The Girl in Flat Three: A Psychological Crime Thriller by Jacqueline Beard

Author:Jacqueline Beard [Beard, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: psychological thriller, Crime Thriller, suspense novel
Publisher: Dornica Press
Published: 2022-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Imagine looking into a mirror and detesting the person returning your stare, or feeling repulsed by the coward on the other side of the glass. I lived that way for years – hated mirrors, loathed my reflection, a constant reminder of my failure to face up to my tormentors. I could have stopped them, but that would have meant telling someone and articulating the words that would reveal my shame. Instead, I bore it, knowing that my form teacher was complicit. They might have believed me if it was my word against Caldicot's. But not with two of them. I didn't stand a chance.

I became sullen and withdrawn, a behaviour that encouraged Aunt Dora to greater acts of discipline. And in time, she became the enemy too. I played tricks on her, moved things, hid them, anything to make her life difficult. She hadn't protected me from the horrors of school. Why should she have it easy?

After a few years at the hands of Caldicot and his accomplice, something in me profoundly changed. Alone and friendless, I became a collector, seeking insects in the nearby woodlands and spending lonely hours foraging under rocks, in ponds and among the trees. It was an unusual hobby for a teenager when everyone else was playing music or dancing. But it kept me occupied and gave me a focus away from endlessly counting the many ways I would kill Caldicot and Devonshire if the chance came my way.

My collection began by accident, as these things often do. I was lying on my belly in a clearing in the wood, reading a nature book I'd taken from home, when a swallowtail butterfly landed near my fingertips, fanning its wings across the page. I stared transfixed at its lustrous colours, a mosaic of symmetry across paper-thin wings. I coveted the magnificent creature, wanted it for my own. Its body shimmered, wings twitching as it prepared to fly away. But I wasn't willing to let it go and slammed the book shut without a second thought, killing it, of course. The vibrant colours eventually crumbled away until nothing remained but a dusty outline where a living creature once vibrated with new life. I did not regret the act and desired more pretty creatures. But this time, I would do the job properly and have something to look at and admire when school became unbearable.

I borrowed a book from the public library and learned how to make a killing jar with plaster of Paris soaked in ethyl acetate. Once mastered, I caught insects in a net, emptied them into the pot, and watched as the chemical did its work. They died quickly at first, and once dead, I would pin them to a board and frame them. Aunt Dora couldn’t hide her disgust. She loathed the rows of dead butterflies hanging from my bedroom walls, complaining that it was a cruel, old-fashioned hobby. Well, she didn't know the half of it.

I enjoyed pinning the butterflies, stabbing sharp metal through their thorax and onto the spreading board.

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