Chirping birds, pecked at the window of Jeanne Chapman. A boisterous alarm clock informed Jeanne it was morning. Her grogginess swatted at the alarm clock with intent. The couple failed attempts in muting the wretched machinery, forced a grunting, muffled sound from her slumber. A few minutes she counteracted, as she snuggled into the comforter and sheets. A knocking berated from behind the wooden door. Jeanne disregarded the nuisance, burying further. She heard the door creak open and heard a distinct chortle within ones’ throat.

“Jeanie! You are going to be late!” Her father quipped, his chuckles sprung into the atmosphere. He rested on the edge of the bed, affectionately stirring her into consciousness.

“Daddy, I don’t want to….a few more minutes.” Jeanne whimpered, murmuring the couple of minutes into her feathery pillows. She shrugged her shoulders away from the tender hand, requesting for her bed rest.

“Princess, you have school. Either you wake up early and have a ride, or no ride.” He blackmailed, his humorous chortles breaching the stuffy air. He stood, waiting for her response, near the entrance.

Jeanne expired, kicking the blankets away from her. She delivered a spiteful glance towards her paternal figure while a grin graced on the fringes of her lips. “Daddy is such a meanie.” She whined bounding for the bathroom attached to hers. She

“I LOVE YOU TOO PRINCESS!” He bellowed, cynically exiting the room to prepare for breakfast and her lunch. Unbeknownst to his daughter, a cracked malicious grin was easily prepared.

Jeanne glared at her rejuvenated, young body, segregating in judging glances. She withdrew, casting the negatives into her mind. Jeanne nitpicked at her reflection, to her flat chest, her nonexistent curves and puny body. She absolutely craved to smash the mirror into smithereens. If only.

In the shower, breaching thoughts would compass her decision making. She did not cross the intersection of suicide, nor abbreviated the symptoms towards her father. Jeanne abided to the rules of the living for her father, her daddy. Coming home was easier, than perching in the manufacturing school system. Jeanne resolute managed a smile returning to the outskirts of her room.

Her wardrobe consisted of loose sweaters, faded blue jeans, cheap shirts too big for her and dull coats ranging in browns and army greens. Picking and choosing never mattered and the harassment would not cease anyway. Throwing the selected items, the day would be a virus contaminated by rot. As long as she had friends and her father, life would keep moving.

 

Jeanne skipped down the steps by twos, her backpack over her two shoulders. The wondrous aroma of breakfast evaporated into her nostrils. She slanted her bag against the table leg, preparing for a delicious meal by her father.

“I am going to hang out with Karen after school. Is it okay, daddy?” She requested, smiling happily as her best friend, the person she found salvation at school suggested to take a breather from studying and homework.

He beamed, introducing the both of them to breakfast. Sitting on the chair, he nodded in acceptance. “Of course, just remember to not break curfew.” He factitiously cautioned. “There are dangerous people in this world and I don’t want to one day see you hurt.”

Jeanne shook her head at her fathers’ paranoia. “I promise.”

As they chatted about school, to her outing with Karen, she dashed out the door, signaling to her father, pecking his cheek. A honking sound next to the vibrating exhaust pipes from the Martin son alerted them they have arrived. “I will see you later!”

He stood at the porch of the house as one of her friends along with Karen, took her to school. The driver, a childhood best friend for Jeanne by the name of Tyrone Martin waved to him.

“Hey, what’s up girl?” Karen welcomed as Jeanne climbed to the backseat of the vintage, painted blue Ford.  Karen cognizant of the porch individual, greeted to the parent. Karen’s piercing brown eyes, gave chastity more than anything else.

“Nothing much, dad said yes to going out.” Jeanne briefed, resting comfortably from the back. Both girls communicated over plans while their other friend concentrated on the road. He managed to debrief in random chatter along with humor.

Jeanne gazed at the window, their town incensed with wooded trees and pines. The town of Charleston impacted nothing but a rural community. However there was a distinct segregation in rich, poor, black and white. She omitted mourn for Tyrone as there was racial discrimination for his family and himself. Yet he found friendships with both girls.

Tyrone parked at Sanders High parking lot, as enveloping subtle cars of middle class and higher class students integrated. In the far left, the wealthiest bunches mocked them for their transportation. It affected Tyrone and Karen, very little though it was not their snide remarks on the car for Karen. It was the degradation by the popularity scale.

Students breezed back and forth, outside and inside the building, where ones in solitude to those in enormous congregations infiltrated the expanse. The three intact, were glued together, stating their outcast familiarity. 

Adventuring antecedent to the lockers gratified a minority of students brought by prosperity and admiration. Not by these three, but by the community.

Danielle Atwater in her promiscuous apparel to controversial character tripped Jeanne. Fortunately her belongings did not splash amongst the endearing floor. Students snickered while Danielle, Sonia, Candace and Elise scratched their shrieking chortles.

Jeanne impassive stood and wiped the dust from her light blue jeans avoiding the humiliation. “You should watch were you’re going.” They snickered, rudely, malevolently.

Truthfully the abuse, gave little to pass off perceptiveness. She had no patience to comprehend the detailed harassment inflicted by these girls. Nobody else did. Yet these girls did. For now, being placid was the best set of goals.

Tyrone aided her from the floor, radiating consolation for her. Jeanne thanked the brother she never had, snuggling into the definition of comfort. His generosity granted Jeanne to overcome much degradation by her fellow students, mostly specifically Danielle Atwater.

“Let me kill them!” Karen screeched, close to physically assaulting those who abuse her best friend. Jeanne extracted her by a pull of the arms. Fuming continuously by Karen, the red tints in her face defined her enmity to the popular surroundings.

“It’s okay Karen” Jeanne weakly smiled, pungently resuming her stroll to her class with both Tyrone and Karen.

 

 Masked in murkiness of the shielding cloak, a bystander pierced bitterly at the Danielle Atwater. His fury, glazed from the crinkle in his chapped lips. This man licked his lips to salivate his dehydration. 

Scribbling a name in a green journal with rings attached. His massive contempt aligning to the girl affected his writing. Harshly bolded letters rimmed with excessive ebonies. His delirious smirk embellished the excitement as he observed the written name. There would be more subjected to this list, only if they damned his precious little girl.

Time was of the essence and father time was not an ally. His selective notions would concur, not yet. Preparations to remove and deplete were detailed in his encrypted features. However at least, he knew that no matter the cost, his little girl would be happy. He would make sure of it.

 

Library, free period for Karen and Jeanne gave some time to correlate with the recent events. Karen abided in her frustration since Jeanne is such a passive, submission individual to these bullies.

“You should fight back.” Karen enforced vengeance pairs on Jeanne.

Jeanne pondered at retaliating though recognized that penetrating the boundary between them and her could have massive consequences. “I don’t think it is a good idea.” She exonerated access to them, than be extradited by her peers.

“I don’t care. The bitch thinks she is so high. You shouldn’t allow them to push you around.” Karen advised, slamming her fists onto the table. This expressed her ferocity, her intensity.

“I don’t want to. If dad were to know….” Jeanne weakly implied, suggesting her reason. Her father did not know of the bullying she endured here.

“Jeanie, you need to tell him. Plus I thought you took those self defense classes.” Karen immediately adapted her wording into the past.

“I did….it is only for special circumstances.” Jeanne complicated, denying all aspects of the self defense training. Sure she was a master in martial arts, but it independently configured trouble.

Karen lamented, forcing her chair back. She also began to hypothesize the scenario calmly. “Maybe you shouldn’t use fist like me. Maybe you can use it to your advantage.” Her suggestion warped in a vague cloud of storms.

“Use what as my advantage?” Jeanne asked, perplexed by the outlandish idea.

“That self defense training, I thought it was supposed to heighten those senses of yours.” Karen breathlessly proposed, reminiscing a singular moment in junior high.

 Jeanne considered the motion. It gave minimal cures, though maybe it could medicate the torment. She would debate on this matter, and then make her final decision in acquiring this proposition. 

2: Masked

School finalized for the afternoon where students were flushed from the architecture of the education facility, local in California. It was November and the crisp, chilled atmosphere displayed its’ feathers, thrashing each one with rain, snow or hail. It was imperfect to say the least, as student dawned puffed, heavy coats, jeans or leggings and scarves. Their backpacks were considerably bulky for students achieving in academia while alternative students taking sports or drama had noticeably diminishing bags.

All the same, there were students who lingered behind for extracurricular activities, projects or assignments acquiring students to postpone independence.  That one student was Jeanne Chapman. She perched in the Science lab, accomplishing her chemistry results, energetic and ecstatic. Her paradise was in the Science department where she could progress her mindset. Sure, she savored math, English and history but science would be her major. She explored the environment in the deserted room, calming her frazzled nerves. Jeanne composed herself, since horror movies did not negate the erratic anxiety. After her respiratory exercises, she rebounded to her experiment slash project.

Half an hour swooped in circles as the clock made hushed sounds of ticking. She was supposed to mobilize with Tyrone and Karen, yet this urgency to clinch this school project was mandatory in her mentality. “They can wait.” Jeanne considered, prospecting the temperament of her best friends since they rarely alluded to entertainment like other people their age. Science was fun.

An anonymous human being tapped her shoulder, effecting Jeanne to shriek in intimidation. Her heart pounded violently to the point where the heart felt like dynamite preparing to explode into thousands of pieces. She nearly abandoned her equipment for a mad dash to the entrance.

“Did I scare you?” Karen howled clapping her hands together in over exhausted playfulness. She perhaps invariably recognized her best friends’ chilled façade. Jeanne kept these imprisoned within her heart, locked from the outsiders. Karen inspected Jeanne’s achievements, comprehending none of it. She was not a Science type. “Are you done? Tyrone and I are bored waiting.”

“You made me too scared to work in this school.” Jeanne proclaimed, locating the test tubes replete with combined chemicals. She felt discontent now, as functioning in an approximately empty school would hype her emotions more than ever. She began to compile the materials, furnishing them into their cupboards and drawers.

“Then stop watching Japanese horror movies.” Karen retorted, encouraging the scourge of accessories on the table. She arranged Jeanne’s notebooks into her simple backpack, painted with red and black. A style meant for hitchhikers than a young woman developing in High School. “And you need more stylish clothing and a backpack.”

“Why? This backpack is fine as it is. It carries my textbooks, my stuff. I for one love my conservative style.” Jeanne embarked, peeved by her friends’ allegation of being stale in her regular uniform which was being comfortable. There was nothing criminal about the way she covers. In contempt with her confidence, she was flat on that fuel. She would never admit it to Karen.

“And this is why you are bullied.  You need to be adventurous with your style.” Karen advised, a sensitive, empathy signaled designating the humanity to Jeanne. She was justifiable in this case. Jeanne should feel vital in the world especially when it comes to expressing herself and Karen desperately wanted her friend to be elated and upbeat at school. “I don’t mean change into a slut or anything. I mean…to be happy.”

Jeanne reflected about the judgment and guidance, conscious her characteristic, clothing wise was adolescent and immature. Her conventional staunch nature deflated as she gestured in accommodation. “I know. I just don’t know how. I don’t have a mother, Karen. Style has not been kind to me.” Her happiness was decorated with gifts from her father, his grin, his generosity. His everything gave her the power to function. Maybe this time around, she would endow herself with competence in this school structure.

“Then let me be your style guru. We can go to the mall today!” Karen beamed, inserting her arm on Jeanne’s shoulder in a cradle. Her morale and determination relieved the condemnation from her classmate and she knew this trademark would alleviate Jeanne as well.  Karen slung Jeanne’s bag over her personal shoulder, hastening the two towards the hallway to the doorways of the department and to lobby.

Jeanne choked on her oxygen, inadequate in the physical necessities to sprint. Her friend was fast, she was a member of the track and field team. Even so, she was an academic student, not a brazen one. Physical activity usually meant procrastinating and reading in gym. The gym teacher cares less for her and concedes for Jeanne to find leisure in this period.

“Okay I am going to call Tyrone to pick us up now.” Karen briefed, compelling the tiles on her iphone to holler for their third best friend. The elation in her voice as she communed on the phone, implied on an antecedent gathering. He returned, he would reconcile with them at the front of the school. She saluted gratitude in hand.

Jeanne quietly paused, resting before being dragged down the door, the stairs and into the car. She patrolled the janitors sterilizing the debris omitted by students of all years. There were two, one was concentrating on his roaring music and the second diligently worked at the food stains. Jeanne, then scanned the stair case in the center, the duplicating floors above and the scanty teachers walking left to right, right to left or up and down the stairs.

“Let’s go!”

Her psyche was released by a stubborn, steadfast best friend of hers, Karen. The sheer delight in a shopping journey enticed Karen. She tended to be more feminine in comparison to her and quite stunning to say the least. Jeanne speculated on their friendship at the beginning as Karen never questioned status quo and resorted to companionship more than misleading, phony friendships. This realization made Jeanne authentically smile.

Their frenzied sprint was met by the vintage car Tyrone inherited from his grandparents. He cherished the car otherwise and welcomed his friends into the vehicle. Tyrone had many characteristics and best friend was one of them. Both girls buckled their seat belts as Tyrone drove onto the main streets and to the route of the mall. “So how was your girls’ day?”

Karen interrupted, animated to reply since this was the day Jeanne had modern outfits.”We are going to help reform Jeanne into a Jeanne that can boost her confidence!” She beamed, thumbing her friend up at the backseat. Her naïve, youthful behavior, encouraged a boisterous chuckling from Jeanne and Tyrone. “What? It’s true!” She dismissed her nautical day for Jeanne since she earned the rightful spotlight for the present.

“Is Jeanne okay with that?” Tyrone inquired, distressed if his friend were to be emotionally and mentally deprived from the impudence of Karen. Of course, Karen meant well, but perception for sensitivity was a whole new ball game for her. Tyrone abided to drive, with an inquisitive, analytical glimpse. He did not want Jeanne to change if she had no heart for it.

Jeanne responded, genuinely. “Yes. Karen is right. If I want to boost my confidence, to be confident, I need to feel it and helping me is the way to go.” She tenderly expressed a sensation of pleasure in her interior. For the first time, Jeanne would focus on herself, more than the assessment of friends, classmates and her father. Her father wisely considered that Jeanne aimed in happiness more than her studies.

Tyrone pampered the top of her hair, pleased with the decision. “I just want you to be happy…” He browsed the mirror, regarding the contented smile on Karen’s face. Her friendship really bounded the bizarre trio. She was strange, crazy and fun. An abundance of what a true friend should be.

For Jeanne, her goal was set. She was going to make herself, happy. She never had that verdict, that boldness before. It was going to be interesting to evolve herself. Not change into a bitch or whore or a personality that does not belong to Jeanne. She was going to be her, a Jeanne secluded on an island, scared by sunlight. She will see the sun.

 

Tyrone parked at the curb of the mall, expecting the girls to depart from his car. His intentions to incorporate his being in this shopping brigade were inconvenient. Purely indicating a trip for clothing was a female framework and in his network it was too comical and stale. “How are you girls getting home?” He quizzed, firm if they had no transportation to their respectful homes.

“Karen you can stay over with me. I am sure dad will be okay with it.” Jeanne suggested, waiting for the offer to be applied or denied. Their sleepovers were welcomed by her father as he seemed to relish on her friendships. There were never many in her junior high life or even Elementary school. She savored her only female friend. Jeanne speculated whether Karen would ever get sick of her and then leave to Danielle Atwater’s faction.

Karen smiled, her slight dimples displayed to Jeanne and to the public. She was quite the refinement yet seldom administered her appearance to the public. Her alluring artistry was never her apparatus for attention or friendships. “Yes, yes!!!! We can do each others’ hair again!” Karen appreciated Jeanne’s hair the most as her hair was silky and soft to the touch. If only Jeanne educated herself in keeping the strands in their routine format.

“Okay, I am going to head out. I will see you guys tomorrow.” Tyrone waved, offsetting his car and waning around the corner, his taillights shining during his entire drive. Karen and Jeanne beckoned their farewells, walking into the dominant opening. Up to the escalators, through Macys’ and infiltrating the dimly overflowing congestion, Karen towed Jeanne into a considerable amount of fashionable shops, congruent in handling the economic funding as she was wealthy. Amazingly she was the most prosperous of Charleston yet wore clothes normal high school students wore. Karen extended her helping hands to Jeanne’s arms hauling her into more shops. Their bag intensified, elevating Jeanne’s wardrobe into an obese wardrobe.

“Woo, this is fun!” Karen giggled, squealing at the shoe merchandise in a specialized shop for footwear. Her boundless vitality and stamina overflowing into sparks of hyperactivity. Karen’s mind scattered into the various, assorted shops they curved into, aiding in the carriage for Jeanne.

Jeanne was concerned as Karen did not purchase any items from these shops. “Karen you haven’t bought anything for yourself…..” She initiated an uptight welling in her mind and heart for being selfish on Karen. Jeanne was petrified if these investments and her selfishness for being the center was embarrassing or depressing Karen. Her friend should not be wasting her money on her.

“Listen, you are my best friend. There are no questions for what I want to do.” Karen defended, peering at Jeanne in an utmost cultivated and cultured fashion. This was the first time Karen has established a procedure where selfishness transformed into selflessness. Her epitome was what a friend dreamed of. Karen enfolded Jeanne into her arms, grinning in her invigorating moods. “I want to see you smile, Jeanne. I haven’t seen that smile since our first year.”

A tear slide down Jeanne’s cheek, encircling her best friend, finally confessing her best friend would always be her best friend. Betrayal was not in Karen’s agenda and neither was hers. Years prior, loneliness was installed in her as girls associated with the words “ugly” and “boring”. Now a simple, personal friend meant more than a dozen. “Thank you Karen, for everything.”

Karen released Jeanne and seized her by the shoulders. “There is one thing you can do for me. Leave your hair down. We are going to a salon. It’s time for a new-do” She twiddled the hair with her fingers, the fine tips bewitched her. At least Jeanne had the natural glossy roots and tendrils. If not, Karen would be going through a hurricane and stepping into a volcano. This also left the question for Karen, in indicators why Jeanne’s father had curly hair. Maybe her mother had straight, nice hair.

In compliance, Jeanne trailed her best friends’ footsteps beaming once more. Her smile seemed stamped onto her skin. She never knew spending quality time with Karen would be enthralling as they spent their hours doing homework, studying or going for lunch. She remarked that Karen was a friend she never identified with until now.

Minor directions led by Karen took the two girls into a salon where hairstyles were vibrant and colorful. Chairs in a row, to a countertop and mirror in front of them and stacks of shampoos, conditioners and gels on a shelf at the corner fascinated Jeanne. Her product was just shampoo and she shared it with her father. This was going to be a revolutionary configuration for Jeanne as the hairstylist, Karen knows personally signaled for Jeanne to situate. Karen recommended a picture, which Jeanne consented. Thus began a splendid, different yet current experience. A wash, snipping with scissors and spraying took over the hour.

Jeanne’s hair was dyed into a darker tone of brown, transferring her eyes into a captivating seduction. She was not as beautiful as Karen but this conversion did grant a cute, lovely impression. A sense where her femininity was bursting into courage to face a world filled with tomorrows. Jeanne smiled at the mirror, her reflection snapping it. Her statuesque admiration for her endurance to change and the conviction of her best friend permitted this. “Thank you, Karen.”

Karen beamed, treasuring Jeanne in a snuggling embrace. “I can turn lesbian for you!” She sang rubbing her cheek onto the styled, long layered success. She bowed, taking Jeanne’s hands into hers as if she was a gentleman, depositing the limb on her elbow. She instantaneously paid the fortune for the haircut, and then commercialized Jeanne to the world. “Let’s eat….me hungry.” Karen clutched the fabric of her top, a known lamenting in the stomach meant starvation.

 

In the food court, the meals were burgers and fries, Karen’s stereotypical beloved food. Her sweetheart to the taste buds. Jeanne funded the meal, promising she owed Karen a lifetime supply of burgers, curly fries and hot dogs. Karen devoured the burger in enormous bites, salivating at the taste. As for Jeanne she snacked casually, worshipping and enjoying each chew that came.

“What do we have here?” A familiar, snide sniveling compliment came from an expected source. Danielle Atwater, directly unaccompanied was shoving the trash on her tray into the garbage. In her pristine, upscale, universal tycoon caliber, sanctioning her was predictable and superficial. She dissected Jeanne from head to lap, heaving at the sight.

Jeanne apprehensively doubted if this prudence was going to be an approachable outcome. Either wise, this alienating classmate, should not qualify to her standards. It never did. It was only the barbaric words aimed and inflicted on her that drained her poise. All in all, avoiding was her procedure.

“You still look ug….”

Karen slammed her hand onto the table, piercing into Danielle’s eyes, in a ferocious, animal state. This commenced a pretty ghastly, grim concentration on Danielle. Her fixed stare was so deadly, a poisonous vapor could have tainted their opposition into submission and make her ooze the venom out of her system, then back in again. “You will shut up and leave.” Her spirit animal could have been a wolf, tempered by prey. The snarls in her fangs would pounce on the victim, slashing the hunted trophy into resignation.

Her anxious tenor was severed as the electricity surging in the lights and the plurality of the sectors in the mall diminished. Shadows of roaming majorities and minorities baffled by the power outage but resuming to the exit, was suspended by the invigorating shrieks and screams. Those appalling, petrifying wails aroused the mall. A chainsaw, a grinding on segments of a body could be depicted. Bolting individuals ran like antelope in distinctive areas. Jeanne snagged Danielle under the table as Karen followed suit, to stash and camouflage from the intruder.

Jeanne shushed the rasping Danielle as tears sprinkled onto her palm. Her tears, she was afraid. The regular hushing inclined into a soothing clasp.  Her trivial, insecurity and rickety profile did not aid their dire situation. This situation was a murderer in the mall, a murderer prepared to slice and hack at her best friend, her worst enemy and herself. They were too young to perish at the hands of a maniac. 

“We need to go to the washroom, hide in there.” Karen breathed, muttering the allusion as this scheme may define their survival in this crooked crime. No matter how crooked the strategy was a token of continuity and durability meant gold to Karen and to Jeanne. Karen squinted at the gap of their table to the channel of the washroom. It was a risk. She flagged to Jeanne, crawling to the passage way, cleared for the washroom. She viewed the blackness and the shades of darkness in her movement, an encounter was formidable.

In contemplation, Jeanne was fearful, shaken to the foundation. She had to make it to the washroom with Danielle even if this concluded in death. At least she could salvage her mortal enemy. She took dwarf steps, eyes observant and intelligent to the rampaging lunatic lurking within the mall. Jeanne with her sensitive hearing determined this man or woman was at a greater distance. “Danielle, shush, okay? We are going to make it.”

In perplexity, Danielle obeyed tears flushing her cheeks into a tomato blush. Her clinging to Jeanne implied the arrogant, condescending Danielle Atwater was frozen in suspended animation over the screams, the grinding of the weapon to a human and being in captivity where federal reinforcements were fictional in this environment. For the first time, Danielle was human to Jeanne.

Their composed, abnormally mild footing was inattentive to the criminal. Sweat dripped down their foreheads and onto their cheeks while Karen kept watch, intensified the moment of cooperation. Jeanne sacrificially shoved Jeanne into Karen’s arms, ensuring the asylum of her two classmates. They galloped into the women’s washroom, a pool of blood drenched in the nearest stall. Danielle almost shrieked until Karen sealed her lips. Karen consoled Danielle, dragging her into the nearest stall.

The door fluctuated, affirming a deceased body inside. The females’ legs were spread wide, sitting on the floor, her skirt saturated in her own blood. Identification of the body could not be made but the poor girl agonized cruelly. “Jeanne, come on, we have to hide.” Jeanne heard Karen express faintly, so the perpetrator would not detect their location. Jeanne stashed in the following washroom, locking the door and stood on the toilets. The one treasured with Danielle and Karen performed the same tactics.

A quenched track by a fisherman’s boot could be detailed. Jeanne spilled into agitation as the maddening footsteps leeched with blood made sticky, gooey noises before them. Somehow he or she knew they were here. This was her comprehension and this achievement signified depletion more than a victory. He or she reached the destination, before her door and a primitive jolting on hers inundated further waterworks. These waterworks were in her eyes, her forehead, and her underarms. It was everywhere. Finally the forceful beatings on the door halted as the masked man in a ghoulish Halloween costume with a chainsaw came forward. Jeanne terrified slanted on the toilet, preparing for her final breaths of life to the dreams she had during childhood. Her father would miss her, so would Karen and the old man down the street. She sobbed, but studied the mask of her plausible murderer.

This ghoul, however did the opposite of his motive by cuddling her cheek with a bloodied leather glove. In a contorted presence he was reassuring her. Unknowingly this was horrid, more so than death. His nonsensical terminology was vague and wavering. He walked casually, his chainsaw over his shoulder and gory evidence was left behind, intentionally. He whistled, an anonymous tune, retiring to the exit and into the unknown.

Jeanne astonished, sustained in her posture, incapable of shifting or developing thought. Her ears rung profoundly as she scarcely commemorated how Karen came into her stall and Danielle crying near the sinks. Karen’s words were in anarchy as the stabilization of cognitive thinking could not fathom the dread seeping in. For once, Danielle and her friends did not intimidate her. It was the graze and the confrontation of that man. The next thing she knew was Karen offering her shoulders to which Jeanne ensnared.

“Please be okay.” Karen sniveled, her angst and despair written in her features. Jeanne has never seen her best friend cry but this time around, at this time and date, there were salty rivers. A crack not in their friendship but by the tear of this situation deteriorated the two mentally and emotionally. Karen clung to Jeanne in desperation and salvation.

Jeanne acknowledged, in confirmation for her pleading best friend. Ahead was Danielle, struggling to take stride in her walking while Karen alleviated in her endeavor. The door swung open by the breeze and she diagnosed the person. Elise Rivera, Danielle’s best friend, her tormentor and her classmate. Jeanne supervised the scene, concisely. Her head was decapitated, blood running onto the fashionable shirt and sweater. Elise’s arms were spread too with the question high above her body, stating “Who’s next?”. Jeanne knew her head was in the toilet. This was literally and not figuratively.

 

Jeanne perceived her back on the stretcher with surrounding RCMP for her traumatic shock. Her friend was delivered the same way, broking into a million pieces as she too anticipated Elise’s dreaded design in the women’s washroom. The medical team tested for her reliability to the murderer to the fanatic in their encounter. In her delusional detached reverie, a whimper, a groan and a wail came bawling out. She clenched the bedpost, shivering in despondency. “Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

A car advanced, flying through the protective dome surrounded by law enforcement. William Chapman in his misgiving, his heartache shot beyond the police and the RCMP, to evaluate his distraught daughter, advocating for him in desolation. William mitigated his daughter, pecking her forehead, the top of her hair, to her hands and her heart. He wanted to mourn for her abhorrence but knew that she needed her knight in shining armor to guard her from the nightmares, from the mental hell. “Daddy is here, shh, Jeanne. I’m here.”

Diagnosis, treatment to medication will not cure this night of horrors, nor compensate for the lives kidnapped and withered into the afterlife. A true fear struck the town as a mass murderer committed a heinous crime without redemption or guilt. His victims were not only those of the dead but the lives of those who knew or sought the crime with their own two eyes. Their ears will be blistered by the frightening shrills of human lives and their disconnecting flesh and bones. Those who suffered were Jeanne Chapman, Karen Wong and Danielle Atwater.