(ok, for this, you can cut off some parts and keep some parts as you wish because it’s too long)
“Yes,” she answered, “I do have the number.” She was in a phone booth, shivering in the cold weather. Her breath fogged the glass walls of the phone booth. “Yeah. I can call him now if you want? No? Okay.” She nodded and kept nodding for a while. “Okay, okay. So…I should wait for him to come back, right?” Then she listened for a few moments. “Okay then, good luck!”
She hung the phone back in its place and left the booth. She then walked hastily back to her mid-terrace house. Hanging her black padded jacket on the hall tree to her left, she quickly walked to the nearest dustbin, took a folded piece of paper from her pocket, tore it into tinier pieces and let it fall into the dustbin like snowflakes. She leered at the dustbin for a moment then ran off to the sitting room and plopped herself on an armchair which looked too big for her. She leaned onto one side of the armchair, took her phone from her pocket and texted
‘im done.’
‘Done? Burned it?’ The reply came back.
She sucked at the insides of her cheeks.
‘no. i tore them and threw them. is that ok?’ She messaged again.
‘Hmm’
She started biting her lips.
‘It’s ok. Let it be’
She sighed out of relief. Then she switched off her phone and stretched herself on the armchair. She untied her hair and messed it up.
The sitting room was decorated completely out of order. In an odd mixture of modern and antique designs, the sitting room stood as a testament to her bizarreness.
She sat on a large Victorian armchair with intricate floral upholstery. In front of her stood a plain, irregularly shaped coffee table made of acacia wood and under it was a rough, red Persian rug. A little far behind the coffee table was a neon yellow sofa with random cushions of different themes.
Just then, the doorbell rang and a loud knocking was heard. Knowing exactly who it was, she fixed her hair and ran back to the main door.
She opened the door to see exactly who she was expecting: the police.
“You know what you’ve done, ma’am. You’re arrested.” The policeman held onto his taser. Two other policemen were standing behind him.
“Please,” she smiled sweetly, “enlighten me.”
The policeman smiled looking down at his feet. He had a silver canine in his lower jaw.
He sighed through his nose, “four attempted murders, kidnapping two infants and ransoming them, five failed bombing missions on government buildings- what were you even thinking?” The officer looked at the bungling criminal with disgust. But she ignored him and stared at the cop behind him amusedly.
“Drunk driving almost every night, killing an old man yesterday, hiding his body in the sewage tunnel underground, abusing those in custody beyond the limits, causing two deaths that way, harassing the waitresses at bars- what were you even thinking?” She asked back, smiling smugly.
The cop’s already pink cheeks became a brighter red, he uncomfortably readjusted his cap, diverted his eyes away from her and stammered, “I’ve- I- no, I… I didn’t do all that.”
The cop beside him took out the handcuffs from behind him and manacled his partner to him, “you’re coming with me, mate. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
As he was being pushed out of the doorsteps of the house, he shouted, “how can you believe her?! She’s lying! How do you know if she’s telling the truth?!” The other cop shook him vigorously and barked, “how do you know she’s lying?”
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2jn4bl4rf4
A smirk was imprinted on her face. Seeing the accused cop struggle to oppose, the officer in front of her questioned, “how d’you know all this?”
“Some simple stalking.” She replied with a tone of superiority, busily admiring her fingernails. “Answer me properly.” The officer demanded. “Well…” she began, now focusing her eyes on the officer’s. “He drives past my house every night, pretty recklessly I must say. I figured he was drunk because of the way he drives.” She then took her phone and showed a picture to the policeman. “This is what happened yesterday, right outside my house.”
She swiped through the photos, each a chilling tableau: a shadowy figure, swaying slightly, looming over a bloodied body. The figure then wrestled the body into a manhole, his movements clumsy and unsteady. Finally, a grainy photo of the culprit emerged. With a few edits, the officer zoomed in – his mate, unmistakable in his police uniform, the French beard and hooked nose was now clear.
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡolF7uc9onC
“What about the rest?” He asked, furrowing his brows. Arching her eyebrow and pursing her lips, she looked back at the phone. “I walk about the police station at times, and I hear screams from there, wailing and weeping. And the suspect of them all…” she clicked on a picture and showed it to the officer, the very same cop with a red and angry face, holding a metal rod high above his head. “Right from the back window of the building, clearly seen.” She said as if praising an exquisite painting. “And as for the harassing- I go to the bar on Friday nights and always see him there. I can call my friends if you want eyewitnesses.” She smiled.
“No, no need for that.” He looked down at his shoes. “I’ll be on my way now.” He looked up at her, trying to mask his bewilderment and disappointment.
“Good bye!” She said and closed the door on him.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuEySn9bwAi
and then Add to home screen.