Fallen Raine {Completed}

Epilogue

  I sat in the settee in the wood cabin where I had planned all of the murders in the Mapleton Massacre, staring at the TV screen as the woman behind the desk shuffled her papers and spoke into the camera. Her name was Sandra Daley, and I knew from studying the videotapes for so long that she was the original journalist that spoke for Malcolm Stark’s case, fifteen years ago.

   Sandra was now much older, her reddish-brown hair now graying slightly at the roots, and her face was open, but starting to wrinkle as she hit her fifties. She wore a navy pinstriped skirt-suit, and instead of the papers she had fifteen years ago, she now had a sleek, silver laptop that blinked the logo on the front lid.

   “Exactly fifteen years ago, America was devastated by the worst massacre of 1998, the Mapleton Massacre. Now, ten years later, America is once again devastated,” Sandra informed the camera, her green eyes staring into the camera and a small grimace settling around the sides of her mouth, turning down her red lips. Sitting here, with Sandra staring directly into the camera, it almost seemed like she was staring straight at me, those green eyes piercing into my soul.

   “It is alleged that a copycat killer avenged his death on the fifteen-year anniversary, entrapping seven teenagers, one twenty-three year old and one middle-aged security guard in the Mapleton Mall and killing them all in increasingly gruesome ways, leaving small horrific messages for the remainder of the prisoners to find.

   “There was only one survivor to the attack, seventeen-year-old Raine Miller, who escaped with a stab wound to the stomach and some minor cuts and bruises. She is currently recovering from bruises and seeking psychological assistance to help her with the traumatizing events she was subjected to. She is also attempting to assist the police in any and all investigations that she is capable of helping with, and has so far proved compliant and helpful.

   “There has been no evidence left as to who the killer was, and he is still out there somewhere. He is dangerous, so please be careful out there everybody. He is dangerous, gruesome and ruthless. Police are encouraging people to lock their doors and be careful of any strangers. So far we have the information that he has a camouflage jacket, around six feet, with broad shoulders and a slim but muscular figure. Anyone with any information is urged to call Crime Stoppers at—”

   I picked up the remote from the armrest and switched off the television, smirking to myself and settling back into the overstuffed brown cushion.

   It really was funny that they honestly thought I was a victim in the Mapleton Massacre, when I was the killer of everyone in that shopping mall. It really was hilarious, if you thought about it. Amazing how an eighteen and a seventeen year old had gotten away with something so deceiving and horrific, and no one batted an eyelid or suspected a thing about either one of them. Even I was impressed with myself.

   I stood up with a sigh and dusted off my jeans, pulling my hair into a short ponytail. I had decided a makeover would be best, something to start afresh with. I had cut my hair to my shoulders, and dyed some honey highlights into it. Materialistic looks meant nothing to me, but the press lapped it up. The only reason I did it was for the hopes of convincing people that I wanted no more time in the spotlight, and that I wanted to move on with my life and start somewhere new, without the press and reminders of my horrible past.

   To me the hair was tacky, and I also didn’t like the new outfits I had chosen, but I had bigger, better things to focus on, so a small cut and dye was something I could handle in the grand scheme of things. There was so much more left in store to do, and my hair was not one of the major issues I was facing in my life right now.

I turned to stare at the only decoration in the small log cabin I currently resided in. It was a photograph framed by an ornamental golden border, and the man inside was smiling, his teeth straight and white and his brown hair tousled from the wind. He was wearing a camouflage jacket and thick mustard-colored cargo pants, with lace-up combat boots underneath. He was with two other people, a woman that I recognized straight away. She had her arms around his waist, and was staring into a camera with a cheesy grin. The other was a little girl with long brown hair, a gap in her two front teeth, and brown eyes. She too was smiling, and the man had an affectionate hand on her head.

They stood in the middle of lush green forest, surrounding by large, green copses of trees, autumn leaves of different colors, shapes and varieties, and a log cabin with a cement chimney that I was currently in right now.

   The man’s name was Malcolm Stark, the original Mapleton Massacre murderer. Killed seven years ago by inmates at the prison after a long and hard fight against them. But also a loving father and husband to the two females in the picture, though they conveniently left that out of the papers.

   I ran my fingers over the glass, pretending for a second that he could honestly hear me, understand and appreciate the things I had done for him. The sacrifices I had made, my actions and ruthlessness, the harshness of my actions. I hoped he knew.

   In the glass I caught a reflection of myself, the same curly brown hair and kind hazel eyes. The face of Raine Miller, the seventeen-year-old girl who had—literally—gotten away with murder.

   “I’m still here, Dad,” I whispered, staring into his hazel eyes. My eyes then trailed down to the little girl in the picture; me when I was six years old, before things got so complicated. I noticed in the reflection that my lips had pulled up into a smile, so malicious, sickening and deceiving that it was alien coming from such a young girl. “And, don’t worry, this isn’t the end. This is only the beginning.”

   ~THE END~

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Dedicated to Wattpad. Here is my nanowrimo13 entry :)

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