We planned this on the 3rd of December. After an overwhelming hour of crying, maybe it was her who suggested this. No, maybe I did that. Candice told me how I could do that. We were in the middle of killing Ignatius during those days so I did not have many hours to spare with her but she told me them in brief. Then I left my room in middle nights discussing for long hours of how we could do that. She had the solution and I had more problems. For a time I thought I should shred this plan but she insisted not to. I think it was gas-lighting that she did with my mind, but I now envied Bailey baselessly. The jealousy, the anger, the bitterness exceeded during those times – of mine – for her. Then came the day, actually, it is here. Today was the day we had decided to kill Bailey.
And today we put an end to her.
There were six steps to her murder. Three of which are absolute.
1. Planning her death.
2. Choosing the murder weapon.
3. Deciding the timings.
Now we move further to the fourth step, that is:
4. Killing Bailey
Which as you might wonder could be the last step, but hiding her body and disposing of the evidence are important steps too. These steps must be taken into consideration before planning the prior steps. The evidence must be disposed of, the body as well be hidden in such a manner that the possible user of the evidence or the person harmed might be vogue or not hinting particularly to an event of time/ to the murderer. Usually, a set-up to create a delusion is a trick played, which often goes wrong. A vogue placement for the evidence (like a knife placed in the weaponry or the rope placed in the utility et cetera) will much be helpful once the possible marks are erased/removed. The body should be placed in an untraceable place where the finding of a body is uncommon (like placing the body in a garbage place just near to the murdered person(s) house) and extremely vogue (a garbage place is usually used by the people of the surrounding, the extreme specification cannot be done. Although it might turn the doubts on one’s family, the action of grief must be displayed carefully and as truthfully as one might be able to). These are the steps that we took into consideration before moving – as I said before – further.
Bailey leads the way to the northern tower of this mighty fortress. There are four step-wells surrounding the northern towers. These are declared health hazards. Just declared, to be specific; there are seventeen prison cells underneath them that adjoin together. But it is an unsaid rule to enter from the western well and exit through the eastern well. No one can see them directly as there is an acre of forestry surrounding the northern towers. The north and south have tiny bushes, and one can easily spot – though from the highest point of the town – people entering or exiting. That might introduce grave danger.
‘So have you decided where to cremate Sean?’
‘No. Perhaps incinerate him late at night.’ I do not answer with my full attention. All I want is the plan to succeed. Bailey must die today.
‘Mister Cooper would never allow that.’ She gently lifts the rusted iron shutter. I follow her step by step.
One could see nothing. It is pitch dark in here. The only source of light is Bailey’s torch. There are mouse squeals accompanying us. A hundred are present at our arrival, on the floor as she steps carefully not to step on any of them. They quickly disperse.
This has a mirrored layout to our mansion. Except the rooms aren’t rooms, they are cells and the paint is just wet blood; the blood of the martyred, or blood of fate. Huxley didn’t rule for the good of their people.
There is a scent. This scent is recognizable. When this property was bought from the last surviving Huxley, it was thoroughly researched. He was quite greedy, so he wasn’t informed about this basement cellars, although he became suspicious when they bought it immediately; he left for Sylvester at once. Then it was discovered that this space was clogged of human (and several other organism’s) skeletons. It was cleaned, the bones disposed under the soil. But the blood faded. Its scent remained. This is the only strong scent that has ever made me puke.
We take a left, then a right, and then follow right, and here at an intersection of the cells, is the cell of Candice. She scribbles quietly in her leather diary while eating a little of the paper. She sits at the corner, trembling. She is pitiable, but she is pitiless.
‘Candice.’ Bailey screams at once, while opening her cell. It is just so easy to do that. The bars are wholly rusted. One could just push and move them aside. But no one could, usually the people who are brought here aren’t in a condition to even open their eyes. More of them are dead after being tortured on the last floor of the mansion. There is a torture room up there.
‘Bailey...’ Her voice drifts off. My shadow casts over her. She is small, and certainly the same height as Bailey. She puts the diary down. And we sit on the gravel floor with her, trying not to spoil our clothes.
This is the moment. Should I be as excited?
‘I hoped you came.’ She completes her sentence and Bailey hands her the chocolates.
‘Should I do it?’ She asks directly looking at me, and then I stand up.
Bailey looks at me. And now she can’t.
Candice has overgrown nails that she pushes inside her eyes. She grabs her hair and slams her skull in the wall repeatedly while Bailey screams thunderously. She stops for a moment. And grabs Bailey’s hands.
‘Now come on and help.’
She commands and I tie her hands with the rope in the chocolate box. There are three. One I tie her legs while she tried to kick me. The last for her mouth. It is cut much short.
‘Hand her over to me. This much will be enough.’
She gets up at once. While Bailey frantically tries to say something.
‘She wouldn’t be able to move, the drug is doing its work slowly.’ Candice says, and she is right. Bailey cannot move her legs. At this point the tears double up. She tries to scream, her face has gone red, and the vein of her neck pulls up as if it were to burst.
There is a knife in that box. A small knife.
The knife from my hand touches her neck skin. She stops for an instance directly glaring at the knife. And her arms have stopped. The drug is indeed working. Silently, the knife enters her throat and she is silenced forever.
I have made a cut just in the middle. Another I make at her larynx; I open her mouth, it is bloodied, and then push the knife in her throat. Only a miracle could save her. No, nothing can save her now, she is already dead.
‘We did it.’ She concludes and I look at her admiringly.
‘You look a lot like her.’
‘She was my sister.’
‘But I don’t look like her.’
‘You were not her sister.’
She smiles. It has been a time since I saw her smile.
‘When do you free me from this prison?’
‘Not now, no certainly not now. Cooper is still alive. And Cooper must die first.’
‘That man will never die.’
‘He will have to.’
‘Nothing can be done till then?’
‘I just did.'