Killing Strangers

A Story by EdenianMaiden

When a father's almost absent love for his daughter gets questioned, how far would he go to prove otherwise?

KILLING STRANGERS

Chapter One

“I can’t believe this is how it’s come to be.” Thinks Edgar to himself. It’s only been one week since he and Amanda have officially been divorced and he’s still not accustomed to his life as a bachelor, let alone come to think of himself as a single father.

“Hanna will be here any minute, how am I supposed to cope with that? Kids are usually not good at understanding this type of stuff. Yet I still have to mindfully approach the subject with little Hanna, one wrong word and I could shatter her perfect little world.” As worrisome as a father can be, he thinks of all the possible outcomes that could happen upon their first reunion. He’s never been on intimate terms with his daughter. He barely knew her likes or dislikes, but he hoped to present her with the best he can currently provide. He dearly loved her without even knowing her much.

She may not like the new house, it is awfully smaller than the first one after all. But this is all he can offer her for the time being; a small country house with one bedroom and trashy furniture. Divorce lawyers are expensive and Edgar has spent his last dime in order to ensure that he gains custody over Hanna. He did win the case but he has lost so much more; his car, his furniture and even some of his fancy suits, the man was practically driven into debt. It all eventually proved to be worth it when he saw the look on his wife’s face the moment the jury reached their decision. A face of revulsion and disgust, even worse, a face of betrayal.

A restricting thought occurs to him; she’ll arrive here hungry. “Her mother has never properly fed her and I had to be the one sneaking her snacks every now and then; crazy vegan.” He opens the fridge and haplessly sighs; there’s nothing but cheap wine and a few cans of beer. “Looks like we’re going to the grocery store as our first father-daughter activity.” He grabs the wine bottle and takes a few generous sips before placing it back and slamming the door shut, some habits he’ll just have to eradicate completely now that he’s the only one responsible for Hanna.

Minutes drag on like hours, Edgar finally hears the sound of car tires making it through his deformed drive through. He happily skips towards the door, his inner child now revived, and opens it only to be greeted by an unfriendly snarl.

“You better keep her healthy you filthy fat a*s!” gnarls his dear Amanda. A fairly lean woman with short auburn hair. He looks at her with a muffled smile, he has to play safe for now.

“I am not fat woman; I happen to have a BMI of 19 for God’s sake.”

“You’re still a lazy fat a*s who is no way fit to look after our daughter. Have you looked in the mirror recently?” Edgar is silenced in shame, no he has not. He probably looks haggard and unkempt, his breath most likely wreaks of beer and he is almost sure that there are at least two stains on his grey t-shirt. Why didn’t he realize all this before?

“Just forget about it,” she snaps when she realizes that he was looking at his greasy t-shirt. “I hope you’re happy with whatever it is you’ve done. Remember that if this girl ends up in a foster home somewhere it’s all your fault.” Her attitude suddenly shifts and her growl metamorphoses into a lively smile. Her vacillating mood shifts have always scared him.

“Here’s daddy dear. Now I know you’re not going to be any trouble for Mr. Independent right here.” From behind her comes Hanna, a miniscule doll-like figurine, barely making it to one meter above the ground. She had her mother’s lips and her father’s hair color. Edgar’s face lightens up at the sight of his little doll, especially after his brief encounter with her mother. He yearningly opens up his arms for Hanna to crawl right into his hug. For the first time he can feel the warmth of his daughter reach out to him instead of the other way around; this relationship should prove fruitful in time.

Amanda viciously eyes both the father and the little girl in their moment of solicited affection, it’s something she’d come to be deprived of. But she can’t deny a man his legal rights. “You too have fun now, and don’t forget to visit mommy on the weekends.” She says in a vivacious tone while looking at Hanna.

They both wave her goodbye as she makes it through the troublesome drive through once more. Edgar had to fake a smile to get one, but it doesn’t matter now that the b***h is finally gone. He finally gets to be alone with his beautiful daughter.

“Daddy I gewt hawngry.” Mutters Hanna, still looking at her mother’s moving car. “Well you are in luck, little dove. I was just about to go to the supermarket to get you your favorite cereal. How about you come with me so we can get you some chocolate too?”

The child’s eyes widen in awed delight at her father’s generous offer. “With carwamel filling too?” Edgar chuckles, “with all the caramel you like dear, just don’t tell mommy when you see her.” The girl lets out a little giggle and her father lifts her from the ground. “She actually likes chocolate,” he thinks to himself; the offering was his first lucky hit.

“Stay here while I go upstairs and get dressed.” He says in a slightly authoritative manner when they make it inside the house. Trying not to be too harsh on his daughter, he points at a nearby couch and waits to see if she gets the message. The child sits politely on the ragged couch and starts going through all the boring TV channels that a life bereft of cable could offer.

He goes up the stair case, trying to ignore the unpleasant screeching of the wooden panels. “She’s getting smarter every single day. Just look at her, last year she could barely even form articulate speech and now she’s gotten so could at it. Down Syndrome or not, my baby’s a pure genius.” Such a seemingly menial task was too much for a person with limited capabilities; Edgar deserved to be a proud father.

His wardrobe is almost half empty, just like everything else in this house. He grabs a pair of clean jeans with the only unblemished t-shirt he has and hurriedly dresses himself. Doing the laundry is going to be a duty not to be carelessly discounted from now on. Looking like the responsible adult he is is also going to prove itself a difficult task for Edgar, he’s never had a reason to properly dress up for anything since the day he lost his job. But now it’s more important; he wouldn’t be doing this to please his boss or to beguile potential customers, he would be doing it to look like the father Hanna deserves.

“Daddy!” he hears Hanna yell from downstairs and runs his way till he reaches her. “What’s wrong dear?” She struggles to point at an isolated corner in the room. “Smells funny,” Edgar sniffs around the room and fails to find any unusual odors, it’s probably the stench of the uncleaned bathroom. He continues to sniff around the room in a dog-like manner then he grabs Hanna and puts her on his back as he continues to bark.

The girl vents out a thousand giggles, “come with doggie little girl, we’re going on an adventure!” he starts making a run towards the door. “Whe-re?” snickers the girl between her angelic giggles. “The subway!” Hanna has never been on the subway before, she imagines it as a large building made out of actual subway sandwiches. The scaffolding would be salami-filled subways, the windows would be made of lettuce and there would be lots of cheese covered chairs inside. Hanna would definitely love to eat the subway.

After a disappointing journey through the subway’s storm and into the supermarket, Edgar was able to successfully muster enough ingredients to constitute a properly ‘nutritious’ dinner for his little Hanna. He also had a few dollars to spare to satisfy her recently loosened sweet tooth.

The petite creature, having been worn out, slithers her way to the warm and comfortable couch while her father heads to the kitchen counter to place his hardy earned loot. Edgar looks down at the bags; he’s never went food shopping for a child before. His culinary skills are shameful compared to what Hanna’s mother could do. “I should just leave these in here, she’s already gotten her candy so that should be enough to get her down.”

He takes a quick glance at the sleeping girl, always looking meek and fragile. “Or not,” Edgar closes the TV and carries Hanna to the bedroom and softly lays down her head on the only pillow available. He laughs at the thought that he’d be going back to sleeping on the couch despite all these recent changes.

“Da-wdy,” starts the meek voice as he was tiptoeing his way to the door. “Don’t make may gw back to mawmy.” She mumbles under her tainted breath. This remark comes as a blatant shock to Edgar, Amanda has always been the favorite parent; why would Hanna be saying this now?

The girl drifts into blissful slumber, Edgar is still watching her. She’s always had her difficulties when breathing in her sleep, sometimes she’d even get up in the middle of the night crying because she almost choked on her own “goo”. He clearly remembers that from Amanda’s notes which she’d generously emailed when she found out that little Hanna would be staying with him for good. It was either that or she would have watched him fail as a Hanna’s only guardian now; she couldn’t have that. Edgar would now be her mindful watcher; she only has him now.

He contemplates her odd somnambulistic remark. Edgar was never there for Hanna, he barely made it to her birth when he heard that his own child was born a bit ‘defective’, she was his only chance at a child, his lucky hit. The disappointment pushed him towards countless bouts of alcoholism, things only got worse as she aged. He never properly acknowledged her existence, never paid attention to her demands, Amanda always took care of everything. So why should the child forgo all these years of frigid negligence for one day of his undivided attention?

The phone rings and Edgar stealthily moves down the stairs to pick it up. “Hello dear, is Hanna up?” He hears Amanda’s concerned voice echo.

“Amanda we’ve been through th-” his speech is interrupted by a sudden and clamorous laugh.

“Of course she is, in fact if I were you I’d go check on her right about… Now.” She hangs up before Edgar could even get a proper handling of the situation. “She’s already drunk now?” he asks himself. He suddenly feels pitiful towards his ex-wife; she was all alone in their old house. He pictures her going through the empty halls, inextricably overcome by an immense feeling of

loneliness. He imagines her sitting alone in bed at night, turning as the insomnia sets in. Accompanied by none other than a keen sense of remorse and a dreadful heartache, the poor thing was sentenced to a night of binge drinking which eventually lowered down all her restraints. With a depleted ego and a forlorn spirit, she pines to reach out to her loving family members. Or so he’s trying to convince himself.

His paranoid concern over wrought his dullened skepticism and he runs upstairs to check on Hanna; gone. In her place is a note with Amanda’s handwriting saying: 4354, use it.

Chapter Two

Edgar falls to hysterics; how could he have let her slip from right between his arms that easily? He knows Amanda well enough to confirm that his daughter is in no safe hands. “That neurotic b***h,” he grumbles under his breath as he goes downstairs once again to reach the phone.

The police would know what to do. She has technically engaged in an act of kidnapping, be it her daughter or not, it was him who had custody. “She never did play fair,” he thinks to himself. “Better start sticking up to her own dirty little game, suing her should pay the bills and buy me a new car.”

A devious smile is drawn upon his face when he clutches the phone. “Oh no you wouldn’t want to do that, not just yet.” Edgar drops the phone in sheer horror at his wife’s ghostly voice emanating from under his couch. Her elvish laughs break his moment of awe-struck silence. “come on dear, you know I’ve always been the one for fun, and games.”

In a state of utter horror, Edgar kneels on the ground to scan the area. She isn’t here. Instead, he finds a smartphone with the letters “POL” inscribed on it. “Unlock the phone darling, we’re waiting for you.” Ushers her soothing voice.

Edgar reluctantly enters the code he found on Hanna’s bed, he feels his breathing harden with every passing second. “Hello!” both Hanna and Amanda cheerfully scream at the same time. They seem to be in a dimly lit room with only one miniature chair in it. The chair is attached to several wires which in turn are all connected to a generator. Edgar’s veins are protruding from his forehead and his eyes bulge out in fervid horror; Hanna is on that chair.

“You f*****g b***h!” says Edgar in a disgruntled but effortful tone.

“Edgar! Watch your language in front of Hanna.” Retorts Amanda.

“What are you doing you sick little-”

“Edgar!” she interrupts him again. “God you can be so annoying sometimes. Can’t you just listen first? This is a very special moment for your daughter and there you are ruining it again. I’m cutting you off. You cannot speak to us; you can only listen now.” Unable to find any suitable words with which to reply, incapacitated by the sight of his daughter’s own death festival, Edgar is quieted into obeisance.

“Now, little Hanna and I have been preparing for this ever since you got your slimy little a*s out of the house. So the least you can do is show a little appreciation and commend your daughter for her efforts every now and then, you have no idea how hard it is to teach that retard how to operate a few buttons.”

His eyes shift to his little baby girl on the screen, happy as ever, still innocently smiling without a care in the world.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen: Hanna here is going to politely sit here all alone in the dark while you do a few errands for me. She’s not getting any food, sleep, water or even a piss in the toilet. And you sir get to have unlimited live access to that! You have no idea how fun it is to watch little eight-year-olds piss their pants and then start to suck their own urine,” she lets out another impertinent laugh.

“To help pass the time while this little rascal slowly gets wasted to her death, you get to go on a little adventure, more like a wild goose chase if you come to think of it.” She moves towards the generator and aims the camera at several switches.

“See these little switches over here? Well keeping these things down is the only thing keeping your daughter from getting fried alive. You fail one, just one task and one of them goes up. A few volts tend to prove very sufficient for overworking smaller, more vulnerable, nervous systems. So, my guess, you probably wouldn’t want that.”

Edgar slams his own hand against the hard linoleum, he feels blood gushing down his fists but refuses to rivet his eyes away from his daughter’s smile. The little thing is innocuously observing her surroundings, all too familiarly, as if she’s been raised there.

“Now I know what you’re thinking.” Says Amanda. “Why on earth would she be doing this, and to her own daughter too? She’s our daughter you retard, the product of our love. A simple humanistic concept which you fail to grasp dear. And I’m afraid that your inhuman cynicism has started rubbing off on our daughter.”

She directs the camera towards Hanna, who was joyfully playing with the red wire and putting it in her mouth. Amanda slaps her hand away from the wire and orients the camera so that both of their faces are showing. “Hanna!” yelps Edgar, a hopeless attempt to satisfy his own sense of security; he knows that they can’t hear him.

“Hey there Hanna, mind telling daddy why you want to end your life?” the little girl stares at her mother for reassurance before blurting out “becawz nobahty luvz may.” Edgar’s heart shatters to pieces at her timely confession, he looks into the child’s eyes. They are haunting and honest.

“Why don’t you deserve to live sweetie?” pushes Amanda.

“Mommy and dahdy downt lav me.” Struggles the child under several palpitating breaths.

“See what you’ve done? The girl is barely nine and she already wants to commit suicide. We can’t have that now can we? So dear mommy here has decided to clothe the situation in a more elegant manner.” Amanda zooms the camera on her own face once again.

“If you fail, it’s your fault. Her life is in your hands now. Mommy doesn’t give a damn about our little defective Hanna, in fact, she’s wanted to kill her since the moment she was born. But did she? No. Mommy cared too much for daddy that she wanted him to enjoy the only child he could have. Mommy wanted to see daddy’s happiness in living with his own daughter, but did daddy ever actually live with his family? No, he didn’t. Now mommy’s officially inducting daddy to the responsibilities of his own little… creation.”

Edgar fails to comprehend her unkind intimations, but they somehow manage to strike his psyche deep enough without his knowing. “Here comes the fun part. Your little quests involve you finding notes which I have cleverly hidden. See? That’s not so bad.” Edgar is not puzzled by the odd simplicity of the task; he knows there’s more to come.

“But you already know that’s not it, right? My loving Edgar,” she mordantly chuckles. “The notes have names written on them. You kill these people; you save your daughter. No intricate rules.” This unexpected statement spurs an upheaval in Edgar’s conscious thinking.

“Oh, and if you try and call the cops like the coward you are, I will be notified. And we both know that sweet Hanna’s going to be blown to smithereens before they even make it here.” She turns her attention to the cheerful infant gazing at her mother to experience a heightened sense of security.

Edgar is flabbergasted at the thought of killing someone to save a child who’s destined to die at a young. But what if that child was his only daughter? Would he murder in cold blood to satisfy his wife’s own rapacity? The thought of willfully involving himself in such acts terrifies him. The image of him, as an emotionless murderer, an avaricious killer, terrified him.

“Do you think daddy loves you enough sweetheart?” she impishly asks.

“I dawn kno yet.” Replies the child.

The video transmission ends and Edgar rests his back on the wall. With his face between his knees and his hands forcefully clutching the smartphone, Edgar closes his eyes. “She can’t do this.” he childishly mutters to himself. For the first time since his daughter’s birth; Edgar cries.

Chapter Three

Edgar’s eyes are intently focused on the black screen of the smartphone. Just one flicker is all that's needed to help put him at ease again, to revive this lost soul’s conscious. And so a notification lifts this man’s consciousness into the present moment. It's a text message from none other than his beloved Amanda.

“You used to hold me

All too tight

You used to call me:

Your dear blight.

I'm filled with all that interests you

I'm stocked with failing songs of rue.”

Edgar blurts out a meek chuckle; she's playing in riddles. He recalls all the notes she used to leave around the house when they were married. She used to write random poems on sticky notes and leave them around the house for fun. Edgar smiles at the memory of him finding one that said “Sprinkles sprinkles down the drain, Sprinkles sprinkles make it rain” near the toilet. Memories can elicit emotions at the most inappropriate moments, all for maintaining human functionality; Edgar needed that memory to remind him how Amanda was. He needn't feel guilt for loving a sadistic and apathetic maniac; she was a different woman when they first met.

“Focus,” he tells himself. He’s had enough time to recover, now is the time to start fulfilling his ‘tasks’. The object he is searching for is something Amanda hated -even blamed- for the fact that the object was gaining more attention from him than herself. He walks around the stale living room for a couple of rounds, scanning around for any object that fit that criteria.

“A blight; a dear blight.” His eyes immediately shift towards his suitcase, located right under the coffee table. “My dear blight,” he lackadaisically whispers to himself as he unlocks it. It's been a while since he last opened it. The memory of his failure pained him too much.

A bright yellow sticky note is situated on the top right corner of the opened suitcase. On it the name “Henry Willington” is written in fine penmanship. Edgar shudders at the image if his old boss instantaneously invoked into his mind. The old slightly overweight man with a cigar in his mouth, a classic cliché of a great presence and a haughty boss. But the description barely describes the man in a fair manner; Edgar remembers Mr. Willington as quite a pleasant and cheerful person.

The screen flashes a bright green in his hand, Amanda suddenly appears. “Good for you! Two more minutes and I would have blown this thing up. Wait a minute… Hey we can make this thing time limited. I know you've always loved your challenges dear.” Her smile is flashy and her gaze upon him is adamant. How can she see him without actually seeing him?

“Well now that you're informed about our new update, back to the mission at hand. It's old Mr. Willington. That old mean a*****e who kicked you out of the studio a couple months back, remember him?” How could he not? that same man was the main reason his life started falling apart. No job, no money, no love. A simple cycle that's ruined so many lives.

“Don't you just hate it when you give someone everything you have and then they end up kicking you out like that?” She casts another creepy smile in his direction, he almost shivers in response.

“You can thank me later for making this one so easy for you. But you know how most games go. Things start out trivial enough to get you sucked into the game, then it gradually gets harder, pulling you in a little bit deeper every time. It's only when you reach the hardest part that you start giving up, but then you realize; you can't crawl your way out. You're trapped for good.” She looks away from his direction for a few seconds and says “you have two hours Eddy dear. Good luck.”

The device is locked once again, and Edgar is left to his thoughts. “No time to think.” He grabs his wallet and looks at his wrist watch. It's a Thursday and it’s 11 am, Henry will be on his way home in exactly 60 minutes. Edgar opens the door with no hesitation and makes his way out.

He’ll never make it in time if he takes the subway, or even the bus. “No time to lose,” he reminds himself. Edgar looks at a nearby motor bike and starts weighing his options. If he is going to be a murderer, he might as well be a thief. After all, he is doing all of this for a good cause. Having put his conscience to rest, Edgar tampers with the wires on the motor bike and rides his way to the office building. He can hear his own silent prayers, hoping that none of his neighbours see him and report the crime before he reaches his destination.

Edgar arrives at the office building later than he’d expected. He stops the motor bike and jumps off without considering to park it. The tired man then climbs the stairs all the way to the tenth floor where he hopes to find his target. Instead, he is warmly greeted by an elderly lady with a round face and a kind smile.

“Edgar! Oh you've been missed, how are things going for you old champ? I'm awfully sorry that you couldn't stay here,” she looks at him directly in the eye and is almost astonished to see the red veins protruding from within.

“Goodness Ed, have you been getting much sleep lately?” The concerned look on her face kindles a slight feeling of unease inside Edgar, a feeling he wishes to push away for now.

“I've been wanting to talk to Mr. Willington about some monetary issues. Do you know where I can find him?” His eyes are fidgeted at the door bearing Henry Willington’s name.

“I'm afraid you've just missed him. Man’s left early to attend his son’s football game today. Would you believe that young Mervil Willington actually made it to regionals?”

Edgar doesn't want to get her suspicious by letting her know that he's on a rush. “You wouldn't happen to know his address now would you? I just really need to get this over with soon.” Edgar winces at his failure to keep his own restrictions at base.

Mrs. Merriweather has known Edgar ever since he was an intern at the company. To her he was that young aspiring songwriter who had too much potential but failed to properly employ it. She sympathized with him when she saw how inclined he was to substance abuse, but she trusted him nevertheless. Mrs. Merriweather gladly gives him her boss’s address followed by a heartfelt “good luck”, and another empathetic smile; she knows there's something wrong with him but decides to avoid any unnecessitated quarrels for the time being.

He jumps on the motor bike once again and starts it without even making sure that his foot was off the ground. Edgar reiterates the address several times in his head, and then looks at his watch. Forty-

five minutes remain before his daughter is wilfully killed. The mere thought of that horrific occasion spurs him forward at a greater, more dangerous speed.

A jet black sports car is seen parking in a nearby lane, “Henry you rich b*****d.” Thinks Edgar. He stops the motor bike and silently observes his target. He has no personal vendetta against the man, he can't hate him for firing him. Edgar was ‘let go’ because he was deemed unproductive for the company. He couldn't write any songs while enraptured in his daughter’s imperfection or his alcohol dependence. Edgar didn't even budge when he was told that he was getting fired, he expected it all too much. He just casually collected his items and was out of the building, never speaking a word to his boss nor objecting to any unfair treatment. He couldn't argue against his own incompetence. He couldn't blame his boss for anything. The man was just doing his job; attending to and improving what's best for the company. Edgar was just an unnecessary burden which they could not afford, and he respected their decision to cut him off.

But now his personal feelings towards this man have taken a sudden turn. Right in front of him is the man responsible for risking his daughter’s life. The man who caused his wife to leave him, the man who ruined his life. Edgar eyes his motions inside the car; he's taking his keys out and preparing to exit the vehicle. He has two choices now: either he goes for the direct kill with minimal involvement in the man’s personal affairs, or he confronts the man and tries to explain himself before going for a less direct approach at killing him, possibly a knife in the back. But he has no knife and doesn’t want to explain to the man why his life is currently at risk, some people deserve to be laid to waste without explanation. Some deaths are better left unexplained. The streets are empty and he hears no noise inside the man’s home. He sees a chance, just one chance, and decides to seize it.

As soon as Henry gets out his car and starts rummaging through his pockets to reach his house keys, he is run over by a motor bike. Edgar winces at the churning sound of his bike and the sight of the trail of blood coming from under him, he goes in circles for two rounds and then rams the motorbike in a nearby bushel. “I need to destroy that thing before the cops find it.” He breaks the fuel container then ignites the entire thing and runs away.

Looking back at his creation he sees a fire enkindled by vengeance. Looking back at his victim he sees a man who's not going to make it to his son’s football match. But does he regret his doings? No. Mr. Wellington’s family did not deserve the loss of a father, but he more than deserved the loss of his life. This man has participated in the damnation of one unfortunate Edgar Lancer, a sin that should not go unpunished. Edgar’s vengeful whims start overcoming him, he treads proudly on his way back home.

He tramples as he walks throughout neighbourhood drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. He continues walking for several hours until he finally makes it home. “I can't believe I've wasted so much time, Hanna must be starving.”

As if right on cue, the phone flashes again. “Congratulations! You've just completed your first task, now wasn't that fun?” Edgar falls on the couch and continues watching.

“Didn't it feel just right when you killed him? It certainly made me and Hanna much happier. Isn't that right sweetie?” A small and compliant nod from the child sends Amanda into another rush.

“What you did back there was not for your sake dear. Not at all. I never cared for your revenge, I never even cared for you keeping your job to be honest,” Edgar stands up in utter surprise at her last sentence.

“No dear, I just wanted you to lose that unhealthy attachment you had for that Mr. Henry. I mean you wouldn't believe how attached you were.” She raises her voice.

“You were so attached, to the extent that you used our love to generate enough power to fuel your stupid songs. You used us to provide you with your work material, love. Anyone who would actively encourage such horrendous acts deserves death. It's sick dear, pulling a man too tight like that and making him forget his loved ones.”

Edgar's eyes are focused on his little Hanna once again. “You'll be receiving the next text shortly. Don't disappoint us Ed.” She smiles and closes the camera.

“I’ve killed a man.” Says Edgar in a hushed tone. The idea arrives to him in slow, intermittent bouts. Killing someone you hate has turned out to be an easier task than he’d expected. But the cost of becoming a killer can be extravagant and even more painful. Something he should opt to avoid in order to complete his upcoming tasks. Death is inevitable, postponing the process doesn’t make a person a God, neither does presenting it earlier. Edgar hasn’t caused any dramatic imbalances in nature thus far; he’ll have to keep that in mind too.

He catches a glimpse of his own reflection in a nearby mirror but looks away the instant he does. He calmly makes his way to the kitchen and grabs a beer. He looks at it nonchalantly and chugs it down all at once then he rests his head on the table for a quick nap. An inaugurating beep alarms him and he quickly grasps the phone.

Chapter Four

“Inside your arms I'm meant to lay

A sign of what you'd disobey,

I'm sweet, alluring, all the same

I'm all that you'd refuse to blame.”

The poem strikes Edgar as an allusion to something seductive. He finds it hard to imagine an object of ‘sweet allure’. Despite all his shortcomings as a husband, Edgar never cheated on his wife. “How could anything seductive possibly be in this room?” He asks himself.

Making his usual rounds around the house, he looks for anything that reminds him of that ludicrous poem. He keeps repeating it throughout his search, in hopes that a sudden moment of eureka would come and hit him out of nowhere. Still, nothing.

He takes a deep breath to ease his portending anxiety, time is passing too quick. But an anxious mind is a non-functional one. Edgar retraces his steps one more time, this time choosing to look where he'd least expect something alluring to be; the garbage can.

At first he aimlessly stirs through the junk, knowing that the chances of him finding his answer there are futile. But he still refuses to leave any stone unturned. At this thought a sudden colourful refulgence attracts him; the colourful wrapping of Hanna’s favourite chocolate bar. Edgar speedily grabs the paper with both hands and smiles in triumph when he finds the yellow sticky note located inside.

“Cassandra Lindel?” The last name seems all too familiar to him, the first much less so. He remembers having a Mr. Lindel as a neighbour, but he doesn't remember there being a wife in the picture.

The screen flashes while the device is in his pocket, he pulls it out as fast as he can to be greeted by his wife's innervating smile. “Took you long enough this time. I mean come on, you think I wouldn't notice you feeding Hanna junk? You think I wouldn't know how you intend to vilify our daughter with the same rubbish you put into your dirty system? Shame on you dear.”

“You've always had a bit of a dirty sweet tooth, explains where she gets her annoying love for chocolate. But unlike your cravings you mindless glutton, hers can be tempered into nonexistence; it's too late for you.” Her voice drifts off from that of a delusional sermon into a motherly reprimand.

“Well enough for the useless chit chat. Cassandra Lindel. Familiar with the name much? No? Well that's all too expected, you were never good with kids that's a thing.” Edgar’s eyes widen at her last sentence. She lets off another ghastly laugh.

“I bet you barely even remember how she looks like. Well she's a little sweet thing. Red cheeks, lustrous curls, green eyes, a scar covering half of her face; a perfect little healthy thing. She's one year older than Hanna too.” He conjures the image of that child in his mind, Mr. Lindel’s daughter has never been seen for three years, Edgar never knew that she'd acquired a scar.

“Mr. And Mrs. Lindel are proud parents I can tell you that. But why do they deserve to be happier than us? Why do they deserve to be handed perfection on a silver platter like that? I honestly have no

idea how you're going to manage this one. You get extra points for creativity!” She says with the enthusiasm of a jittery child.

She hovers around Hanna’s chair, making sure that Edgar gets his fair share from viewing every single angle. “Tell daddy what you want dear, tell him how you feel about it too.”

The little girl stares at an empty corner in the room, most likely unaware of the present situation, but she knows her part well. “I downt wan her a-live.”

“And why is that little dove?”

“Becawz she happay.”

Edgar tears up at his daughter’s recently adjusted sadistic nature; she's been with her mother for too long in that dark room. But what kills him more is Amanda’s reaction.

“Such a shame to hear that.” She says nonchalantly.

“Do what you have to. Remember, two hours on the clock. Her parents won't be home tonight, expect to find a babysitter.” The screen goes dark again.

To take one child's life for the sake of another’s? That highly seems nonsensical to Edgar. He can't possibly imagine himself committing such an atrocity, but then he thinks to himself “if only one child gets to live, why shouldn't it be my daughter? She doesn't have many years ahead of her anyway. The other kid has probably lived enough. She’s probably had her fair share of parental love too.” He shakes his head and squints his eyes hard, this is not the reasoning of a sane man. The lack of sleep could be having its lingering effect on him now, or the beer could still be influencing his rationality for that matter. He's not thinking clearly enough.

He looks at his phone to check the time, 4 pm. He decides to let fate decide his course. If he goes to the child’s house and finds no opportunity, he moves on. If he does find an opportunity, he gets a clean kill. Edgar goes through his kitchen drawers and grabs the sharpest knife he can find and hides it in his socks. He needs a kill as clean and as painless as can be. Edgar decides to walk his way to his old neighbour’s house. He can't be held guilty for auto theft twice.

The streets are empty and unforgiving. Edgar walks through his old neighbourhood, enduring all the unpleasant memories it harbours. He goes by the old comic book store which he frequented as a child himself, the small coffee shop where he and Amanda went on their first date and the park where he'd often sit to get the best inspiration for his old songs. A state of nostalgia now as him over ridden, followed by an even worse state of guilt. Hanna can't come live here again; her father can't afford it. He imagines an even worse scenario; her father has brutally murdered a child your age and successfully managed run away with it so now he needs to hide from any potential witnesses. Edgar shivers at the thought and silences that unpleasant train before it made him stop; he’s already come too far.

As he makes his way to his old house, he sees his front lawn freshly mowed, a rare spectacle. “Well at least the new owners are taking better care of it.” He tries to humour himself. But the pain of loss inside him eventually creeps up to his psyche. He shakes his head and walks towards Mr. Lindel’s house.

Inside he sees nothing but faint darkness. “Looks like opportunity has presented itself.” Edgar couldn't help but feel regretful at his giving in to situational circumstances like that. But what can a man do against the intertwining strings of fate? Such has been ordained, and such will be done.

He has several options to infiltrate the house, but he opts for the conventional window break-in because of his time limit. Edgar chuckles to himself when he sees that one of the windows has already been opened. It almost calls to him and he forcedly obliges. “For Hanna.” He reminds himself.

Edgar sneaks in like the thief of the night he has now become. He feels someone move inside the house and freezes in response. He just freezes, unable to think, unable to act. Numbed by his own fear of getting caught, he fails to even consider the circumstances of his inaction.

A shadow makes its way across the dimly lit hall, Edgar’s breathing is almost stalled. The silhouetted figure switches on the light and prepares to scream at Edgar’s unwarranted appearance. In a fraction of a second his hands wrap tightly around his victim’s neck. He hears a fading chortle, but he can't let go, he can't risk exposure now. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, more to himself than to his choking victim. He snaps the neck with both hands and a body falls on the ground.

Instinct can operate well under the direst of circumstances, Edgar has never noticed his latent capabilities before this moment. To kill without even knowing it. To watch your body manoeuvre its way out of your comfort zone and swiftly harm another in an act of ‘self-defence’. Edgar was idly surprised at his own might.

He was blind during the entire act. He never had the chance to even recognize who his unfortunate martyr was. A young girl, roughly looking seventeen. Her meek body now lays in a convoluted state, her long brown hair covering her opened mouth, her eyes adrift and haunting. Edgar kneels down beside the girl’s body. “I'm sorry.” He whispers again, this time with tears in his eyes. He then closes the girl's eyes, hoping that they'll see a better world when they reopen.

“Mckenzie!” He hears a high pitched whine coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hall. Edgar hurries to the needy child. “Hi there,” he says in a lively manner when he enters the little girl’s room.

The room is mostly pink, with white furniture and a lot of dolls. Edgar is reminded of one of his recent visits to the dollhouse with a few friends, he'd hoped to be able to extract any inspiration out of the visit. Little did he expect that he'd face the same experience in a child's own bedroom, even if in Hanna’s. The girl is lying on the ground surrounded by a motley collection of dolls, porcelain, plastic, even stuffed dolls. All of them nearly defaced, those who aren't fully defaced have had half of their faces slit off. She sits in the middle of the group, talking to her muted friends.

“You're not Mckenzie.” Says the child.

“No I'm not. I'm just here for the tea party.”

“Tea party? This isn't a tea party! We're talking in our super secret circle.” Cassandra pauses for a short interval.

“Would you like to join us Mister? Little Gogobell here has a lot of problems she’d like to share with us. I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing them with you.” She points at one of the porcelain dolls then holds her face with one hand and makes it nod in acceptance.

Edgar smiles and sits with his hands on his lap next to one of the dolls with a broken face. He looks at the child's face one more time, and notices her scar, now revealed due to the increase in light intensity. It looks as if it had been cleaved by a pair of sharp claws. Claws that were adamant and ruthless enough to tear through half of the child’s face, even across her eyes.

The child smiles through at the stranger, glad to have made a new friend; glad to have initiated a new member in her secret circle. “Go on Gogobell, don't be shy.” Ushers Cassandra. She sits down and attentively listens to her doll’s silent musings. Edgar looks at his watch, 5 pm. The child deserves a few minutes of play time before it all ends.

The child's eyes now shift towards Edgar who's been sympathetically listening to the doll’s complaints as well. “What do you think Mister? What should Gogobell do?” Her eyes swiftly scan his, searching for answers.

Edgar has been caught while awestruck, he tries to appear well informed in front of the girl. “Oh, well I say miss Gogobell. Everyone experiences these things from time to time. What's important is; how do you feel about it now?”

Cassandra looks at her broken doll once more, “don't look at me like that, you tell him.”

“What's wrong?” Asks Edgar with a sincere look on his face.

The girl gazes upon a distant point on the ground and says: “she really doesn't want to talk about it. Not in front of people with faces like yours.” She points at his face.

Edgar can't help but feel intense sorrow towards this young girl. She couldn't see her own perfection among others, she could only see her reflection in her dolls. “Well what about my face?” He says in feigned astonishment.

The child eyes him in utter perplexity; she tilts her head sideways and asks: “don't you see it Mister? Look at her face. It's all dirty and broken.” Edgar looks at the doll and then at Cassandra’s eyes, which have been attentively waiting for his reaction.

“Well I don't see any broken faces here, do you?”

The puzzled child focuses on her doll’s appalling visage. “Yes, just look at her Mister. She's ugly. And all the other new mean dollies think the same.” Her eyes start tearing up in frustration.

Edgar looks at the child deep in the eye. “A broken dollie is not an ugly dollie. You look at her. What do you see? I see a pretty doll with a pretty face.” The little girl’s eyes light up at his last statement and her tears run down her cheeks.

Cassandra reminds Edgar of his dear Hanna. Both are defective and fully aware of it. Both carry remnants of their childhoods along with them. Both project their inner insecurities into the outside world. Hanna, however, seems to have a more blissfully ignorant approach.

Edgar is deeply affected by this child’s hopeful smile. He starts envisioning Hanna in her place. His hands immediately reach out to the girl for a warm and loving embrace, “you're a pretty doll.” He mutters. They hug for a brief moment.

“For Hanna.” He whispers before stabbing the child in the hind of her brain. A merciful kill for a helpless being. The girl drops dead inside his arms and he struggles to get her off. She never seemed to be heavy before, but his burden now is more psychological than physical.

He looks back at the child's lifeless corpse. The knife protruding from her scar, in the middle of her trust circle, with all her dolls looking at their fallen mother. She died a happy death, one among her loved ones, inside her secret circle. “They'll know who did this,” Edgar thinks to himself. But he doesn't care, “for Hanna.”

The road back home is unforgiving. Edgar walks beleaguered by both his heavy conscience and his physical numbness. “I have killed a child.” He repeats several times before realizing how worthless his incantations are. The deed’s been done, dwelling over the past will carry him no further now. He wonders how his wife's whimsical nature has driven him to such lengths. Are his actions better justified by the manipulative blackmail of his ex-wife or by the love of his daughter, his preference to Cassandra dying in her place? How will he be able to look his daughter in the eyes the same way he looked at Cassandra’s without feeling pain? Thoughts weigh heavy on his mind.

He goes back home a different man. He's not just a killer, he's a child murderer. Depriving young innocents of their lives. Edgar proceeds to his usual, comforting beer-drinking spot and grabs the entire six-pack. After three cans he slams his hand on the table. “I did that kid a favour. No one would have appreciated her beauty in this world anyway. No one bothers to look under scars, no one cares about your imperfection,” he opens his fourth and takes a few sips. “That girl would have grown up to be miserable, an-d alone,” he starts slurring in his speech. “That girl would have started blaming her own scar for every f*****g miserable thing that happened in her life. Her inadequ-acy would have haunted her for the rest of her - life.” He looks at the empty can in his hand, crumples it and throws it away in anger. Lies can only carry one so far.

“She deserved to die. She was already blaming her stupid dollies for their imp-perfection. She was already living in her stupid fantasy circle, afraid to grow up, afraid to face the world!” He begins shouting to himself. “She would have ended up just like me; blaming the world for her own inadequacy.” He starts oozing off after his fifth. He grabs a nearby wall to maintain his upright posture, but fails and falls to the ground.

All goes black for a few moments; he then regains consciousness upon hearing his ex-wife’s muffled laugh. Edgar pulls the accursed phone from his pocket and listens to his wife's proudly evocative speeches.

“So you finally killed that sweet little thing? Good, she deserved it all too well.” Edgar stares at the screen, bloodlust and rage overcoming his better senses; he is no better than her.

“I'm sure little Hanna will be glad for it too. After all, this was the same girl who took away all of daddy’s attention a couple of years back.” She stares into the camera. “Or don’t you remember that too Eddy?” Her smile is widened, revealing a collection of pristine pearls. Edgar shudders at her attractive smile; it reminds him of when he used to love her.

“I wouldn't expect you to remember of course. Back then she wasn't scarface Cassandra, she was just Cassandra; the sweet old neighbour’s kid. Don't pretend to be stupid now. Ever since Hanna was born, I saw the way you looked at Cassandra. After all, she was everything Hanna wasn't, she was everything you wanted.

“I could see you looking at the sweet, perfect, child playing in their front lawn. Her laughter delighting you more than your own child's disgruntled slurs. Her motions enchanting you more than

your daughter’s uncoordinated fails. Even her face… Especially her face. You looked at that child's eyes with all the love a father could possibly give his child, all the love that Hanna should have gotten.”

Edgar firmly grips the device between both hands, hoping to break it apart. She's delusional, paranoid, even psychotic. But a small part of him realizes that she's right. He's ignored his family for too long, all while living in a familial illusion of his own.

“Why would I delay her death for far too long? Truth is dear, I wouldn't. That little scar on her face was a failed attempt. A reminder of how weak I was back then. But you, my love, have managed to finish the job so perfectly, beautifully even.” The dead girl’s image flashes before Edgar’s eyes. He almost screams in terror at his magnificent creation; Troubled Innocence.

“Hanna should be happy for now. You're so close to getting your pathetic excuse of a daughter back. Oh, and you did gain extra credit for the whole knife coming out of her scar thing, be sure to keep it up.” She seductively says.

The screen goes dark. Edgar stares at his own reflection in the but he doesn't recognize the stranger. Before him is not a coldblooded killer, nor an emotionless automaton. Before him is a man, a tired man. Covered in dirt, sweat and a few swaths of blood. A man with black bags under his eyes and red blood gushing from his nose.

Chapter Five

Hours. Hours have passed since he last saw Amanda’s face. He sits in a state of anxious consternation. Hanna must be starving by now. He can feel her stomach churning, her lips chapping out of thirst and her head hurting. She'd wonder “why is all this happening to me?” But he'd never be able to answer her. “Because mommy’s a delusional b***h who thinks daddy doesn't love you enough to get to keep you.” Is obviously no suitable answer. He knows that her infantile thoughts would only lead her to one conditioned response: “because daddy doesn't love me enough.”

Edgar stares at the screen for what seems like an insurmountable amount of time, nothing happens. He could be having bad reception and he'd never know it. They could both be dead and he'd never know it either. Could someone have switched on one of those switches by mistake and allowed Hanna to get fried to her death? He considers this for a moment. Amanda wouldn't bother telling him, that would mean her little game would be over. “No!” He inwardly screams, he's too weak to expel any audible sounds now.

At a moment of transcendental hopefulness, his phone rings. Edgar quickly stands up with a wide smile drawn upon his face. It doesn't make any sense; he's smiling at receiving his next killing contract. But it's a killing contract that's going to get him one step closer to saving his beloved daughter.

“For all of those I'm bound to kill

A thousand more are down the hill,

For all the hearts I'm meant to break

A thousand more I'm forced to take.”

Edgar’s jaw drops at this ambiguous riddle. Five minutes to solve this? It could mean anything. A moment of elation can quickly morph into one of burdened desolation with the power of a few words. To Edgar it isn't the words that affect him so, it's his sudden realization of his own hopelessness in that situation. He's come this far, treading over his own morality, ignoring his conscience, only to be stopped by a blithe choice of wording? It isn't fair.

He takes a deep breath. “I'm not allowing her to win like this.” A quick peek at his watch, two minutes left. He scrambles around the room for any object. He doesn't even bother to consider the riddle; his mind can't possibly form any conjectures now. He madly starts flipping over his own furniture. Checking under every chair, every table, every couch. He starts pulling out his kitchen drawers, dropping all kitchen utensils on the ground in the process. He opens the fridge and frantically loots all its contents. Still, nothing. Just a wrecked room with broken wood shavings and shattered glass on the floor, just a guileless man amid the turmoil which he'd uselessly caused.

Edgar can't even bear to look at the time, he probably only has a few seconds left. He’s panting like a madman and starts pulling his hair backwards. “It’s over.” His eyes fall to the ground in a hopeless feat of despair. That's when he notices a foreign object, a purple flower. It lies there on the ground, having been inside of a vase on the table before it was flipped over. Quite the inconspicuous hiding spot, right in plain sight. He knows he couldn't have brought it, he's always hated flowers. He's never noticed it before this moment.

Edgar crawls to the flower like a starved man seeking his first meal. His eyes start presenting him with optical illusions of various kinds. The flower is near but far. The flower is too small but freakishly large. The flower is red but it's now purple. He's always been a hopeless drunkard, but the psychedelic hallucinations he's now experiencing are new. Edgar doesn't fall a victim to his own illusions, he knows they're untrue, he knows the flower is right there in front of him. He doesn't have any other choice but to believe so.

He finally reaches the lonely flower and reaches out his hand to grasp it, the image of a man pining in utter desperation. But the flower is not there. It vanishes from the middle of his hands. Edgar looks at his watch as he raises his hands to cover his face; it's all over now. His body falls to the ground like the lifeless corpse he's now become. The ache overwhelming him, the hopelessness permeating through his soul.

He feels the phone in his pocket vibrate; Amanda has the conscience to give him a farewell video. “The b***h has a remnant of mercy inside her heart. She's going to make me watch my daughter burn to her death.” He snorts. His muscles are spasmodically twitching to lift his torso from the ground, he struggles to maintain an upright position but eventually sits down on the cold ground. He pulls out the phone and immediately starts feeling a sudden heat loss from all over his body. It's never been so cold in his house, not even when he was alone; he's never been truly alone until this moment.

“You found it Eddy! Your timing is truly amazing now look at that,” she pulls out a digital clock which she was holding behind her back. “You had two seconds left, now isn't that lucky?” Edgar fails to make out the words coming from her mouth. He can only see her face twisted into that elfin grin he's always feared. His eyes start looking around the screen, seeking Hanna, or at least any part of her. She's nowhere to be found. Could Amanda have spared him the agony of hearing his child's lonely and helpless screams as she burned? No, she'd enjoy it too much not to share it.

Amanda continues to talk on the screen for a while, he’s tired and sick of her mindless gibberish. Her words carry no meanings and her gestures will only get him angry; he doesn't have enough energy for that right now. He drops the hand carrying the phone on the ground, “enough.” He pleads. His head almost falls back; the world is too hazy to stay still. He feels an unusual itch in the palm of his left hand. He pulls it towards his eyes for a thorough introspection and finds a purple flower in the middle of his palm. Something ticks inside Edgar; the flower is real.

His eyes widen in a moment of unprecedented ecstasy. “I have the flower!” He screams to Amanda, knowing that she can't see him. His mind slowly starts making all necessary connections, linking what he's heard to what he's now experiencing.

“I can't say I'm sorry for making you do this. God I'm actually pretty proud to be sparing her that guilt. You dear, have no idea how much it hurts to be ignored from your loved ones like that. Especially if they're all you have left.” She continues her fatalistic sermon, confusing Edgar even more.

“But I know you'll come to thank me for this one day too. You'll come and tell me how merciful I am for ending her pain like that. You'll be forever grateful to me for granting you this opportunity. The opportunity to cleanse you of your sins. The opportunity to erase all your mistakes by eradicating them. This, happens to be your worst. End it now love. For her sake not yours.” The screen is blackened.

Edgar raises his eyebrows in perplexity. He observes the flower in his hands for any indication of his next target. There are no sticky notes this time, but he sees an unusual pigment located on the flower’s fourth leaf; pen ink. “Helena Lancer.” His mother.

He's never been on good terms with her, especially since he's become a man on his own. He never called or visited her, not even during the holidays. The old lady may not even know about the existence of his daughter. To think that after all these years he'd come to visit her. Not as a prodigal, loving son, but as an ominous death bringer; this greatly disturbed Edgar. He rarely brought his mother up during his old conversations with Amanda, so how has she come to know her so? “Amanda and her resources,” he thinks to himself.

Time is relentless and serves no one. It's early in the morning as indicated by a bright sunlight enlivening the entire room. Edgar hears the shrill cries of birds lulled by his much louder inner voices. How is he to kill his own mother? This time the question is posed with a lack of concern about the act of killing itself; Edgar doesn't mind killing yet another soul, his mother doesn't pose much of a difficulty either; he had no personal attachments towards her. A problem he is currently troubled with, is the mechanism of killing itself.

Should he sneak in on his own mother and kill the lady in her sleep? A merciful and silent approach, but also a cowardly one. He's never had the intrepidity to face his mother after their long fights, now is a perfect chance to confront his beast and tame it too. After all, he has nothing to lose now; she'd be dead in a couple of hours anyway. Whatever she'll do to him during that time interval shouldn't have any consequences. “Just one visit, and you'll never see her again.” He promises himself.

Mrs. Lancer is sitting on a rocking chair, reading the newspaper and having her morning tea. She takes a few sips and sighs at the sight of the two shoe boxes sitting on her kitchen counter. Mr. Wiggles and his brother’s frequent quarrels have led both to doom. Now she is truly alone in the house, she can't easily replace her cats; they were family.

She lifts herself from the wooden chair and positions herself into her old wheel chair. Uncomfortably pushing herself toward the other end of the room, she finally grabs both boxes and places them on her lap. “You poor things. You were too young my dears. But aren't you just mean? Leaving me alone like this?” She proceeds to open the door leading to her back yard. “Don’t you worry now; I'll be doing quite fine on my own.” She says softly. “Let's just lay you down to rest for one last time.”

Reaching the garden demanded great effort from the woman’s limp arms, but she doesn't feel any pain. She's doing it for her loved ones. She sets the boxes on the ground and starts looking for a nearby shovel, she finds one and begins digging in an inconvenient position, all while straining her back. A doorbell’s ring forces the lady out of her happy serenity. Mrs. Lancer hates visitors, she barely receives any.

She menacingly drags herself along her shaggy carpets, uttering profanities the entire way to the door. “If it’s that nosy salesman again, I'm calling the cops.” She tells herself. Reaching the door is a more tedious task than burying her precious kittens.

Without bothering to look through the unreachable hole to see her unexpected visitor, she opens the door and with a vicious expression on her face, prepares to ‘greet’ the stranger. But to her utter surprise; the stranger turns out to be her only son.

“Edgar?” She says in astonishment.

“Mother.”

She inspects her son for a few seconds, “you look horrible. Have you been drinking again?” She says in a reprimanding tone.

“Nice to see you too mother.” He calmly says.

She scowls at his annoying composure. “What brings you here?”

Edgar is in no way prepared to answer her question, but he does come with his own array of weapons. He raises his right arm, offering her a purple flower as a sign of solemn hospitality. She eyes his disrespectful gesture in a most loathsome manner.

“You come back here after all these years, leaving me alone to fend for myself. After having spent every last dime we had to our name since your father was gone. You come here offering me death?” Barks the old lady.

His eyes widen in response to her last word, how could she have known? A mother's heart knows all, but she is no rightful mother to him. “I came here offering my respects,” he bravely replies. “This flower is a peace offering, don't you like flowers mother?” He recalls her being a faithful botanist with an unhealthy obsession for flowers before her retirement. His little gesture should have been more openly accepted.

She gives him yet another indignant look. “This is no sign of respect. Atropa belladonna; you bring me deadly nightshade? Is this your way of expressing how much you want me dead? Do you think I have a single dime to give you after I die? Hah!” She waves her hands in the air. “And even if I did, you think I'd actually bother to give you anything?”

Edgar struggles to maintain his calmness; he knows he shouldn't have come here like this. His good intentions have always gone against him when it came to dealing with his mother. “I didn't know that. I just thought you loved flowers.”

She looks at his petty piece offering. “Come inside; seeing you standing at my doorway like this disgusts me.” He takes a deep breath before entering, to think that the day when he'd be obliged to ask for permission to enter his own house would come like this. To be so terribly received by his own mother, he expected nothing different.

“You never listen,” she starts as she makes her way to the kitchen table. “You never listened to me when I told you not to pursue your so-called ‘dream job’, you never listened when I told you not to marry that red headed w***e you were so enchanted by. And now look at you. Broke, divorced and having several health issues, can’t say you don’t deserve that.”

“How do you know about my divorce? It's only been recent.”

“Don’t question your mother boy. I've always known this was exactly how you'd end up. Alone and begging for money.” Edgar's grits his teeth in anger, his eyes still remaining placid.

“Plus that missing ring on your finger really gave you off.” She arrives at the table and he stands next to it, waiting for permission to be seated where he used to have most of his meals as a child. He is granted nothing. She takes the flower from his hand and reaches into her pockets to grab a pair of scissors. “Atropa belladonna, I told you. Her vixen-like face had that written all over it. She'd just

lure you into her trap. Using her natural beauty and her sweet mouth-watering nectar. She got you enraptured in her tiny little circle, she manipulated you.” Helena starts cutting off each petal separately.

“You should have seen yourself back then. Begging for my approval, but did it even matter to you? No!” She shouts in his face. “You went off marrying her anyway, a wedding invitation I never received, not that I cared about your stupid choice or your wellbeing for that matter. Heck I knew you'd come back crawling to me someday, regretting your reckless decision.”

Edgar's watches her slowly tear his purple flower to pieces. She reaches the petal which has her name engraved on it, she focuses through her spectacles and realizes what it is. She lets out a sardonic laugh which almost sets Edgar to hysterics. Just a few more minutes left, a few more minutes he’ll have to endure.

“You wrote my name on a nightshade?” She asks while holding the forsaken petal between her index finger and thumb.

“It was meant as an apology. Individual petals are part of what makes the flower whole. When a flower lacks a petal, it's a poignant sight. A flower only brings joy when it has all its petals mother. Your name had to be on one.”

“Hah! Your little sentiments make me want to gag!” She chortles and then throws the remaining parts of the flower in his face.

“Is that what the music industry has taught you? Let your pithy symbolism help you in the real world son. They won't. Judging by how you look right now, you've seen enough to know.” She turns her chair away from him and starts making herself another cup of tea.

He offers to help her as a last resort to express his dauntless hospitality. She pushes away his extended arms with a look of disgust upon her face. “I don’t need your help. I've fared quite good on my own, better than you I'd say,” she says bitterly. Edgar can’t help but feel guilty towards his mother's unwelcoming attitude. But his feeling of immense contrition is quickly overshadowed by pity. The old lady definitely deserved to be pitied.

“I just wanted to help.” He innocently whimpers like a rejected child.

“Do you think that would help make up for anything?” She says while pouring the hot water in her teacup. “Gahh!” She screams as she accidentally spills a few drops on her hands.

Edgar hurriedly reaches to her aid but is met with a relentless punch in his chest. “Back off I tell you! I didn't ask for anything! I want nothing from you.” An irreparable damaging sensation overwhelms Edgar for a few moments; these were his last words to her before leaving the house, never to return again. He looks at the monster of his own creation, his mother, in pitiful remorse.

“What are you looking at?” She screeches. “Aren’t you glad to see me like this? All helpless in my wheelchair?”

“You're not helpless. I am.”

“And do you expect any help coming from me?”

“No.”

“Then why come here?” He looks her in the eye, words fail to reach his mouth. He sees the same eyes which looked at him with loving fervour as a child, the eyes which gave him encouraging hope throughout his teenage years, the eyes which looked at him pitifully when he left his mother for Amanda. Those eyes have markedly changed. Those eyes have grown darker, they've grown hateful and unemotional. Those eyes will never look at him the same way again.

“I just wanted to say my goodbyes. Properly this time.” He says in a hushed tone.

“Oh so you're here to tell me you're going away again? Why should I care? To hell with you.” She turns her head away from him and gestures him to leave, she's had enough of his inadmissible emotions.

“I’m sorry mother.” His voice starts breaking as tears form in his eyes. “I said go to hell.” Is her incriminating retort.

He wipes off his unwarranted tears and walks away. She doesn't look at him as he leaves his old home, having been kicked out of it. She knows how much he's hurting, but he deserves it. The pain of ostracism accompanied with that of rejection should serve him well. The same pain she is well acquainted with.

Edgar despondently looks at his home one last time. His chest is leaden with emotions, his heart rate growing more faint by the second. He looks at the phone, fifteen minutes left. He wants more time. More time to spend with his mother, he wouldn't mind suffering through her agonizing hate wrought speech. He wouldn't mind her beating him or spitting in his face. He wouldn't even care about her denigrating him, treating him like the worthless vermin he's become. He just wants a few more minutes with her.

But he can't do that now, it's far too late. He's unwelcomed now, the least he could do is respect her privacy.

He grabs the gasoline tank which he'd earlier purchased from a nearby gas station. Taking occasional deep breaths and whispering to himself “I'm so sorry mother.” He smears the house in gasoline. Dunking as much as he can over the front door. His mother is still inside, hopefully unaware of his current actions. He then lifts a nearby chair on her front lawn and blocks the front door with it, doing the same for all possible exits. After wasting five tanks over the house, he stands back to appreciate his little adjustments to the house. With a single match he lights the remaining of his once beautiful belladonna, he drops it to the ground and watches the entire house light ablaze.

Seated on his knees he listens to his mother's horrid screams as she watched her house burn to flames. She knows it's her own son’s doing, she knows he’s probably still outside now. But her ego would rather burn to ashes than debase herself by calling for his help. She welcomes the idea of death, much more preferable than a state of irresolute loneliness, with an echoing scream. She hopes her son would hear it loudly enough to tear his conscience apart. And so the old lady dies a satisfactory death.

When her screams stop, Edgar stands up and views the burning building from a different angle. The house has lost all the characteristics reminding him of his old home now. Soon it'll all turn to ashes and he'll have no remnants to cry over, he'll have no bodies to mourn. He walks away like the stranger he is, all as if nothing has happened.

Chapter Six

“When will this be over?” He asks himself. His breaths are leaden with turpitude, his eyes clouded by rage, his body crippled by anxiety; how long could he hold on? Taking small steps along his path home, Edgar looks at both hands. They don't look like they've suffered enough to him. There are just a few blotches of blood and dust. There is absolutely no sign of physical injury or even strain, but they are shaking for no apparent reason.

Can the body feel guilt when the mind decides to repress it? His conscience certainly doesn't feel as heavy as it was before, but his body is not his. Estranged from his own body, he can't even feel his current manoeuvres, he can only observe his nosy acting on his own and face the writhing pain of endurance. But he can't direct his own motions. “I am so wasted,” he thinks to himself.

The night sky is unrelenting and omniscient. It permeates throughout the insipid atmosphere surrounding Edgar, it enchants his cognition. He walks through an unlit street on his way home. Never has he been more relieved until this moment. He can't see nor hear anything. Left to his own senses, this fool is happy. A man can lie to himself better when his senses are deprived. Edgar needed the lies all too badly.

He sits down in a kneeling position in the middle of the street. With the assiduity of a religious convict he recites his own necessary verses: “it'll all be over soon. It's all just a dream. You'll be back home in no time. Hanna is well and happy. You are well and happy.” He says this several times. They eventually stopped sounding like faint promises and started becoming delusional hopes. The latter he could work with and tolerate better.

Having rejuvenated his mind, it’s now time for his body to operate. He proceeds through his solitary route home. The scene around him shifts, from consisting entirely of pleasant countryside houses to a more urban environment. Edgar’s blissful silence is rudely interrupted with barking dogs and swearing drunkards. He closes his eyes in hopes of at least maintaining his placid blindness. His legs never stop moving.

“Off the street you crazy drunk!” He instinctively opens his eyes to find himself right in front of a car. The headlights are strikingly painful to his eyes; his mind seems a bit disoriented. “I said get off!” Shouts the disgruntled driver. Edgar smiles in response; he's made a friend. The best of friendships always start with hateful contention.

He marches towards the driver’s seat and bursts out: “you f*****g want me off the streets?” The man looks at him in fearful astonishment; he wasn't expecting a fight.

“Listen here buddy, I have just killed my own mother by burning my entire house down. The police are probably searching for me as we speak and if they do find me… Well my daughter’s getting pulverized by her crazy mother tonight. And if I know Amanda well enough, she wouldn't mind eating her too. Now tell me, do you really want me to get off?” Edgar opens the car’s door.

“Are you stupid enough to leave that unlocked?” He says to the unfortunate man sitting before him, exposed to all sorts of dangers now. “Please don't, I have money.” Squeals the weak man.

Edgar only sees before him a meek figure, unfit for the pleasures of life. He sees the proud owner of a car he can use. “I can't use money now!” Shouts Edgar in a helpless tone.

The man looks at Edgar in an even more perplexed manner now, he’s unsure as to who is currently the pursuer in this situation. Edgar is crying like a child.

“I can't f*****g use your money!” He slams the door in frustration and watches the man race for his life. Edgar looks at the shrinking vehicle and sees another opportunity wasted by his foolishness. He screams in anguish and continues his journey.

A part of him wanted to save that man’s life. Edgar begins to question his morality once again; it's been long dead for the past few hours. A simple unconscious act like this shouldn't hold any meaning compared to his recent ‘shortcomings’.

The ruckus surrounding Edgar nearly ceases as he approaches his safe haven. A few minutes remaining and his taunting inner voices would fully unleash themselves upon his person. He can't face the silence now; so he starts intentionally occupying himself with menial thoughts.

“Why hasn't Amanda responded yet? I'm sure it's been hours since that old hag died and still; nothing.” Then it occurs to him, is she really dead? Last thing he remembers hearing are her pain-leaden screams and banshee cries. He doesn't recall her silence afterwards. Edgar squints at the thought of failure. “No one could have survived a fire that big.” He reassuringly tells himself.

Upon reaching his front door he violently rams it open only to fall to the ground. He adjusts himself to lie prostrate on the ground and stays in that position for a few minutes, unable to move a single muscle. Having managed to obtain his long-needed repose, Edgar allows his mind to rest for the evening. No more thoughts, no more worries. He's done all he's been asked for now, he can only just lie down and expect the best out of Amanda. His lips tighten at the last thought.

He closes his tearful eyes to complete his somnambulistic ritual and lets out a heavy sigh of relief. He's been ignoring his bodily aches for far too long. Now that they've gained the upper hand he's left in a state of hollow latency; a mind governed by a body.

After only a few minutes of convalescing tranquillity, a vibration in his pocket shakes him awake. It's a text message from Amanda. The pattern has been suspiciously broken, she was supposed to talk to him instead. “She’s killed her. She f*****g killed her and she doesn't have the guts to show me.” He stomps his head against the ground and tries to return to his previous state of restoration, but he fails. Images of Hanna’s prolonged suffering haunt him, the slight hope of her still being alive pushes him once again.

“You've come so far

You've killed too many,

Now get a car

And come here honey”

Edgar envisions her vexing, seductive eyes calling him to his doom. He sees her lips actively perch up into his favourite smile, pulling her cheek muscles into their more buxom form. Before him she stands, lifting her right arm, reaching to him. She approaches him, taking infantile steps along the way. Her oddly provocative affront entices him, he feels himself wanting her even more, he sees his arms pinning to have. She lifts him off the ground and conducts him towards her, like a shepherd guiding his sheep. “Come here honey.” She whispers into his ears. He feels her loving hands

cupping his face, pulling it closer to her own. He smells her maleficent odour as it slowly diffuses throughout his pores. His heart haughtily pounds against his breast, wanting more.

He quickly grasps her between his arms, but he feels nothing but a state of emptiness in the space she was supposed to occupy. In her place is stolid, thin air; nothing. His effusion halts for a moment; his stimulus is gone.

He's brought back into alertness with a slight tug on his pants. “Daddy!” He tilts his head downwards to see young Hanna, frivolously clasping his jeans in seek of his attention. Her breathing is troubled and her eyes look tired, more than they usually do.

Edgar kneels down to lift his child off the ground, he looks at her disturbed expression and asks her in a concerned manner: “what's wrong little dove?”

The girl struggles to find suitable words to express her inward state of anxiety, “don’t leht may go bak.” Her eyes shift from his direction and focus on a hollow silhouette behind him.

Edgar turns around to find his beloved Amanda, smiling at both him and Amanda.

“What have you done to her?” He asks. “We’re just playing a game.” His eyes get lost in hers once again; he's left speechless. “But we're not the only ones playing tonight. Oh no dear, we've had our fair share today. Your turn has come Edgar.” She takes him by his now empty hands and pulls him closer to her.

“We’ve been waiting for you Ed.” Her sound almost lulls him to sleep, Hanna's no longer with him but he doesn't feel it yet. She wraps her arms around him in a viperous manner and he’s wilfully culled into silence; he feels safe. He falls to her knees. “I’m sorry, I've always been late.” He says. She kneels beside him, “it doesn't matter, you're finally coming home tonight.”

He lifts his face from the ground and sees his old Amanda, her beautiful angelic smile comforting him. A distant flicker disrupts his attention from Amanda’s face for a moment. He sees a tiny creature throbbing on the ground in the background.

“Where are you looking Eddy dear?” Edgar ignores her question and directs his entire focus towards the minuscule figure lying on the ground. “I said: where are you looking?” Her voice is inauspiciously raised. She tries pushing his face away from it but she fails. Edgar’s curiosity is piqued and his will is unclear.

He nudges Amanda to push her away, he crawls towards the meek object. Before him is a mass of abhorrently pale skin stitched together; a conglomerate of human remains. Edgar moves closer towards the horrid object and identifies a few strands of hair located near one of its ends. He sees a skin bared and covered in bruises. He reaches out his hand to touch it, he feels it withering away in agony. The creature’s turbulently shaking as if it were to explode.

“Come here honey!” A banshee scream erupts. Edgar looks behind him to see his angelic sprite transformed into its pure, more demonic form. Her eyes, now eerily red, are full of hateful vengeance and her odour reeks of specious perfume. She grabs onto his throat this time and Edgar hears the deformed figure cry; Hanna’s cry.

Edgar haplessly struggles to free himself from Amanda’s merciless clutches. His eyes are still looking at the pained creature, striving to reach her. He allows Amanda to choke him to quell her anger, but that only troubles her more. “Why aren't you looking at me?” She screams.

“Because you're not worth it right now.” He finds himself saying.

Amanda stops choking him and lifts both hands off him. He runs off to catch his little Hanna but she dissipates the moment he touches her.

His eyes, now full with anguish, are riveted at Amanda once again. She's despondently looking at the ground, awe-stricken and fearful. “It's all your fault.” She whispers in an inaudible tone before she herself starts dissolving into nothingness once again. Edgar rushes to catch her but fails to, he's left alone now.

He's in the middle of his empty living room and his phone is still vibrating in his pocket.

Chapter Seven

“Come home honey,” he hears Amanda’s voice echo through the room. She's standing right there, in the middle of the screen; holding center stage. She appears to be in a different room than the one in the previous videos, a more vibrantly hued one. Hanna’s nowhere to be seen, “she's still rotting in the basement.” Edgar thinks to himself.

He looks at Amanda with the eyes of a vengeful foe, he can't bear to hear her voice once again. “Come back to take your prize,” she coos. “Look I know all of this seems irrational, but I promise I'll explain once you get here. Hanna's okay, she's still downstairs in the basement. I'm not sure what she's doing exactly but I’m sure she's managing well all alone by herself. She's your daughter after all.” She playfully snorts.

Amanda looks at the camera , her eyes wide open, staring into Edgar's directly. “I know you're confused, mad even. But believe me, all of this was done for a reason. One which you'll come to know shortly. Just, hurry up. There are no tricks; I promise.” She abruptly ends the transmission.

“There’s something wrong about her this time.” She seemed more sensible than she was in previous videos. Could this be the effect of being in a different setting, or is Edgar merely delusional again? He’ll never be sure of his assumptions so there's no point in wasteful time and energy consumption at the moment.

Confused? Edgar has delicately passed the phase of confusion, beyond remission even. He knows exactly why she's doing this; it's been so obvious right from the start. He, however, decides to play along with her little game for the time being. Might as well extract as much as he could from her while she is still clinging on to her last bouts of mindful sanity.

Edgar feels his own stomach churning; he hasn't had a single bite all day. His muscles are limp and his own head is drowsy from the lack of nutrition he's been faced with since the beginning of this day, but this has only come to his attention now. He walks to what seems to be his kitchen. The ground is bespeckled in silverware and broken dishes and the fridge is lying face down. Edgar harnesses what's left of his muscular strength to lift the fridge up, he then opens it to find its contents unviable. Everything was drenched in alcohol now that the wine bottles were broken inside.

The temptation is too strong for Edgar to resist, there is wine dripping everywhere inside. The sudden influx of saccharine odours almost drives Edgar mad with gluttonous lust. He licks the viscous liquid off the shelves only to realize what he's come to a few moments later. He looks at his sticky hands in utter disgust. Edgar notices how he’s weakly responded to such a base instinct. His monster will be tempered into obeisance; his insatiable nature will be tamed. His alcohol dependence will be no more. He slams the door shut and hurriedly grabs his keys and runs out of the house; he's going home now.

“This'll all end soon.” Edgar latches on to his trusted knife, feeling its trenchant blade inside his sock. He stands up from this uncomfortable position and takes a few steps forward, unsure whether it's perfectly safe to knock on the door or not. Amanda could have C4’s hidden in the vicinity or even a couple of guard dogs standing nearby, his lack of prudence shouldn't hinder him at this point. A knife isn't much to be of use, but it’s enough to tell himself that he's come prepared.

He tiptoes towards the door and, with turbulently shaking hands, rings the doorbell once. He doesn’t expect Hanna to come and answer it himself, no. He knows there would be no fun in that. The camera is suspiciously watching his every move, but he feels no unease. Amanda didn't think he'd come straight through the front door like that. But he thought it best to approach her in an orderly fashion. He doesn't need to hide anymore; he came here invited.

“The back door’s unlocked, you know that Eddy. Shame on you.” He hears Amanda’s voice through the speakers. Edgar presses his lips together; he has a long trail of stealthily sneaking ahead of him now. With cautious steps and a lachrymose glance forward, he proceeds.

Edgar’s rarely entered his own house using the front door. He thought it was only reserved for guests and other unwanted visitors. The back door was always his most preferred entrance; he'd usually sneak through there when he wanted to go up to his room undisturbed, after a long night at work or in the bar. Amanda’s reprimands would fuss him up too much and leave him unable to sleep, he hated that.

He lays his hand on the doorknob and slowly turns it. He's not dead yet, that's one phase complete. The living room is just the way he’d left it; dark and uninhibited. His steps are still light upon the wood. “You don’t really need to sneak like that now. The kid’s sleeping in the basement and you're a long way from there. Better hurry up if you want to see her though.” She gives out another laugh. Edgar rapidly scans his surroundings, “she has this entire place rigged.” He cringes at the troubling thought of her seeing his every move.

At a more moderate pace, he switches on the lights. The once quiet living room suddenly shifts into a rambunctious funhouse. A disco ball hangs from the ceiling and is switching through monochromatic lights, speakers at high volumes are furiously playing nursery rhymes and the TV is switched on to a disturbing cartoon with pink bunnies eating each other's hearts out. Edgar’s hands instinctively move to cover his ears only to be blighted by an even more disturbing sound; Amanda’s laughter.

It echoes through his existence, an unpleasant scar and a painful headache. “Did you really think that you'd ever see a good light again? Ha! Think again dear. I know how much you hate the light and all that, so I was carefully thoughtful as to not disturb you as much as I could. God I love how you cringe at the sight of daylight. Well don't you worry love, it's all fun in the dark from now on!”

Edgar’s painstakingly nauseated by the noise, but he can't show any signs of unease to feed Amanda’s pleasure. He chuckles in response, hoping that this would lessen her fun. “Oh joy you actually liked it! Let me raise the volume a bit… You'll just love this next song.” A sudden rancorous scream breaks through the repetitive laughter. A scream that spoke of pain and agony, a scream of unwantedness; Hanna’s.

“Ahh don't you just love the sound of children screaming out of physical pain?” She lets out another exorbitant chuckle. “Now I'm not going to tell you what I was doing to her back then, but recording it was surely the most fun part! Having to watch her bleed though, not so much.” Edgar's eyebrows are raised in anger, his disgust for Amanda now is beyond human expression.

He runs to the basement’s door only to be stopped by another one of her annoying conjectures. “Come on Ed, we both know better than that now don't we? The door’s unlocked, the key being with none other than yours truly.” Edgar can feel her devilish smile draw itself across her face. “Come up here and get it.”

Her prompts are innervating, yet they somehow appear sincere. Edgar slams both fist on the door in frustration and makes another hastened run upstairs.

The corridors are a lot narrower and longer than he last remembers them. His own room -lying at the end of that seemingly endless corridor- seems meters away. “Amanda!” He screams at the top of his lungs, possibly straining his voice in the process; he's been hushed for far too long.

“I’m in here silly, no need to get all fussy about it.” She's talking to him as if he were a child to be lulled into sleep, a disobedient one at that. He’s only seeing red again, but this time, it appears differently. It's overwhelming, blinding and even impulsive, but it's also empowering. Edgar runs at his full speed towards that door, accidentally ramming into it in the process, he clumsily falls to the ground like the idiot he is. Rage is a tool to be handled with delicate care, it can only be employed by the fierce, never the vengeful.

“Honey, you're finally home!” Chirps Amanda.

“The keys, Amanda.” Says Edgar as he raises himself from the ground.

“Is this how you greet me after all this time? I've missed you dear, why not come down here and lie for a while. I can turn on the stereo and bring us a couple of glasses. Maybe even a few candles, a back rub? I know that always sets you in the mood.”

“I don't have time for your stupid childishness Amanda. The keys, now!” He blurts out while she was talking.

Amanda is inside in her nightgown, she’s innocuously sitting on her dressing table, perplexed by the arrival of her sudden visitor. She stands up and gets a closer look at Edgar. Amanda looks at him in astonishment and gives him childish smile. This appeases Edgar's anger for exactly one moment. Enough for her to grab his arm and push him to the ground, she then sits on his back to restrain him.

“Don't ruin my fun now Eddy dear, the game’s just begun.” She soothingly whispers into his ear and then releases him.

“You’re not getting anything until we sit down and talk, or not talk at all actually I'm not quite sure how to base the conditions here,” she bluntly stares at the ceiling for a few seconds and then continues: “in fact I have absolutely no idea what to do now. But you're not getting the keys until you do it.”

She stands up, giving Edgar another moment of spontaneous relief. Amanda sits down on the bed and pats the empty space next to her, “come here and sit Eddy,” she reassuringly smiles. Edgar is forced to comply with her sickly nonsensical demands. A few more minutes for the sake of ending this shouldn't hurt anyone.

“Now you remember how I promised you an explanation earlier? You should know that there's always a reason, a secret, to everything I'm doing right now. You should also know that your little tasks aren't done.” Edgar looks at her with the eyes of a dying man; what more could she want?

“What more could you want?” He breaks out in hysteric anger; he's been holding it in for far too long, it's his turn to talk now.

“What more could you possibly want? I killed my old boss who f*****g happened to be a loving husband and a good father, I killed a young girl -barely making it to nine- in the middle of a play

session… And I, I killed my own mother in cold blood. For you! You little egotistical b***h. Is that how you wanted to get my attention? Is this how you think I'll be able to prove my love to my own daughter? Well guess what? I did it. I've finished every single bit of your stupid game. The riddles, the searching, the murders. I have more than proved my rightful custody for Hanna. What could I do that will make things more clear?”

Amanda stares at him, completely awestruck, almost innocently so. The silence remains for a few discomforting moments, they were both still staring at each other. Edgar giving her a silent scream of agony, she giving him an unblemished look of puzzlement in return; she is playing too well for him to handle right now, he's still seeing red.

She finally lets out her iconic laugh, sickening Edgar even more. “Will you f*****g stop it with the laughing already?” He starts pulling on his own hair.

“How can I-” her face reddens as her laughs get even more uncontrollable. “it’s just all too- funny.” She stops at the last word and maintains a contained expression.

“It’s all too funny really. I mean look at you.” She gestures all over his body.

“You look like you've been through hell. Dear all I've been doing is giving you the proper mode of catharsis.” She says this in a tone of extreme self-elation.

“Don't you feel all better now? So you've killed a father, a daughter and a mother. Love, you've lacked a proper father, daughter and mother all your life. Doesn't it feel so much better now that you've got all of that out of your system?”

Edgar looks at her with bloodshot eyes, “catharsis?” He mutters like a hapless weakling.

“Is all this just a game to you?” She gladly nods in assertion.

“A therapeutic game in fact.”

Her face is terrifying; her smile is haunting. “What's my last task?” He says as he mordantly states at the ground, avoiding her revolting gaze.

“Kill me.” She whispers in his ear and giddily stands up in excitement.

With a look of sheer and honest terror on his face, he looks up at his grinning ex-wife. “Wouldn’t this be the best grand finale ever? The best game ending ever too. The game maker is the final boss.” She goes around in a pirouette. “Come on now, get creative. You only have a couple of hours left.

Edgar takes a few moments to regain his state of proper consciousness, he came prepared. However, he did not come prepared for this. “No.” He tells her, disrupting her pleasant little fantasy from taking its expected toll.

“No?”

“No.” He firmly repeats.

“You don't have a say in that. This is my game. You play by my rules.” She childishly insists.

He smiles at her, “you don’t really get this do you? This isn't your game alone, not since you've involved me here. And now since I'm part of this little game too. I get to choose. I'm getting Hanna, and out of here. I've proved how much my daughter’s worth. She knows that her daddy loves her

now. Killing her mother won't help her understand that. Especially with the way you've manipulated her.” His sudden calmness appears to have irritated her for a slight second, but she quickly struggles to maintain her faultless expression.

“So you're doing all of this for Hanna?”

“Yes. For you too. You deserve to live the rest of your life with these people’s deaths on your conscience, even if partially so. I don't know what's wrong with you, but I'm sure as hell that someday, you're going to snap out of this. And when you do, you're gonna realize all the atrocities that you've caused. This should hopefully fix you up.”

“So you're doing all of this for me too?” She mutters, more to herself than to him.

“For you and Hanna.” He tells her with a smile.

She looks at him like an innocent child who’s just committed to having done wrong. The creases in her eye brow and her cherubic pout almost make Edgar feel pitiful towards her. Sympathy can only be too powerful, he lifts her face from the ground and gives her a comforting smile, one he knows she doesn't deserve.

A frightful laugh immediately shifts the scene. Amanda's on the ground with tears in her eyes, laughing herself into hysterics. “I swear it's all just too funny dear.” She says as she hoists herself upwards and attempts to retain her balance once again.

“You're too funny dear.” His eyes speak of betrayal, but he's more inclined to shock at the moment.

“That's exactly what you used to say. Remember dear? Remember those days when you'd come back late and tired from work, I asked you why you said ‘you and Hanna’. Oh and those other days when you'd come back from the bar and I'd ask you why you were doing this to yourself; to us, you used to say ‘you and Hanna’. Not to mention the countless nights when you wouldn't even speak to us at all,” she lets out a little chuckle in the middle, “but I always knew the answer: ‘you and Hanna.’ It's all too familiar.”

She moves around the room until she finally reaches Edgar, who was still sitting on the bed, silently meditating his options. “It's even more now. If asked why'd you go along killing all these… Strangers. I'd get the same answer ’you and Hanna.’” She staggers off mid-sentence, tired of all the laughing. “It sounds like a sick old song to me, remember the kind of useless repetitive songs we used to mock?” She sits down next to him, and is abruptly silenced.

Edgar opens his mouth to say something, bus immediately interrupted by her forefinger. “You want to know why it's even more funny dear?” Edgar quietly nods, he needs to get this over with soon.

“It's because it's repeating itself again; this cycle of yours. You've always gotten too caught up in the chase that you often forget to ask yourself the real questions, the important ones.” She pauses for a moment and then looks at his wristwatch. “Like why am I really doing this, or even what day is this?”

His attention immediately shifts towards the date on his watch, 24. It’s been five days since Hanna was kidnapped. She continues before he gets the chance to stand up after realizing his current calamity, “or even more important questions like: will an ‘unlocked’ door open if I just turn the handle?”

A few seconds have passed and he's nowhere to be seen on the second floor. Amanda stands up and calmly walks towards the basement door where Edgar is furiously staring at the door. She takes slow and even steps until she reaches him. “Try.” She prompts.

Edgar tries hard not to do what he's told, but the temptation is too hard to resist. He closes his eyes, turns down the handle and the door opens. It's never been locked. “So much time wasted,” says Amanda at her fleeting husband.

“Hanna!” He screams in terror as his runs down the stairs in total darkness. A faint, flickering light is seen in a far corner of the room; the generator. Next to it is an array of wires all leading up to the execution chair; Hanna’s purported deathbed.

He marches slowly to get a better view of the infantile structure in front of him. Hanna’s all curled up, cold and without a blanket. A stringent odour surrounds the ailing child, possibly urine. Edgar kneels down next to his daughter, unable to see her face, unwilling to try and lift it. “Hanna?” He mutters between silent sobs. No reply.

“Hanna.” He says louder this time. Amanda is watching him with keen interest, her game has just reached its climax; this should fuel him up for his final boss battle.

Edgar finally comes to admit to himself that all hope is lost. He lifts the child's face to see closed eyes and extreme pallor. He carries his daughter’s body, in hopes of reviewing any signs of vitality about her, there are none. He holds the frigid corpse to his chest and falls to the ground in a seated position. He allows himself to cry even more openly this time, all while monotonously uttering her name within sobs. She's gone, it's all his fault.

Amanda bleakly interrupts his moment of sorrow once again, carrying dark intentions. He feels a stone-hard hand on his shoulder. “She's dead, it's over. You have no reason not to kill me.” She harshly reminds him.

Edgar raises his head to look at Amanda, not in disgust nor disdain, but in pity. Strong, sympathetic pity. His compassionate look doesn't satisfy her; she pushes him even more. “I did this to her. I left her here all alone to rot. On purpose, all to feel the effects of daddy's little negligence.” Still, no more rage from him. He knows exactly what she wants now, and he's not giving her that satisfaction.

“It was you,” he loudly says to himself. “You did this.”

“Yes yes, and doesn't fair Justice deem me guilty, deserving none other than the death penalty?” She looks him directly in the eyes.

“Granted to me by none other than you? He who I've mostly wronged?”

He gives her another look of evoked pity, “no you don't deserve death. You deserve rehabilitation. You need a second chance.” He drops Hanna’s body on the ground and stands up then slowly walks towards Amanda.

“You can heal; you can be fixed. Sometimes all you need is a…” He suddenly grabs her in a solicitous embrace, she lets herself go. “A warm hug.” The effusion of emotions overwhelms both of them for a couple of seconds. Edgar feels himself giving in; he needs this more than her.

“I told you Eddy,” she haplessly mutters. “Don’t ruin my fun.” With a swift motion of her hands she stabs him in the back with her knife in one hand and stabs herself with the knife in his hand with the other. They both go down at the same time.