The Offering

Chapter 5

Present day

My name is Alice Thompson and today is my eighteenth birthday. Three weeks ago my best friend was murdered.

Since that day there has been a change in me. It started slowly but with each day it had gained momentum and now it has consumed me completely. An inextinguishable fire burns within me. The Alice who had been only too happy to hide in the shadows, to cloak herself with a protective shield of invisibility is gone. Now I will be seen, I will be heard and my wrath will be felt.

The monster responsible for taking my best friend away will weep for mercy and I will take sadistic pleasure in prolonging their pain...

"Alice...Alice...ALICE!"

I blinked, torn from my thoughts. I realised the car had long since come to a stop outside of Greenwood High school. I heard an impatient car horn blaring behind us. The empathy in my mothers expression was enough to force me out of the car with haste.

"Alice you really don't-"

I didn't hear the end of her sentence, I slammed the car door shut and held a hand up to wave goodbye. I didn't look back, I couldn't stand to see the look in her eyes. For the past three weeks she had looked at me this way, like I was some baby bird with a broken wing and no hope for survival. The kindest thing to do would be to put me out of my misery, a quick twist of the neck and...snap.

The pain would be gone forever.

Of course the single look from Angela was nothing in comparison to the scrutiny of the rest of the school. There was a 'buzz' in the air, everywhere I walked I knew I was the hot topic of conversation. The hushed whispers, the awkward apologies for my loss, the quest to avoid eye contact at all costs even if it meant a swift change of direction in the school halls.

By the end of second period I was just about ready to flip out at the next person who was "Sorry about Clara being dead and all." I considered pulling the invisibility cloak out of the closet again.

Between classes I found myself ducking into the girls toilets, unsure if I'd even bother attending English literature with Miss Lampard. I took solace in a cubicle and held my head in my hands, tightening my fingers into fists. I felt myself pull at clumps of hair in frustration and the pain brought me a strange rush of relief.

What was I doing here? I wasn't going to find Clara's killer in English class! But I didn't know what else to do, there were no informative 'How to' guides for solving murders, I had no handy Veronica Mars'esque P.I skills, I didn't know any insiders at the police station working on the case. I knew nothing and had no idea how I could change that. I felt helpless, hopeless and entirely frustrated.

Perhaps I should just put my trust in the police, reassure myself of their competence but I couldn't seem to help but feel Clara's killer would not be found. He was out there right now, walking the streets, living his life, possibly searching for his next victim. He could strike at any moment and take another innocent from the world.

I had told the police everything I knew three weeks ago, which was pretty much nothing, other than Clara's conversations with 'cute College boy' Brett. The police had assured me that they would follow all potential leads including tracing the elusive Brett. But I'd heard nothing from them since.

Even my mothers phone calls were met with a blockade of silence, no information was being released to any non family members. It didn't matter that Clara had been a sister to me, that she was my family.

I wondered if Clara's mother was as impatient for leads? I doubted it, remembering the broken shell of a human being I'd seen at Clara's funeral. She was most likely drowning her sorrows in some bar in town, that made me feel really angry and I squeezed my fists tighter into my hair.