LAURA...

He picked her up like she weighed nothing, liking the feel of her hair against his skin. Beautiful red hair fell in thick curls all the way to the small of her back. Kicking the door open, he took her into his personal laboratory. Laura. He tested her name, rolling it around on his tongue. He placed her on the metal table, studying her face intently. She was beautiful, and she looked so peaceful, almost like she was sleeping. He cupped her head, and judging by the bump at the back of her head, she would be out for about thirty more minutes. Enough time. More than enough time, he mused, his lips twisting into a smirk. It was time to get started. He studied her hands. She had long, slender fingers. He chose a dark shade of red for her fingers, applying the nail polish carefully. He clipped her toenails short, applying a matching shade of red on them. He curled her eyelashes, dabbed a little colour on her lips, and applied a little blush and powder.
          “There” he said softly, smiling satisfactorily. She looked almost perfect. Almost. Just one tiny detail was left. He walked around the table, styling her hair into a French braid which dangled over the edge of the table like a thick rope. She was finally ready. His heart stopped for a little bit. Laura looked like his mother. Well, if he adjusted the eyes, made the nose just a little pointier, and the lips a little fuller, they would look exactly alike. But they had the exact same hair, red, thick mass of curls, and that was all the similarity he needed.
He wrapped the ropes around her, taking care not to hurt her skin, but making sure the ropes were tight enough to keep her bound. It was done. Now to wait for her to wake up.
     Laura woke up with a start, and closed her eyes almost immediately at the harshness of the stark white light. Where was she? What happened? She tried to move and found out she was tied and hanging. She struggled against the ropes, trying to be free, but whoever had tied the rope was skilled. Fear gripped her heart, twisting it in every direction. Her heart pounded in her chest, her lungs wheezing with every attempt to draw in air. Sweat beaded on her forehead, plastering the few tendrils that had escaped the braid to her forehead.
     He leaned against the wall, watching her struggle as a mixture of sick pleasure and happiness coursed through him. He liked watching them struggle, he loved watching the panic grow, watching their eyes widen with fear. He saw the fear in the depths of her green eyes, eyes that were so much like his mother’s. he felt the pleasure all the way down to his toes at how pale and fearful she looked. He walked to her, his legs eating up the ground between them.
      “I see sleeping beauty is awake” he said softly, watching her intently
      “Please let me go. I’ll do anything you want. Please just let me go. Please” she begged, sobbing
      “You are so much like her” he whispered, staring at her. “So much” he added, walking to a lever in the wall. He lowered the lever, and she began her slow descent.
She felt herself descend, and she grew desperate. She sobbed and pleaded, her heart beating like it was going to explode out of her chest and all the way to another state. She was going down, and she looked down to find a large metal tub full of liquid. She pleaded frantically for mercy as she continued to descend slowly
He watched her get closer to the tub, his heart beating madly with excited anticipation. He wondered what the tub full of industrial bleach would do to her hair. Would it wash away the color? He rubbed his hands in glee and let her terrified screams wash over him. Her legs went in first, and her scream was blood curdling. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. Her screams and sobs echoed in the large room, music to his ears. Her waist went in, her stomach, her breasts. Her head went in next and the screams stopped, his ears ringing with the sudden silence.

 He pulled the lever again, lifting her body out of the tub. She dangled like a rag doll, the makeup he had so painstakingly applied swirling on the surface of the bleach in the tub. Her skin was perfectly white, like a China doll. The pain she had felt before she died left no trace, and her face looked ghostly and calm. He looked at her hair. It was still red.

Article by Yvonne Edughele .

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