Scarlett: Part I

Scarlett hadn’t wanted to kill Samuel. She had been planning to just let this one go, but after she caught him cheating on her, with a detective, she knew it had to end. She didn’t know what he knew or if it was even important, but like any killer, she kept trophies. Scarlett was a skilled photographer, but an even better murderer. It was a pity that it had been so brutal; it shouldn’t have been, but he just wouldn’t die. She didn’t plan on his muscles being so dense considering how skinny he was. She had even administered a double dose and he still kept fighting. It took her twice as long to drag his body into the furnace room because of the extremity of dead weight. She wasn’t a particularly large or strong woman, just crafty. She used the incinerator that was out of order because of a broken door but she thought it safer still; her boss wouldn’t check this one for extra use. After painstaking effort to get his body in, she fired it up. She was pushing the door closed with one of her abnormally long fingernails when it flew back and hit her in the face, directly across her left eye. She slammed her hands on the door to hold it closed. Samuel was thrashing violently. The pain was excruciating and the door was literally melting her hands but she managed to hold the door closed just long enough for him let out a final cry of defeat. Cursing herself, she rinsed her deformed palms and let the tap run over her seared face. She quickly cleaned up, tucked the ash box in her sweater, locked the door behind her and walked quickly down the hall to her small, yet conveniently located room on site.

She knew it was time to move on. Not only was the mortician getting suspicious about Scarlett’s new fashion glove fetish and new hairstyle that hid her left eye completely, but for the first time, the police actually caught on. It was foolish to think that she could stay so long in one place and not get noticed. She had loved living in Chicago, not to mention the fact that with such a dense population, hunting had been more than easy enough. The more people, the more sinners. However, the second time the police had come to interview her about a local missing person named Samuel Garret, she knew it was time.

She decided to head south to New Orleans. When Scarlett was a child, her mother never ran out of stories from “NOLA”. She remembered stories of all the people and how anyone could blend in with “that lot”, the exact reason why her family had lived there before she was born. There aren’t many places that a band of gypsies could inhabit without most people noticing. After mulling it over for a few hours she decided there was really nowhere else that she would like to go. She figured with her gypsy heritage and the fact that her parents were elders of a sect in Portland; she might be able to at least make some contacts. She packed her miniscule amount of possessions and disappeared.