Chapter 4

   The Glass Table

-Oh my gosh…

Clara was left dazed and confused, this was unexpected.

-H-h-how did u find me? 

Trembling in fear as she knew her life was being played with

-ANSWER ME! 

Her hand was shaking, her eyes watered, and Clara was scared.

-I GET TO DECIDE NOW! I couldn't before but now, I will.

Mallory said with pure ravenous fury in her innocent-looking sapphire blue eyes, "She got up from her kneeling position and walked away. Well, that’s what Clara thought. Instead, she was walking towards a desk left in a dark corner of the room when they locked eyes again. This time, Clara saw her holding a knife, a knife already covered in blood.

"I gave you many chances, hints, and threats, but you always put your pride first. You truly don't realize how essential the string, binder, and post-its were!"

"Realize what?!"

"That you aren’t innocent and need to acknowledge what you did! Tell me was that night fun with that knife, hurting, harming my parents, and ending up with both of them dead!"

"That's not true! They put themselves into that mess!"

"Lies! Why even do it in the first place?"

Clara couldn't come back to that. Although she knew what she did was wrong from someone else's point of view, she truly still believed she did what was for the greater good that night.

It was an ordinary day for the engaged couple. Serena and Mallory enjoyed their time together during the day while working separate jobs at night. One evening, Ms. Oxbridge, Mallory's mother, decided to surprise them. 

She knew they would be working that hour, hoping that when they arrived home and saw her, that would bring them feelings of surprise rather than just exhaustion. Little did she know, her visit would lead to an unpleasant shock.

She had brought a pie—specifically, a blueberry pie, Serena’s favorite. This was her way of apologizing for being so harsh on Serena and also a way to thank her for finally engaging with her daughter. She placed the pie on the kitchen table and headed to the guest room, where she usually kept her things. 

As she stepped inside, the sight before her, froze her in shock. 

Her hands slackened, and everything she carried tumbled to the floor. Across the room, Serena was looming over Mr. Oxbridge, methodically slicing his throat. Before a scream could escape her lips, a bullet pierced through her skull.

Later that night when Mallory finally arrived, the police were already there.

Mallory was bewildered as to why they were there. The police asked her questions and she slowly realized she had lost both of her parents on the same day, she cried, screamed and only felt rage, rage for the person who had done this, she promised herself to find them and to take revenge, at that moment the only one person she could turn to was Serena. 

" I waited for you that night, Serena!"

Mallory's voice trembled, her eyes brimming with tears as she fought back the breakdown clawing at her insides. She couldn’t crumble now—not yet. Her father would have wanted her to be strong. Gritting her teeth, she steadied herself and leveled the knife at Clara’s neck.

“This is how you killed him, isn’t it?”                                                              

Mallory said, her voice sharp despite the cracks of grief. 

“Eighteen centimeters. That’s what the police said. You sliced through eighteen centimeters of his throat without

even hesitating.”

Clara’s expression shifted. Her lips curled into an unnervingly calm smile as she raised her hands in mock surrender. Her voice was soft, soothing, and calculated as she attempted to regain control.

“Mallory, think about it,” Clara whispered.

“What I did—it wasn’t for me. It was for all of us. For you. Your father would have understood. He would’ve wanted this.”

Mallory’s grip faltered, her mind racing as Clara’s words slithered into her thoughts like poison.

“How... how would he have wanted this?”

Mallory asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Clara seized the moment, her smile widening.

“He would’ve wanted you to survive, Mallory. To understand. Your father wasn’t perfect. None of us are. He made choices—choices that hurt people. I corrected things. It wasn’t for me—it was for the greater good.”

Mallory’s hands shook, her doubt growing. But then her thoughts turned to her innocent, loving mother.

“And my mom?” Mallory’s voice cracked. “She didn’t do anything. She was innocent.”

“I couldn’t risk her telling anyone what she saw, for the assassination job success,” Clara said, her voice cold and devoid of remorse. “I’m sorry.”

Mallory’s heart wavered at the apology. Could Clara be right? Had her father been hiding something? What if... what if this was what he truly wanted?

“You’re hesitating,”

Clara observed, her tone almost triumphant.

“You’re not a killer, Mallory. If you do this, you’ll become just like me. Is that what you want? To lose yourself? To become a monster?”

Mallory’s breath hitched. Her chest tightened as Clara’s words took root. She wasn’t like Clara. She couldn’t be.

“Shut up,” Mallory whispered, but the conviction in her voice wavered.

Clara took a cautious step forward, her hands still raised.

“You don’t want this blood on your hands,” Clara said softly. “You don’t want his memory tainted by something you can’t take back. Let me help you. Just put the knife down.”

In a flash, Clara lunged. Her hands clamped around Mallory’s wrist, twisting it violently.

The knife clattered to the floor as Clara shoved her into a chokehold, pinning her against the chair.

“See?” Clara taunted, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’re not a killer. You never were.”

Mallory’s fury ignited like a wildfire. Through gritted teeth, she spat, “I’m nothing like you. You killed for greed. I wanted justice for my parents.”

“Justice?” Clara scoffed, leaning in close. “Justice is an illusion. You’re too scared to admit you enjoyed the idea of revenge.”

Mallory’s anger boiled over. With a surge of adrenaline, she kicked Clara away, sending her staggering. Her eyes darted around the room until they landed on an oil lamp perched on a glass table.

“You’re right, Clara,”

Mallory said, her voice steady and cold as she walked towards the table.

“Justice is an illusion. But revenge?”

She grabbed the lamp, her grip tightening as she set her sights on her goal.

“Revenge is real. And it burns.”

When she has a goal she scores, but sometimes she puts it on fire.