’. Carrie hoped this was just a coincidence but when she looked at the headline it read something that had the hair on her back standing. She read the article. The times matched up and even if no-one believed her, she knew in her soul she was right. Aaron, oh Aaron. She thought. Who are you?
A week later, Carrie sat at her desk upright, calm and collected. Her arms at a right degree angle, her hands touching her laptop by the palms, her fingers typing away furiously. The news about Aaron’s hobby had left Carrie confused. She researched further, found out more and ultimately felt like a crushed spider sprawled against the back of a slipper. Only writing was able to clear the mess in her mind, well, until she saw his face again. She heard the front door click open, she looked at the clock. He was on time as usual. She listened carefully to each echoing foot step up the stairs, the wind behind the door as he lifted his hand and pushed the door open.
“Hey honey, I’m back.” He said, like normal. As Carrie turned to face him, she saw the peculiar smile on Aaron’s face and the dead body of his victim in her head. She shuddered at the thought. She replied with a weak wavering voice, one that she used before she had met Aaron. Aaron’s head tilted and his eyebrows frowned.
“Are you ok?” He asked. He slowly walked to her, extending his arm to her cheek. Or was it her neck? She flinched.
“Carrie, honey. What’s wrong.” Aaron sensed the scared look in her eyes, the obvious avoidance of his touch. Carrie ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
“You’ve been acting strange all week. Is there something you’re not telling me?” His voice stern, mono-tone and but a little on edge. Carrie looked at her reflection in the mirror and whispered crazily,
“Me hiding something from you?! More like, is there something you’re not telling me! You psychopathic con man.”
She shook her head and took a deep breathe. When she exhaled, Aaron’s voice could be heard distantly.
“Carrie, what’s wrong. You’re worrying me. I’m going to come in if you’re not coming out.” He’s going to come in? She thought No, no, no. He can’t. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me for sure.
Carrie frantically searched for something sharp. Aaron’s shaving blade revealed itself. She held her hand up with a solid stance, weapon at the ready and took a deep breathe. She listened as there were a few quick running footsteps and a BANG. The door was forced open and in stumbled Aaron. It took Carrie two seconds to close her eyes and do what she had prepared herself to do.
Carrie sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring aimlessly at the dead body in front of her. She pictured the police arriving at her door with noise complaints, entering for a quick check, discovering of the blood bath that had ensued – mainly Aaron’s blood. For the first time Carrie’s mind remained silent. She willed herself to think of what characters from her stories would do but she saw herself running into a brick wall. Attempting the climb and failing, over and over. Thus beginning her writer’s block. What was she to do now after killing the love of her life? She stood up, and looked blankly at her reflection, I must wash. She did just that for as long as she could remember. When she finished, she stood in front of the mirror again and brushed her hair.
Disposing of the body was a somewhat easier task for Carrie. All the tools she required were at her feet. The car, a rug and a reservoir twenty minutes away. The night sky played the perfect cover. Carrie looked at her victim one last time, inflicted with countless wounds. She kissed her hand and placed it on his forehead. She loved Aaron, but only the Aaron she had met, not the Aaron that she had come to know and with that last gesture, it was time to let him go.
Carrie sat in front of her laptop screen just as she did that day. Her fingers however were not furiously typing. The sun set in the pocket of the horizon and the house was silent. Carrie’s strict schedule meant she only had ten minutes left at the desk before she would go to the kitchen to prepare dinner. She knew though, that she wouldn’t be writing anything in those ten minutes because she hadn’t written anything for almost three months. The natural state of order would be for Carrie to use this wasted time to reminisce about her victims but instead; the blank document stayed open as she watched the clock on her desktop and waited. One minute passed, nothing. Two minutes passed, still nothing. Three minutes passed. Then something unusual happened. Carrie may have missed it, if she had been caught up thinking deep thoughts, but she wasn’t, so she didn’t. She felt a breeze stroke her neck. Her eyes widened. The door to her room pushed open.
“Hey honey, I’m back.”