Wasn't he worth it? Shivering, she stares up at her reflection in the mirror. Everywhere – in every surface – she sees him. In the periphery of her vision he ghosts away, forever moving, playing, teasing her conscience. As she pointedly watches her tears stream from her reddened eyes, she inhales shakily. Did he deserve that? Questioning herself once more, she tears her eyes away from her pallid image.
'Down the hall and to the left, you'll find the clue that'll bring the next.'
How could I... She clamps down on that thought, her mind blocking the memory in a futile attempt at preservation of her sanity. Ignoring the spectre that looms ever closer, she grabs her perfume bottle, and her shirt. Liberally spraying her heated neck, she readies herself for the evening ahead. Glancing back at her image, the woman pushes her arms through the sleeve-holes of the shirt, and silently buttons it closed across her chest. Her fingers fumble, her nerves shot.
'Look inside the rabbit's chest, in that box is where you'll rest.'
Shaking her head to relieve the memory, she frowns. Instead of grabbing the rest of her clothes from the surface, she turns and stares across the hall at the painting. That painting always scared her. He had known that, which is why she had always resented him that little bit. Why there? she silently questioned him for the millionth time.
'Didn't I say you'd take a rest? Take a chance, you'll never guess...'
She had rummaged through that chest for the second part to that clue, thoroughly, but had failed to find it. It isn't until now that she remembers how she came to acquire it. She hadn't thought immediately to check the actual chest of the rabbit adorning the box – but after that gem of a notion came to her, she had excitedly torn open the cavity to find the missing piece. Shuddering now, she keeps her eyes trained on the pestilent frame opposite.
'Well done, my darling, Kailee, bless... Look up now, and smile for the dancing Jest'
The events that followed the discovery of that clue she tries to block out – to no avail, sadly – and will never disclose to anyone. Not the closest of friends will know that secret – no, not the most perceptive of men. She still can't believe that he'd hung that there – he'd known that it frightened her. Surely this was just further proof of how inattentive he was? Further proof that he had deserved everything he had gotten? Hadn't he? Hadn't he!?
'If you look beneath the roof, you'll find a girl – cool, aloof.
Inside the room, she sits and rocks, staring at the broken box.
Upon the bed, the girly rests, fingers twitching for blood - yes.
Inside the girly's pretty head, blue eyes stare open from the bed.
Above the broken box there hangs, a broken painting------'
The note is stapled to the wooden door of the building. He had been well prepared – oh yes. It was a shame she had ruined the painting though; it had always been one of his favourites. Oh well, no matter. It wasn't as though he needed it now. The silly little girly had done everything he had planned for, and more.
Still... Neither the rabbit's chest-box, nor the painting, really deserved that. Unlike himself.
Stumble!