frankie [episodes 1-3]

-1-

Rebecca was weird. Weird weird. Weird with a beard weird.

She wore combat boots, drove a hearse to school, and hung out in graveyards.

We all used to call her names; coffin boffin, rigor mortis, necro (that one was mine).

It's not like she gave a shit though. She didn't seem to anyway.

I always kind of envied her for that.

Approximately one minute ago, just as I was about to hurl myself off Archway Bridge, I turned around.

Rebecca was stood there.

"You going to kill yourself again?" she said.

***

I stare at her blankly. She leans against a lamppost. Her untamed white hair is wet and sticks to her pale face. She raises her left eyebrow.

"You going to kill yourself again?" she repeats.

She raises her voice, struggling to be heard over the medley of street sounds; traffic horns, and raindrops exploding against the pavement.

I sigh.

"I didn't kill myself before," I shout back. "Just...just go away Rigor."

She shrugs and saunters forwards, stopping just in front of me and squinting her eyes to see my face better through the darkness. I squirm the way I always do when someone pays any real attention to the way I look; even if it is only Rebecca.

"You were dead though. At one time."

I touch the scar that cuts across the middle of my face.

"You think?!"

She moves over to the side of the bridge and peers at the murky blur of traffic below.

"You jump down there and I don't think anyone will be able to put your pieces back together again. I think your death will be more final this time."

I don't answer for a moment, pausing to take in a breath of rain and car exhausts. I turn and lean over the bridge, and I imagine myself breaking against the hard tarmac. The traffic will drag bits of me away until there's nothing left.

I smile.

"I'm counting on it."

She says nothing for a moment, perching herself on the side of the bridge so that she is facing me.

"Is it because you're not pretty anymore?" 

She's not trying to be mean. She's genuinely curious. I feel a wave of anger just the same.

"Not pretty anymore?! Look at me. I'm a monster."

She shrugs, twirling a strand of wet hair around one of her fingers.

"Funny, I think you're much less of a monster now than you were before."

The wind blows my hair into my eyes and I shiver.

Just do it, a voice in my head tells me Just end this now. We can be free. We can all be free. I push it back and look at Rebecca.

"They call me Frankie. Do you know why?"

She studies me again, her eyes brushing over my pieced together body.

"I'd imagine after Frankenstein, though, common misconception, it was actually the doctor who was called Frankenstein, not the monster."

I sigh.

"I know. Idiots."

Her face cracks into a grin. She looks at me and shrugs again.

"People call me names too," she says. "You can't let it bother you."

I shake my head.

"What do you want Rigor?"

She looks at me as though deciding whether to tell me something.

"Since you were brought back, have you been...hearing voices? In your head?"

I look at her and narrow my eyes. I don't reply. Rebecca nods.

"I thought so. It's like he said." She pauses, "I have someone who wants to meet you. He might be able to help."

"I'm kind of busy Rigor. Help with what?"

She looks at me studiously.

"When you were brought back to life you were pieced together with the parts of twelve dead girls- twelve dead girls who were killed by twelve different murderers."

I shift uncomfortably. I don't need reminding.

"You can give up. Hurl yourself off this bridge and end it all. Or..." her eyes lock onto mine, "there are twelve girls that need avenging."

She produces a folder from under her leather jacket, damp from the rain. She holds it out.

"And if my source is correct, you're the only one with the power to do it."

I frown.

"Power?"

Rebecca nods seriously.

"There are things lurking in the shadows of this world that most don't dare to believe. If my source is correct the twelve who killed those girls are no ordinary murderers."

I look down at the file. Daisy Malone is scrawled in smudged handwriting across the front.

"Who's Daisy?"

Rebecca's eyes linger on my left arm for a moment longer than is comfortable. Instinctively I cover the faded flower tattoo on my wrist with my other hand. Rebecca's eyes move back to my face.

"Come with me and you'll find out."