Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  Corby, who had heard way too many confessions lately, who just killed the boy she loved, wasn’t touched by it. She just sat and looked at the blood on the floor. He thought that blood would bind them forever.

  Jane moved to her.

  “Did you love him?” she asked.

  Corby looked at the girl. Now she wanted to kill her. For this question, for this recognition, for this unnecessary sympathy.

  “I understand, it’s difficult for you now,” Jane continued. “This jewelry? They look like pieces that Sylvia and Vera used to have.”

  Corby slowly removed the pendant and earrings and handed them to Jane. Her head ached, but she didn’t hear the voice.

  “Give them to their parents. I didn’t know. He gave them to me and didn’t say where he got them. I didn’t ask.”

  “I understand.” Jane took the jewelry, examined them on her palm. “Poor girls,” she began to cry again.

  Corby lowered her head. She could hear sirens in the distance and thought about her parents and what they would say. Her father, who didn’t eat meat and her mother, who was afraid to let Corby go out of the house because she could become the victim of a maniac.

  “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Corby didn’t hate her. She just wanted Jane to disappear forever from her life.

  Sirens stopped nearby. Corby heard approaching footsteps. She didn’t care.

  CHAPTER 45

  Three months later, when Corby came home from visiting her grandparents in Florida, where she was recovering after the ordeal, her dad called on her cell phone.

  Corby didn’t expect his call. She stayed in bed and read a book. She didn’t want to read, didn’t want to watch TV, didn’t want to meet new friends, but she couldn’t just sit and look out the window. She was free, it was all over. She had to spend a short time in jail, only a few hours before her parents paid bail and took her home, so later she could appear in court. During this time, she was asked a million questions, again, and again, and again. She saw the detectives every day, but her story had never changed. She probably was ready for it even before everything happened. She was ready for it subconsciously. She became friends with Jacob and he told her that he had killed two girls from her school a short time before kidnapping Jane. He killed them because they hurt her and he took revenge for her, and for his mother, who was bullied in childhood. He gave Corby the jewelry before he confessed, saying that he had bought them for her. She didn’t know anything and didn’t suspect. She didn’t notice the jewelry on the girls in school because she had never paid attention to the jewelry when they harassed her and it was the only way they communicated. No, she didn’t provoke him to murder them. She would never do that. Their texting supported her words. Everything she had said before about the girls and what they told her about Jacob was true. He told her that he was going to kill Jane, but she didn’t believe him and when she started to believe, she tried to stop him. He said that they would be like Bonnie and Clyde and she didn’t even know who they were. She had no idea where he stored their bodies. She hoped that he would change his mind about killing Jane. She was afraid of him.

  Jane fulfilled her promise and said that Jacob was going to kill her. Corby wanted to take the knife, they had a fight, and she killed him. She was released the same day. Corby didn’t even remember how her parents reacted to the whole situation. She was inside her head, in the company of the voices. Jacob now joined them. She didn’t remember any of what happened in the courtroom, automatically responding to the same questions.

  Her father and mother confirmed that recently their daughter had changed, lost weight, behaved inappropriately at times, but now everything made sense. There was only one thing they didn’t understand. Why didn’t she say anything to them?

  Corby thought about removing the bodies from the shop, but she didn’t go to visit them and even stopped thinking about them until her Dad called.

  “Corby,” he said.

  And she immediately closed the book. There was something in her father’s voice that commanded it and she sat up. His voice was quieter than usual and there was a tone that caused goose bumps to run down her body.

  “What happened, Dad?”

  “I ... I haven’t told you because I didn’t want to put more anxiety in your head. I want to sell the shop.”

  The book fell from Corby’s hands.

  “I found a buyer and I ...”

  His voice was gone. Corby was silent.

  “I ...” She heard him again. “I wanted to check everything before the showing ... I thought I had gone crazy. I thought I was hallucinating ... I wanted to go home and talk to you, but I can’t now. There is so much to clean, Corby. I need you to come here.”

  Corby put the silent phone on the bed and sat there for some time without moving. Dad said he thought the FBI was listening to their conversations to find out more details. He hated them all for dragging his innocent daughter through this process. He probably forgot about it when he called and then remembered.

  Corby was in no hurry when she got out of bed and dressed. She braided her hair and looked in the mirror at her skinny reflection. She wanted to lose weight, but now she didn’t care. She didn’t care when boys and men looked at her in that certain way. She didn’t care about their compliments. Especially she didn’t care now.

  She came down from the second floor, went out into the sun-warmed air, and walked to the shop. Probably for the last time. She knew this was the last time.

  There was a sign on the door that said CLOSED. She had never seen this sign at two o’clock in the afternoon on Tuesday. Customers stopped, gave puzzled shrugs, and kept going. Corby opened the door with her key and entered the cool room, which was like a second home for her. Beige walls, black and white tiled floors, wooden tables and fake flowers, pictures of her dad and his ancestors with famous people visiting the shop. Last time.

  Dad came out of the back room and stopped, staring at her. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. His arms hung alongside his body. His green shirt hung outside of his trousers, the top buttons were undone, sweat stood out on his forehead despite the working air conditioner.

  “Will you tell Mom?” she asked.

  Dad looked pale. He went to one of the tables and sat on the red chair covered with artificial leather.

  “Did you help him?”

  “I didn’t let him kill Jane, Dad,” Corby said. “I didn’t want another body.”

  “In my store,” Dad whispered. “In my refrigerator.”

  “We are all meat,” Corby said.

  Dad gazed at her, then got up and went out of the room.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Don’t let anyone in.”

  Corby looked at the back of her Buddhist dad, who wanted harmony and fortitude all around the world, and wiped a single tear.

  Then she stood near the door and listened to movements, knocks, and banging. Then there were ax blows and Dad’s tears. Then a chopper worked loudly.

  They had often thrown away stale meat in the trash. Meat was just meat.

  EPILOGUE

  At twenty-seven, Corby Dion was a beautiful, successful woman with a bright future and a dark past. She was the creator of the technological company “CDion” and the heroine who saved lives. Only no one mentioned the last part, and none of her new friends knew that she took her mother’s maiden name when she was twenty-one. Two years later, her story began to be forgotten and it was only shown in various programs on crime channels. Corby was always portrayed by a heavy blonde actress who didn’t look like her at all. She even watched one of those stories with one of her friends. Her friend munched on popcorn and argued that if that girl didn’t eat so much, she wouldn’t be so fat and no one would bully her. But fatty did good at the end. She also got a cool guy who killed for her. The guy obviously was a pervert because he fell in love with a box of meat.

  Corby didn’t like to sit in one place. She moved from city to city each year, searching for
a perfect place to live.

  This time she was in San Francisco, in an apartment on the twenty-fourth floor, looking at the city below through the panoramic windows. She liked big cities. You could get lost in them and no one cared about you no matter how successful or beautiful you were.

  Corby was wearing a new dress to go to a party where she was invited by a new friend. She had many friends in each city, they were not always good and some even betrayed her. The world was full of good people, but there was also plenty of evil. Jacob was right, people didn’t change. Those who terrorized others as kids, continued to do the same as adults. Like the girl who liked popcorn and crime shows. She was one of them in spite of her donations to pet shelters, and she even had dog and cat charms on her bracelet. She also looked like Jane.

  Corby went to the closet, found a box on a shelf, and glanced inside. There were four pieces of jewelry. Two pairs of silver earrings, one ring with a ruby, and one dog charm. Four cities, four pieces of jewelry, a lot of memories. Corby smiled and returned the box to the shelf.

  “I always knew you, Corby Mackentile,” Jacob said. “I’m proud of you. We are connected forever.”

  “We are,” Corby said.

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  Next, you will find bonus chapters from a psychological thriller “The Hairdresser” and a full list of Natasha A. Salnikova’s books. Happy reading!

  Some have won a wild delight,

  By daring wilder sorrow;

  Could I gain thy love to-night,

  I'd hazard death to-morrow.

  From the poem: "Passion" by Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855)

  PROLOGUE

  George couldn’t take it anymore. He looked out the window in the morning and saw them together again. Not just together. That son of a bitch pawed her until they disappeared behind the house. Now what? Would she tell him again that they were just friends? Would she tell him to leave her alone? Leave her alone? What did it even mean? Whore. She was such a whore!

  George grabbed Sara’s picture from the table and ripped it to bits. About a dozen pieces and hundreds of photos. Tear all of them, destroy them! Get rid of her; wipe her from his memory, from his life!

  “Are you okay, Georgy?” His mother’s voice wafted to him as if from a fog. A dense fog that was swallowing his mind like a huge, black snake.

  “What do you want, Mother?” George threw the remains of the picture in the trash can and wiped his hands on his shirt as if they were covered in dirt.

  “I just worry about you.” The elderly woman stopped at the door of his room like a timid girl who had been called to the principal’s office.

  Her light, long hair was loose and threw shadows on her face. Dark circles under her eyes made her look older, her green dress made her skin look sallow. All of these things irritated George today. The sallowness, the dark circles, and that stupid dress.

  “How old is that dress?” he asked.

  Mother didn’t expect that question. Her eyes widened, she shrugged.

  “I don’t know. It’s old.”

  “Throw it away.”

  “Throw it away? Why? I love this dress.”

  “Your love can ruin your life.”

  “It doesn’t ruin my life. How is that even possible, George? It’s so comfortable.”

  “Mother, get rid of it!”

  “What’s happening to you, Son?”

  “Get rid of it, get rid of it, getridofit!”

  George jumped toward his mother and raised his hand, but stopped halfway when his mother gasped and pulled her head into her shoulders like a turtle into a shell.

  He took a deep breath, then another one and let his hand drop down without touching his mother’s face. Was she his mother? In that second of madness, he didn’t see her, he saw that bitch. That traitor who ruined his life.

  “Sorry.” George turned away and walked to the window. He should stay here and watch. She came back two hours ago, but she should leave again soon. This time he wouldn’t miss the chance if she left the house alone. All he had with her now—were chances. These moments of happiness that he stole from destiny. Only, there was poison under a bright façade. Poison that she hid under a smile or a meaningless word.

  “Georgy,” Mother said carefully.

  She didn’t leave. Why? What else did she want from him?

  “Georgy, Sara asked me to talk to you.”

  Her name pricked his heart with a poison thorn. George twisted toward his mother and she took a step back. Her chest rose and fell from heavy, rapid breathing. Her hands picked at the buttons on her dress.

  “What?” George swallowed. His mouth became dry, as if it had been wiped with a napkin, his tongue stuck to his palate. He licked his lips. “What did she tell you?”

  “Georgy, I just worry about you. You are my only son. My baby. I love you more than anything. I’m afraid you are going to do something to yourself.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Mother.”

  “You’ve always been an emotional, sensitive boy. I talked to Sara about it. I told her how much you love her.”

  “What did she tell you?” George roared.

  “Georgy, don’t be upset. There’re plenty of nice girls around. You’re such a handsome young man. So talented.”

  “You don’t understand. What did she tell you?”

  “She asked me to tell you…” Mother fell silent. She covered her mouth with her hand as if she were going to cry. Or laugh. She wouldn’t dare to laugh at him. No one would.

  “Tell me Mother.”

  “She wants you to stop calling her or waiting for her by her house. Georgy, you’ll find someone better. Forget about Sara.”

  “What else did she say?” he yelled.

  “She loves that guy. She said that if you keep bothering her she will have to tell him everything and ask him to have a conversation with you. She said you don’t let her breathe.”

  George felt as if somebody threw a bucket of hot water on him. He closed his eyes and held his breath.

  “Georgy, it’s your first love. Your childhood love. It’ll go away.”

  “Mother,” George forced the words out. “Leave. Leave before it’s too late.”

  He didn’t hear a single sound, but when he opened his eyes, his mother was gone.

  George looked out the window again and it was the right time. She exited her house. Her light dress fluttered in the wind, her hair looked golden in the evening sun. How he loved that hair that smelled like fresh lilies. Her soft, smooth, glowing hair. It seemed as though her hair wasn’t a part of her, but it lived its own separate life, in its own universe. It lured, attracted, charmed.

  Her heels clicked over the pathway. This sound deafened him entering through his half-opened window.

  He didn’t let her breathe? He didn’t let her breathe. He wanted her to tell him that, herself. Today or never. He wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore.

  ***

  Will walked his dog as he had always done over the past seven years. It was late, but he couldn’t spend a lot of time in the heat in his sixties, so eight o’clock was perfect. The breeze from the ocean was nice, the noise from the road wasn’t overpowering.

  Spot ran ahead of him, sniffing the grass, and leaving his scent on every pole or bench. Damn dog. His wife told him to get a girl, but he wanted a male dog. His life was bad enough already with women. He had a wife, two daughters, and a female cat. He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

  Suddenly, Spot stopped, interrupting his owner’s thoughts, he seemed to be listening to something, sniffing the air and then he dashed into the bushes, barking loudly.

  “Spot! Spot! You son of a bitch! Where are you going? Come here, now! Bad dog!”

  The dog didn’t listen to the commands this time. He looked at his owner and yapped.
r />   “What’s there? A cat or something? I should have gotten a female dog, as my wife said. Come here, I’m telling you!”

  The dog barked at him and then growled.

  “That’s it! Come here! No treats! No treats for you! Bad dog!”

  Will went off the asphalt path, twisting the leash in his hand, and walked across the grass to his dog. The ground was still wet after a short rain, and dirt stuck to his white sneakers. His wife would lecture him again. Where did he go? Why were his shoes so dirty?

  “What is there? Spot, you son of a gun!”

  Before reaching the dog, Will saw a shoe. It was a woman’s shoe with a high heel. His wife liked this kind of shoe when she was young, but his daughters didn’t wear them, ever. They wore Keds and sneakers like teenagers or boys.

  “So what? A shoe. You don’t want that. Come here, boy. That’s enough.”

  Will slapped on his leg, prepared the leash, and approached the dog.

  “Stop your yapping. Stop it! So, it’s a shoe …”

  The words stuck in his throat. Now he saw that the shoe was attached to a leg. It was a nice, long leg, covered with a white skirt.

  Will fastened the leash on the dog’s neck, observing the still leg that was peeking out from under the bush. The streetlight was bright and he could see all the details.

  Will waited a few minutes before he gained enough courage to move the branches. Maybe he should just leave or call the police? What was he going to see there? It was a shoe, and a leg, and a skirt for that matter. The woman was probably drunk. Some of them drank like fish and then slept under the bushes like trash. It was disgusting.

  Will sighed, imagining his wife scolding him. She would tell him that he always did what he was not supposed to do. Getting into some bushes, dirtying his shoes, running around with drunk women. He sighed again and moved the branches away.