ྀིྀིStella's Side ྀིྀི
I started talking to the stranger who had given me their number... I don't feel okay, but I need to know whether the woman I saw kill my attacker is the same person who left the phone number.
Stella: Was it you who killed the... the guy...?
The Stranger: Of course, my dear. Did you really think I would let you get raped without stepping in? Women always have to stick together.
Stella: You're a woman...? What's your name...? How did you know I was there?
The Stranger: Calm down, Stella. I can't reveal everything to you right now. But I don't want to hurt you... as long as you stay a good girl.
Stella: How do you know my name...? Fuck! Who are you!
The Stranger: Hey! Language! I know you were raised properly.
Stella: What's your name... you still haven't told me...
The Stranger: I think I can at least tell you that... it's Jessica.
Stella: Jessica... why did you write a number in my locker?
Jessica: Secret, my dear. Secret. You should sleep, you have school tomorrow.
Since then, she hasn't replied to me... that Jessica... why is she interested in me? And who is she?
⸻
•Harry's Side•
I was correcting the fucking exams they'd given while they were looking for a new math teacher.
For fuck's sake! I don't have time for this shit!
I come across Stella's paper... I wonder what she's doing and if she's okay...
I keep correcting the rest of the class's exams. They're all mediocre, every last one of them. How can they leave struggling students without a teacher?
Whatever. It's not my problem anyway.
Then I land on Ruby's paper. I smile. That kid... she's so... she's carefree, that fucking kid...
I let out a small laugh, then shake my head.
⸻
~Jessica's Side~
I leave the building I own and get into my massive BMW. With fingers still wearing fake nails, I touch the Kel-Tec P-3AT.
I didn't forget it—that's a good thing.
I start driving, the scenery scrolling past me. I move from an urban landscape, with tall, magnificent buildings worth hundreds, thousands of Canadian dollars, to a rural landscape, with views even better than the previous ones. I love the countryside... if I could, I'd drop everything and leave for the country. But I have no choice but to keep doing this job.
For my father.
I park in front of the cemetery of my hometown and get out of the BMW, closing the door. I smooth my clothes, adjusting my jewelry properly: on my ring finger, a ring with a natural green diamond and another ring of the same color; on my index finger, two other rings with the same diamond. I'm wearing a dark, elegant, and androgynous outfit. I wear a long, flowing black coat, left open, giving an imposing and refined look. I'm wearing a black three-piece suit: a fitted jacket, a buttoned vest close to the body, high-waisted trousers slightly loose, a well-structured white shirt that strongly contrasts with the black, a dark tie with a discreet pattern, straight and neat, and a thin black belt visible, adding a clean, modern touch.
I enter the cemetery. It stretches out in a thick silence, disturbed only by the rustling of the wind in the trees. The aligned graves form uneven rows, some old, eaten away by time, others more recent, still clean, almost too pristine. Dark soil shows at the foot of the stones, damp, heavy.
Stone crosses, cracked headstones, and a few statues with worn features stand beneath a pale sky. Moss slowly creeps up, clinging to the engraved names, as if nature were trying to erase what remains. The air smells of cold earth, faded flowers, and old rain.
Here, everything invites reflection. Each step crunches softly on the gravel, a reminder that this place is not empty, but inhabited by memories.
I move toward two graves that stand side by side. Both bear the names: Ivor Waterson and Myria Frost.
My parents... my dear parents... I run this mafia for them... for revenge... so they may be avenged...