Shifters
C H A P T E R O N E
~ C H A P T E R O N E ~
Alfie
I look down at my hands, watching them as they tremble and quiver. The crimson blood that coats them has began to crisp and it makes me feel sick to the core. And they ache like my heart does.
Morgan would have encouraged me to use some kind of metaphor to excite a thought like that. Morgan with her A* grades. Morgan who I pretty much killed and then threw over the side of the bridge that I’m standing on.
I turn around and lean heavily on the rails, staring into the swirling depths below. Morgan’s already gone: I can’t see her form anywhere. She hit the water and sunk quicker than I thought - I expected to at least see a floating form, but there's nothing.
The black water reminds me of tar, almost like a passage to hell. I don’t want her to go to hell. She deserves heaven – I deserve hell.
Of course, she’s not dead yet. Just unconscious and a little drugged. Well – a lot drugged.
By the time she awakens her body will be so out of sync that she’ll either go into a coma and die or she’ll panic and drown.
Hopefully a tragic, grotesque death will buy her a ticket to a better afterlife. That’s what she should at least be allowed – something better than this world.
I turn from the water and face the car. The front doors are open all the way, hanging there quite lifelessly.
I’d decided to be classy and not shove my sister into the trunk of the car. Instead, I’d sat her in the passenger seat and held her hand. I’d stuffed a towel behind her in case blood dripped onto the seat. The once shockingly bright plastic seat cover is now smeared with violent blood.
I get into the car, placing my hands on the steering wheel. I can’t help but clench it tight as I attempt to get my hands to stop trembling. I quickly close the door and start it up.
I pass a shop and pull in out front and nip in to buy sponges, stain removers and a packet of fags.
The cashier doesn’t notice my bloody hands.
She scans the item whilst staring sleepily at some bloke stacking cereal boxes on another isle, yapping to someone on the phone is sharp voice.
She holds her hand out and I slide a ten pound note into her hand, half hoping she’ll see the blood, grow suspicious and call the police.
She doesn’t look though – not even when I ask for change. I sigh a little as I turn from her. From relief? Disappointment? I’m not entirely sure.
The ride home is long and quiet; I can feel the silence pounding in my head, pressing against my skull. I’m tempted to put on music, just to make it stop but I don’t, like it would be a sign of disrespect to Morgan.
Pulling down my road, I slow right down, eyeing the streets. No one’s out, who would be at this time? The only people who are out at four o’clock in the morning are dog walkers, joggers... and filthy murderers such as myself. I pull into my drive, thankful that my parents are out this weekend.
Total silence within the car. I feel claustrophobic, as if I’m having difficulty breathing. With fumbling hands I reach towards the packet of fags sitting on the passenger seat. Lighting one and taking a draw is sweet relief and I exhale slowly. I balance it on car ashtray as I pick up the stain remover and sponges... and then I begin to scrub.
Squirt, squirt. Rub, rub. Squirt, squirt. Rub, rub.
Minutes pass in a blur. When I next look at my watch I’ve spent nineteen minutes scrubbing and scrubbing. Sweat beads my upper lip with effort. I let out a sigh. Despite the heavy smell of bleach, I can still smell blood.
Some small part of me tells me that I’m crazy, that there’s no smell of blood left, it’s all been wiped clean, it’s gone. The other larger part, tells me that the smell is still there and that it’s going to remain there for the rest of my life. It’ll never leave me.
I finish my fag and then have another. The guilt inside of me attempts to force its way through me but I breathe deeply, trying to remain calm.
I shake my head furiously hard to clear it of all unwanted images and thoughts. I open the door and step out, attempting to adapt my usual half-smirk. I have to be normal, normal for my parents, normal so they won’t suspect anything.
I stop outside my door, keys out and ready when I turn suddenly, seeing the sun rising out of the corner of my eyes. It looks nice, soft and huge, rising to rid the earth of darkness. I wonder if, someplace else, Morgan’s seeing it to and thanking me for disposing of the life she had before.
I unlock the door and slip in quietly. I have to be at the gym in an hour so I know that if my parents are, for some odd reason, up at this time, they won’t be wondering why I’m up.
I grab a glass of water from the jug in the fridge. The cold water clenches my thirst. I keep pouring glasses out until the contents of the jug is emptied. I put the glass in the sink then wander upstairs feeling a familiar urge... I need a fix.
I look under my lampshade but disappointment, anger and frustration floods over me. I’m all out... of everything. I let out a grunt and a groan and flop myself down onto my bed, kicking off my shoes and closing my eyes.
...
When I next open them it’s because my alarm is beeping angrily in my ear. I slam a hand down with a heavy sigh.
I get up, dress and then peer into Morgan’s bedroom room. It’s closed over. I push it open and walk over to her bed, brushing a hand along her pillow where her head should have been. I look into her mirror, seeing my pale reflection and choosing to ignore it, instead focusing on the Polaroid pictures stuck to the frame.
I glare hard at the picture of her and her idiot boyfriend. I wonder how he’ll take the death of his girl. Will it ruin him? Or will he seize the opportunity to hit on other girls whilst using the sympathy card. I hope it’s the latter just so I can kick his sorry arse for being such a loser.
I leave her room how it is, shutting the door quietly behind me. I can still hear the faint snoring of my parents. As I reach downstairs, I grab my gym bag and slip on my trainers. As I leave for the gym I can’t help but wonder if by the time I get back... will Morgan be reported missing... or perhaps, already found.
Alfie
I look down at my hands, watching them as they tremble and quiver. The crimson blood that coats them has began to crisp and it makes me feel sick to the core. And they ache like my heart does.
Morgan would have encouraged me to use some kind of metaphor to excite a thought like that. Morgan with her A* grades. Morgan who I pretty much killed and then threw over the side of the bridge that I’m standing on.
I turn around and lean heavily on the rails, staring into the swirling depths below. Morgan’s already gone: I can’t see her form anywhere. She hit the water and sunk quicker than I thought - I expected to at least see a floating form, but there's nothing.
The black water reminds me of tar, almost like a passage to hell. I don’t want her to go to hell. She deserves heaven – I deserve hell.
Of course, she’s not dead yet. Just unconscious and a little drugged. Well – a lot drugged.
By the time she awakens her body will be so out of sync that she’ll either go into a coma and die or she’ll panic and drown.
Hopefully a tragic, grotesque death will buy her a ticket to a better afterlife. That’s what she should at least be allowed – something better than this world.
I turn from the water and face the car. The front doors are open all the way, hanging there quite lifelessly.
I’d decided to be classy and not shove my sister into the trunk of the car. Instead, I’d sat her in the passenger seat and held her hand. I’d stuffed a towel behind her in case blood dripped onto the seat. The once shockingly bright plastic seat cover is now smeared with violent blood.
I get into the car, placing my hands on the steering wheel. I can’t help but clench it tight as I attempt to get my hands to stop trembling. I quickly close the door and start it up.
I pass a shop and pull in out front and nip in to buy sponges, stain removers and a packet of fags.
The cashier doesn’t notice my bloody hands.
She scans the item whilst staring sleepily at some bloke stacking cereal boxes on another isle, yapping to someone on the phone is sharp voice.
She holds her hand out and I slide a ten pound note into her hand, half hoping she’ll see the blood, grow suspicious and call the police.
She doesn’t look though – not even when I ask for change. I sigh a little as I turn from her. From relief? Disappointment? I’m not entirely sure.
The ride home is long and quiet; I can feel the silence pounding in my head, pressing against my skull. I’m tempted to put on music, just to make it stop but I don’t, like it would be a sign of disrespect to Morgan.
Pulling down my road, I slow right down, eyeing the streets. No one’s out, who would be at this time? The only people who are out at four o’clock in the morning are dog walkers, joggers... and filthy murderers such as myself. I pull into my drive, thankful that my parents are out this weekend.
Total silence within the car. I feel claustrophobic, as if I’m having difficulty breathing. With fumbling hands I reach towards the packet of fags sitting on the passenger seat. Lighting one and taking a draw is sweet relief and I exhale slowly. I balance it on car ashtray as I pick up the stain remover and sponges... and then I begin to scrub.
Squirt, squirt. Rub, rub. Squirt, squirt. Rub, rub.
Minutes pass in a blur. When I next look at my watch I’ve spent nineteen minutes scrubbing and scrubbing. Sweat beads my upper lip with effort. I let out a sigh. Despite the heavy smell of bleach, I can still smell blood.
Some small part of me tells me that I’m crazy, that there’s no smell of blood left, it’s all been wiped clean, it’s gone. The other larger part, tells me that the smell is still there and that it’s going to remain there for the rest of my life. It’ll never leave me.
I finish my fag and then have another. The guilt inside of me attempts to force its way through me but I breathe deeply, trying to remain calm.
I shake my head furiously hard to clear it of all unwanted images and thoughts. I open the door and step out, attempting to adapt my usual half-smirk. I have to be normal, normal for my parents, normal so they won’t suspect anything.
I stop outside my door, keys out and ready when I turn suddenly, seeing the sun rising out of the corner of my eyes. It looks nice, soft and huge, rising to rid the earth of darkness. I wonder if, someplace else, Morgan’s seeing it to and thanking me for disposing of the life she had before.
I unlock the door and slip in quietly. I have to be at the gym in an hour so I know that if my parents are, for some odd reason, up at this time, they won’t be wondering why I’m up.
I grab a glass of water from the jug in the fridge. The cold water clenches my thirst. I keep pouring glasses out until the contents of the jug is emptied. I put the glass in the sink then wander upstairs feeling a familiar urge... I need a fix.
I look under my lampshade but disappointment, anger and frustration floods over me. I’m all out... of everything. I let out a grunt and a groan and flop myself down onto my bed, kicking off my shoes and closing my eyes.
...
When I next open them it’s because my alarm is beeping angrily in my ear. I slam a hand down with a heavy sigh.
I get up, dress and then peer into Morgan’s bedroom room. It’s closed over. I push it open and walk over to her bed, brushing a hand along her pillow where her head should have been. I look into her mirror, seeing my pale reflection and choosing to ignore it, instead focusing on the Polaroid pictures stuck to the frame.
I glare hard at the picture of her and her idiot boyfriend. I wonder how he’ll take the death of his girl. Will it ruin him? Or will he seize the opportunity to hit on other girls whilst using the sympathy card. I hope it’s the latter just so I can kick his sorry arse for being such a loser.
I leave her room how it is, shutting the door quietly behind me. I can still hear the faint snoring of my parents. As I reach downstairs, I grab my gym bag and slip on my trainers. As I leave for the gym I can’t help but wonder if by the time I get back... will Morgan be reported missing... or perhaps, already found.