What happens when a bunch of killers are forced to live together?
BATTLE OF THE KILLERS is a reality show that follows Betinia Woods, a girl kidnapped and forced to live in an underground bunker with twelve other killers. The bunker is equipped wit...
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HAVE YOU EVER seen something so horrific that you just froze? Become so totally stunned to the point of mind blankness?
That's what just happened to me when I stared into my dead mother's face. Everything around me became slow moving as her fingers let the curtain fall behind her, and she walked forward.
Her thick ringlet hair draped her shoulder, and her dark eyes never left mine. I stared at her, seeing a slight reflection of myself that made my stomach jump, and my fingers clench.
The wrongest thing about this wasn't that she was here, but that it wasn't her.
Pulling on my happy memories, an image of my mother filtered through, reminding me of her beauty and grace, something that couldn't be manufactured.
This in front of me was a realistic mask, something out of Pretty Little Liars. A great likeness with intricate details, but a crack in the cheek revealed the artificial materials.
The masked figure sauntered forward, wearing the same clothing my mother wore the last time I saw her — a dark blue nightgown and a rose-colored robe with fluffy slippers.
The height was off, too tall for my mother who was short like me. But everything else? Spot on. The rich, exotic aroma of her eau de toilette perfume glazed the minimalistic atmosphere, tickling my nostrils until a savage remembrance encased my mind.
"Come here, hunny-bun." My mother smiled, pulling me into her lap on the bench. She turned my head until I stared at my six-year-old self in the vanity oval mirror. "You're so beautiful, hunny."
"Like you, mommy?"
She grinned. "Just like me." Her hand picked up a golden comb, and she started to work it through my curls before she started to braid. Her dainty voice sang a low-pitched tune as she worked.
I closed my eyes, loving the sound of her voice.
A raspy breath scratched my throat as the memory ended, and I stared into the eyes of that creepy mask again.
They were fucking with me. Jookie and whoever was running this shit show was just trying to mind fuck me. I was the stupid one to believe I'd get real answers when they just murdered people in front of me. These people were vicious and out for high ratings, and my pain and past were the keys to that.
The masked figure glided toward me. "Betinia," the voice whispered through the mask, lips never moving because it was nothing but paint.
"Stay away from me," I said, moving backward.
"I'm your mother," the masked figure whispered.
"No. You're not," I said.
"Yes," the masked figure whispered.
"My mother is dead," I said.
"Am I?" The masked figure whispered.
The masked figure slid their hand inside the robe pocket and presented something to me in their palm. An old soda cap wallet rested there. It took me a second to realize what I was staring at, and then it hit me.
