The girl rolled over again in her bed, the twisted sheets bunching around her pale feet. She mumbles, then groans. Moans. Screams. Her body tenses, pale fingers grasping at the mattress. Her eyes snap open, and she sits up, clutching the sheets up to her chest. She pants for a moment, her alert eyes searching the darkness of the room. The breeze swishes through the open window, sending the sheer curtains billowing into the room. Nothing is amiss. Yet the girl is wary.
She slowly rises from the bed, her nightgown flowing above her knees, and edges towards her window. The curtains billow further, wrapping around her, seeming to draw her closer. She feels that something is wrong. However, a look out the window reveals just a calm summer night, a cool wind all that comes through the window. She shuts it. She walks back to the bed and sits, still scanning the room with uneasy eyes. A tap at her window makes her jump. She peers out. Nothing. Sitting down with a sigh, she removes a locket from her neck. Opens it. Traces the features of the picture inside. A single tear rolls down her cheek. Another tap at the window. She looks. Nothing. She lies down on the window seat, her back to the panes. Tap. She looks. Nothing. But.... movement. She looks again, bringing her face close to the glass.
The pale face slams against the glass, blood leaking from the corners of the snarling mouth and mixing with the foaming saliva to smear on the window.
The girl screams.
The window cracks.
The head rams again.
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Winchester Camberly stalked into the hall, her boots scuffing on the floor, the chains on her pants clinking merrily together. But Win herself was anything but merry. She whipped off her sunglasses and blew her bangs out of her eyes. The black hood of her jacket was pulled over her head, the headphone strings for her ipod sticking out, leading to her pocket. Viking metal blared into her ears, Heidevolk singing Vulgaris Magistralis. She narrowed her hazel eyes and strode to her first class. She was late. The teacher began to say something, but Win's gaze snapped to his face with such tangible fury that his mouth snapped shut with an audible click. She slouched to her seat and sat rigidly in her chair, waiting for class to end. The song her ipod was playing switched to slipknot's famous Blackheart and she sang quietly under her breath, starting a doodle on the tabletop with her pocketknife.
The rose on the tabletop seemed to bloom under Win's hand as she carved, each petal seeming to feed on the anger growing in her belly, tightening her chest, sweating on her palms, making her ache for a fight, for some excuse to dig into anyone, for any reason at all. The feeling in her grew, a rock growing in her stomach, her throat growing tight with angry tears she would rather die than shed. She chewed her pierced bottom lip, sketched thorns onto the rose. Blood, knifed deeply into the wood, dripped from the poison thorns. She sketched faster, an urgency building in her chest. She added a flowing ribbon, and began to sketch a phrase across it. Her hand slipped, and the knife slashed across her palm.
" Shit!" she said loudly, attempting to staunch the bleeding with her sleeve.
" Excuse me? I will not tolerate that sort of language in my classroom! You have been nothing but trouble since the beginning of the year Ms. Winchester, and I am downright sick of it! I have heard the same from the other teachers, as well as the staff. And I have been given the authority to say: get out! You are no longer allowed in this school! I realize the tragedy you have faced this past year, but your behavior is unacceptable! You are dismissed." Win pushed up out of her chair, her eyes burning. Flicking her knife closed with a well-practiced gesture, she put it back into her pocket. She walked slowly up to the front to hand in the pin that identified her as a member of the school, handing it to the teacher with venomous fingers. She knew why he was doing this. It was all about that affair, a one-night mistake that he would never forgive her for. They had both been drunk, him on alcohol and her on her need to get away from the pain, any way she could.
" You can't break me," she hissed at him, stalking out of the classroom. But as she hit the main hall, her artificial strength failed. She leaned against her locker, slowly dialing the combination. She opened the door, revealing a metal cubby sparsely decorated with a mirror, contact solution, and a homemade hydrogen peroxide Neosporin mix for her 11 piercings. She removed her Tupperware container of lemon juice vanilla mix and dabbed her cut into it, savoring the burn of the natural disinfectant.
She always made sure to heal her cuts. Well, all accept the intentional ones. Those were meant to be savored.
She walked down the hall and out to her Ducati, stolen by her four years prior. She swung a leg over and raced down the street towards the bank. She needed some money. And she knew the fastest way to get some.
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Thump swing bump swish thump swing bump swish thump swing bump swish the body against his back. Lub bump lub bump lub bump the heart against his shoulder. Drip drip drip the rabid foam and blood mix against the metal rings of his broken straight jacket. His view of the world is narrowly bordered by the eyeholes of the mask he work. They had buckled it on him in the asylum after he attacked a nurse's face with his teeth, 'causing her to undergo massive corrective surgery'. Or at least that is what the man in the coat told him. The one who broke him out. The one who needed the girl. The girl... this thought brought back vividly to his mind the image of her face, frozen in perfect horror when his face appeared in the window. Thick black hair framed a heart shaped face, cornflower blue eyes widened almost comically under exotic brows. A delicate nose flaring slightly. Full red lips parted in an intake of breath preparing for a scream. He shifts her unconscious body on his shoulders. Licks his mask. Grumbles. And walks on, towards the man with the coat.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Win took one more look at the bank diagram before she folded it and stuffed it in her back pocket. This was her third heist, and she knew how to do it right. She took the fake badge, identifying her as an employee of the bank. She smiled at the security guard as she flashed her badge, and he let her enter through the staff door. She made a beeline for the customer service room, and spent 15 minutes flirting with a customer, to avoid suspicion. Win then exited and strode into the connecting hall. There she paused and opened her large coat. From this she withdrew her SWAT addition modified Colt handgun. She checked it over, switched off the safety, and placed it back in her waistband. She continued on into the meeting room, empty now as all the little workers labored at their tasks. She walked through to the staff lounge, blessedly empty and warm. She paused a moment, looked around, and walked to the door that lead to the security room. She walked in and began her prepared speech, looking the two security guards in the eye as she spoke.
" I was sent by Mr. Jefferson. The boss? Yeah, he's riding me he wants a safety check of the safe security. I'm from the higher security branch. My badge? Yeah right here. Sorry I know this is a pain. I just need to see how you would open the safe in the event of an emergency count. Thanks."
The guards nodded and dialed the combination into the safe. 21-31-39. The second lock was 6-13-6. She stored them away in her memory and watched as one officer drew his weapon and stood facing the door as the other officer went in to count.
"Ok boys that will do. Now, I'm going to need you to step out of the safe and place your weapons on the table." They complied with confused faces. She produced her Colt from the waistband of her jeans. " Now I need you to step against the wall and stay there." They did.
She went into the safe and began stuffing wads of cash in every inconspicuous place in her clothing.
