B-Sides and Rarities: A Collection of Unfinished Madness

by K. Webster

  I see the man make it to the other end of the huge yard and cross over onto my neighbor’s property. He is running toward the detached garage that holds a bunch of vintage, expensive cars. My neighbor is a famous late night talk show host that collects cars. Well, he was my neighbor. I’m not sure if he’s even still there or not. I keep pumping my legs as I make my way halfway across the yard. He’s surveying the door with Princess madly circling his feet. As I run, I watch him use his knife to jimmy the lock and is eventually able to kick the door in.

  My lungs burn and my stomach aches with each step and I feel myself slowing. When I steal a glance behind me, panic fills every square inch of my being.

  Them.

  Instead of being just the two that entered my bedroom, I see at least ten or fifteen of them spill out of the house.

  Shit!

  My feet make purchase on the long sidewalk that leads to the garage, which makes rolling my suitcase a whole hell of a lot easier.

  I’m trying to keep my sights on the garage door the man managed to get open for us as I get closer and closer.

  He steps back in the doorway to face me and his entire body tenses.

  “Fuck woman, lose the suitcase. It’s making too much fucking noise,” he hisses loudly at me.

  The suitcase wheels are making quite the racket as I run, but I’m almost there and I cannot let go of it. It has things I need inside.

  “No, there’s food in it,” I snap back, not so quietly.

  This time when I sneak another glance back, my heart stops. Thankfully, my feet do not. Every single one of those things is running toward me, full speed ahead, and they’re gaining on me.

  As I get close to the doorway, I sling my heavy-ass suitcase at the man. Seamlessly, he catches it and tosses it inside. When I reach the doorway, he shoves me inside and immediately slams the door behind him. My chest heaves as I watch him pick up a long heavy pipe and slide it through the metal handle of the door. Almost as soon as he positions the pipe, something heavy slams against it.

  “What the hell are those things?” I squeal in panic.

  He grunts in annoyance, but doesn’t answer me. Princess yaps fiercely at the door as the pounding continues.

  “Look for windows or other doors. We need to secure ourselves,” he orders in a hushed breath.

  Frantically, I search the dark space, only seeing the path his flashlight lights up as he skims it along the walls.

  ABOUT THIS STORY:

  Swallow all the pills they give you.

  Attend every counseling session they tell you to go to.

  Smile and remain friendly.

  And eventually they’ll let you out of the mental institution.

  Sometimes murder can be forgiven…you just have to have a little faith.

  Skip to Track 8

  Prologue

  I snapped.

  That’s what they tell me anyway. Honestly, I can’t remember. The psychiatrists say I blocked out what my mind was too immature to handle. I had protected myself and my sister Grace but had to do something so terrible in the process. My mind cannot and will not allow me to recall those events. All I know is that on the twenty-second day of November, seven years ago, I murdered my neighbor. I was nearly eighteen and looking forward to graduating high school but for some reason, murder was on the agenda for that day.

  My neighbor’s kid was away at college and I had murdered him.

  Why? I have no fucking clue.

  Grace, only fourteen at the time, had escaped. All I know is I was protecting her from him. And while I went full on psycho on our neighbor with one of his kitchen knives, Grace had run off to call the police. My parents and my sister found me covered in our dead neighbor’s blood. And he was dead.

  I wasn’t charged for murder, though. In fact, they let me off scot-free. Apparently, Grace’s testimony was enough, although I can’t remember what it was she’d said.

  My parents, though, lost trust in me. They didn’t feel I was mentally stable. When they committed me to an institution, I was confused. Scared. And later, angry. But, I persevered.

  I went to every session.

  Followed every rule.

  Took every pill.

  I’m healed they say. From what, I’m not sure. After intense psychotic evaluation, my doctor doesn’t feel it is in my best interest to keep me here any longer. But after seven years, it feels like home. I’m friends with all the patients—who doesn’t love a cute blonde that gives everyone candy. All the nurses love me, especially when I help keep the peace amongst the not-as-stable patients. And the doctor’s tell me I’m out of place here. In a building full of nuts, I’d say that’s a good thing.

  But, as I stare out the window while I fold the last of my clothes, I feel a twinge of unease. Can I do this? Can I manage a life where I’m not told what to do every hour of every day? Where will I go?

  Thoughts of Grace enter my mind and I’m tempted to reach out to her. But I won’t. My parents made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t allowed to see me. I was poisoning her just like I had poisoned the staff here at the institution. Just like I poisoned the judge and the cops. Apparently, my angelic, sweet demeanor was only a façade for the demon that lived within. I know this because their letters told me so. Grace lived peacefully with her fiancé in Miami and if, or when, I was ever to get out, I was to leave her and them alone.

  I should cry. My life is sad really, but I won’t. I can’t. Something is lacking in that part of the brain. Honestly, it’s probably locked up tight with whatever happened that night.

  “You ready to knock ‘em dead, Faith?” a voice asks me, breaking me from my thoughts.

  Plastering on a beautiful smile, I nod. “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter One

  Faith

  Two years later

  I can see my reflection in the sliding glass door that overlooks the beach. Long blonde hair hangs in front of me as the man fucks me from behind. My full tits bounce wildly while the older man grunts and releases his orgasm. I try not to roll my eyes. Instead, I grin at my reflection.

  I’m Faith Sorensen. Whore. High paid whore of course.

  After I’d left the institution all those years ago, I’d found out I hated working at the diner having to watch those happy families giggling and smiling. My family was gone. I had a sister that was forbidden by my own parents to speak to me because I murdered a man for trying to hurt her. So, I sought out what I’d wanted to do.

  I learned early on in the institution, I loved to fuck. That was a given. A few orderlies would give me anything, aside from my freedom, just to get inside of my panties. I gave them my pussy and they brought me whatever I wanted. It was fun and it worked.

  “Baby, your cunt is so tight,” the man, I already forgot his name, murmurs behind me as he slides out of me. I stifle a yawn and turn on my charm.

  “Thanks, sugar bear. You fuck like a stallion.”

  He chuckles all the way to the bathroom, and I roll off the bed to hunt for my clothes. With each paid fuck, I make my way further up the food chain. This man happens to own the hotel we’re fucking in. I’d say I’ve done well for myself.

  I locate my red dress and begin sliding it up my thighs when he reappears.

  “Leaving so soon, baby doll?” he questions. His dick is limp but he looks like he wants to cuddle or something. That costs a whole lot extra.

  “It’s getting late. I have to get back home,” I lie as I step into my black heels.

  He looks embarrassed as he mutters his next words. “You could always spend the night.”

  Here’s the thing. I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I don’t want a family. Hell, I don’t even want to have fun. I just want my money and I want the beach. What I do gives me both of those and I’m happy.

  “Honey, you already paid five grand for our time. Overnight is another five grand.”

  ABOUT THIS STORY:

  Cora Bowden has finally become of age, making her eligible for the pr
estigious and most talked about marriage market in all the world.

  The London Season.

  After a long journey from the countryside with her family, Cora is eager to start a new life and it is her hope, in order to make her father proud, that she’ll be matched with a husband who will thrust her family into a higher social status.

  Her father wants her to marry a Claxton.

  But what happens when Cora meets Emmett with his brooding personality and handsome smile? Will she be deterred from her goal to land the successful Mr. Claxton as her husband?

  And if she follows her heart instead of her father’s wishes, will her lapse in judgment cost her everything?

  Skip to Track 9

  Chapter One

  A bead of perspiration trickles between the blades of my shoulders and rolls down my back, further dampening the back of my dress. Despite how uncomfortable I am in the stifling hot coach, I refrain from complaining as my excitement wins over instead. My posture is stiff as we bounce along the road toward our destination but my smile remains affixed, matching that of my mother’s.

  Mother is eloquent, beautiful, and wise beyond her years. She’s a family woman, but isn’t fearful to speak her piece to my father should ever they disagree. Any girl should aspire to become half the woman as she. I know I certainly hope to be.

  A flutter of moths dance in my belly as we near the city. My whalebone corset cuts into my ribs, laboring my breathing and I attempt to calm my worries with slow shallow breaths. No matter how many years a woman has been wearing the constricting clothing, she never gets used to it. But, knowing my future will be changing soon, I suck in a sharp intake of stifling hot air and then swallow down the notion that I won’t be getting out of it any time soon. It is my hope that I shall soon be a woman of high society betrothed to one of London’s finest.

  This is the day everyone in the Bowden family has been awaiting for the past two years. A day that begins as a series of communal events that could further my family’s social and economic status in our country. This pivotal day happens to be on an unusually warm May morning, but I won’t allow the heat to dampen our plans of my turning the heads of every eligible bachelor in the London expanse in my direction.

  Father and Mother have groomed me since upon my sixteenth birthday for this day. Two years of learning etiquette fitting of a woman of a higher social class than our family has come from. Two long years of learning to dance, speaking new languages, and rehearsing for the most important time of a young woman’s life.

  The London Season.

  My parents, twin brothers, who are near their tenth birthday, and myself having turned eighteen only two months prior, are all eagerly awaiting our arrival by coach to the Mayfair square in Grosvenor.

  I glance up at my mother again to find her gazing at me with a proud, loving stare that warms me even more so than this suffocating space. She met my father less than twenty years ago during The London Season. It was love at first sight for the two of them and I foolishly crave for something similar.

  Even though I know love at first sight is possible, I’m not holding my breath for that belief. My Aunt Etta, just a fortnight ago, squashed all fantastical ideas that danced around in my head into the dust when she spoke of the truth of The Season. Of how she was thrust into a loveless marriage with my uncle because it was her father, my grandfather’s, ultimate decision to whom she married. She fondly told me of another man that struck her fancy but she wasn’t allowed to marry him, as he wasn’t as wealthy as my uncle.

  The thought sickens me, but nonetheless I hold my chin high and attempt to make the best of the situation. Soon, it is my hope, that I’ll marry and begin a family of my own. If I don’t enter into The Season looking for love, then I can simply force myself to love the man who chooses me or that my father chooses for me. Aunt Etta made the mistake of falling for someone before marriage and not after. I shall go about this with a wiser head upon my shoulders.

  Mother always says I’m a flower that sways in whichever direction the wind blows and still remains upright. And this new stage in my life will be no different. I shall take this too with an open mind and a patient spirit.

  “Cora, darling,” my father’s deep voice interrupts me from my inner thoughts. “Upon arrival at the Duke of Chamberlain’s Grosvenor manor, you and I shall take a walk to the Mayfair square there in town. Tomorrow is the presentation at court and it would please me if you were viewed upon as a confident, able woman who is comfortable in any situation. Many of the young women will be nervous and frightened. We need for you to shine amongst the rest, dear. If we inspect the lay of the court beforehand, it’ll only serve to make you feel more at ease upon your appearance tomorrow.”

  “Of course, Father. Thank you.”

  He smiles at me. “I’ve heard that Hugh Claxton’s eldest son will be at the event. He’s completed his studies at Oxford several years back and has been an apprentice to his father’s legacy of coal factories ever since. While it can’t be certain how many factories they own here in England, rumor holds that it’s upwards of ten or twenty. The Claxton boy would make for a fine husband—a husband I could be proud for my daughter to marry.”

  I swallow and smile briefly at my father. “Is it that you would prefer I focus my endeavors on landing Mr. Claxton, Father?”

  My eyes flit over to Mother and her lips purse together in what would appear to be frustration. It was always her wish that I go to the coming out ceremonies and become selected by a wealthy businessman. Father never spoke of an agenda prior to now. Despite her silence, I sense her disproval of his insinuation.

  He leans over and takes my gloved hand with his. My eyes scan his weathered face that’s dusted with white hair that’s been shaved into a neat, distinguished line along his jawbone. While we may not be as affluent as that of the Claxton’s, Father has provided us a fairly lavish lifestyle, being that he’s merely a cotton farmer. We have our own servants who work the land, while my father takes on the role of a businessman and negotiates trade deals with textile factory owners. This, perhaps, is another reason why he’s suggesting I make myself available to Mr. Claxton. Future business that could line my father’s pockets could result from a marriage between that of myself and the son of the factory tycoon.

  “Dearest Cora,” Father says with a gentle smile, his blue eyes are the exact shade of sky blue on a warm summer day and mine match almost precisely. “You must take measures to catch the eye of the young man, for upon my research, he’ll be the most wealthy and prominent lad at the Grosvenor coming out ceremony. Because of how beautiful and intelligent you are, you shall no doubt interest every young man there. However, it is my wish that you play off their advances and hold out for Mr. Claxton.”

  Frowning, I drop my gaze to his hand holding mine. “Father, what shall happen if he never calls upon me?”

  The notion of turning down every man in an effort to wait for one seems risky, for if he never calls, I could go on to be a husbandless spinster.

  “I vow, Cora darling, to escort you to these events and handle all of the business dealings. Because of your beauty, I have no doubts that while I make arrangements with his father, that you will entice the young man. If we remain a steadfast team of two, we’ll no doubt further this family’s social status and land the most sought after bachelor in all of England.”

  The pressure to land one particular young man in a sea of eligible ones is a daunting task. But Father squeezes my hand and with it, he pushes away my insecurities. Father is confident in me, therefore, I am confident in myself.

  When the coach slows to a halt, my younger brothers become restless and begin to quarrel with one other. My father pins them with a stern glare and they both settle. The door to the coach is suddenly opened and with it, refreshing cooler air swirls in to greet us. I exhale the breath I’d been holding and take the hand of the driver. He assists me in exiting our ride and the moment my new shoes touch the gravel, a sense of excitement washes over me
.

  I’m really here.

  The London Season is upon me.

  It’s finally my time to shine and begin a family of my own.

  Glancing back toward the coach, I smile to see my father clutch onto my mother’s hand after they climb out. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to her cheek. My mother an older copy of myself, has always been beautiful with her thick, dark, wavy hair and plump lips, and when she flashes him a coy smile, her beauty increases tenfold. It is my innermost craving to have what my parents have. She loves him unconditionally and supports him in all of his endeavors.

  The sun beats down on my face and I lift my chin, basking in the warmth. I’ve only been in this town for a mere couple of minutes and I already feel at home. Perhaps I’ll fall in love with the Claxton man. Perhaps one day we’ll prepare our own daughter for The London Season. Fantasies of a loving, comical, and hardworking husband, much like my father, to share my life with swirl around me and a pleased smile graces my lips.

  “Cora, sweetheart,” Father says, sliding a palm to the small of my back. “Let’s take our walk to where they’re holding court tomorrow. Mr. Riddington, the Duke’s butler, is escorting your mother and brothers to our accommodations while in town. Your mother shall unpack our things while we explore.”

  I nod and drink in the busy landscape. Horse drawn carriages line the dirty streets and storefronts bustle with people laughing and transacting business. Despite being in the city, the town has a welcoming feel to it that reminds me of our countryside home. Father and I stroll down the street toward the open area that they must use for frequent town meetings. It is outdoors and has a stage complete with a podium and is surrounded by benches. A few chairs, including two fancier carved wooden ones, remain on the stage for that of the parliament. Father tells me that sometimes the Queen indulges herself at these events. The idea of meeting her thrills me.