A Daughters Revenge

Saoirse winced as the paper cuts began to bleed. In the dim light, she looked around at the piles of printed emails. Small drops of blood fell onto the papers beneath her.

Her head felt heavy. Looking around, the sheer mass of her father's lies overwhelmed her. Dozens of emails, full of abuse and hate, fluttered from the breeze from the open window. The outside air was warm, the sky a multitude of bright colors as the sun dipped below the horizon. The smell of gum trees filled her head.

Her tears had dried up after reading through the ninth email. After that, it was just anger.

The angry words of her father to her mother burned in her head.

'Dear Lynn. Wow. You cant actually communicate one thing at a time, can you?! You a selfish, manipulative wretch.'

She spun to face the window.

'Hi, Lynn. What a horrible end to a great weekend you made it!"

She began to sob in despair as his voice filled her thoughts.

'you don't have our daughter's best interest at heart; all you value is control.'

She began to realize what she had allowed him to get away with.

'Lynn, you are a cancer in my life. I never want to see or talk to you again. I would add 'except in cases of emergencies,' but you wouldn't even contact the girl's father then, would you? Their father is just dirt to be scraped off your shoes, right?'

She thought she knew him.

'consider any bridges burned.'

His voice rose to a roar.

'Please remember, I DON'T TRUST A SINGLE WORD YOU SAY.'

Saoirse let out a sob of horror. All these years, she had believed her father when he had said that her mother was the manipulative one. The cruel one. She had trusted him with everything. He hid his cruelty so well with all the smiles and the presents he had given. The camping trips, the money, the promise of fun at every corner. All a glittering smoke screen. Holding her head in her hands, she let an anguished scream tear its way out of her lungs. She fell to her knees, her body shaking like a leaf, bent over with the force of her sobs.

An hour later, the weather had turned dark. Clouds filled the sky, and a low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Saoirse sat, head bowed, on the edge of her bed. Through her bangs, she stared at the mess of papers on the wooden floor. A cold serenity swept over her, pushing her upright. This wouldn't do. He didn't deserve her tears. Not from her. Pulling herself up from the bed, she brushed away the dark hair from her eyes, tying it back into a low pony-tail. Bending down, she began clearing up the papers, careful to not cut herself again. She went around the small attic bedroom and gathered every picture of him and every card he had sent. Looking through the cards, she scoffed. Reading them now, it was apparent just how much he was compensating. With great care, she folded every email, picture, and card into a small black notebook, which, once full of every lie and shred of abuse, every fake smile, and every kind word, was quickly stuffed under her mattress. Letting out a short breath, she cleaned up her messy desk, pushing aside the empty mugs and old drafting paper.

Taking a deep breath, she walked through the cold apartment and made her way to the small kitchen. Filling the kettle, she began to make herself a cup of tea. She needed to focus. Leaning against the bench, she felt a cool wind run through the room. The white button-down shirt wasn't doing much to keep her warm. Walking over to the open window, she closed it with a resounding bang. The high-pitched whistling of the hot kettle caught her attention, and she made her way back to the stove.

With her hot tea in hand, she spent the next two hours searching through all the legal avenues she could take to ruin his life, to make him feel the pain he had caused her. She eventually decided on three things. Three things that could break her.

Her first thought? That no legal avenue would be enough to get genuinely satisfying revenge for what he had done. The end result would not outweigh what she would have to do to get her vengeance. She would have to spend thousands in court just to see him pay. Thousands that she did not have.

This revelation led her to her second thought: She would need to get close to him.

She would be closer than ever, complimenting him, talking him up, being the perfect daughter.' Then she would drop in hints that her mother was being cruel and cutting her off. This would allow her to convince him that she needed money. She knew that he had set aside 20,000 for her in his will. If she could build a stronger relationship with him, she may be able to grow that number.

And third? That this would not be a quick revenge. It would take months to enact. She couldn't be hasty. If she made one wrong move, let slip one conflicting opinion, the whole plan would be ruined. She needed to move slow if she wanted this to work.

Leaning back in her armchair, she twisted her head to the side to glance at her extensive bookcase. Crime novels and murder mysteries filled the shelves. Saoirse let her mind drift. She thought back to every book she had read, thinking about their plots and how she could use them in deciding just how she could finish the job in the most satisfying way possible.

Here is what she knew.

She wanted to be violent. She wanted to cause her father as much pain as possible, to tear out his teeth, to take his fingers off at the joints one by one. She wanted to leave him a bloody mess, tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere to let the animals finish him off. She wanted to eviscerate him and feed him his own guts.

She knew that she would need to bury the body vertically. Police would be looking for six feet of disturbed earth. She should cover the body with torn-up cardboard and yoghurt to balance out the chemicals the body would release and aid decomposition.

She knew that she should dispose of the body separately from the hands and the head. That way, identification would be far more difficult for investigators. She should also get pliers and crush the teeth—no dental records. No prints. A national park would be the best place to dispose of the body. Preferably somewhere remote from any tracks. Somewhere near enough to water to speed up the decay, but not close enough to disturb the remains.

If she wanted to obliterate the body with a wood-chipper first, she knew that she should freeze the body beforehand so that the wet flesh wouldn't clog up the gears.

She knew not to dump the body off a cliff, as it would just wash up on the shore.

No. This was all too aggressive. She needed to tone down her method. If she tortured him and disposed of the body, there would be an investigation into his murder, which would undoubtedly get her into trouble. Her head snapped to the window as she heard a clap of thunder. Rain began to pour down, beating against the plate glass windows.

She knew that the easiest way to kill him would be to get him drunk and put a syringe of air beneath his tongue once he had passed out. The effects would simulate a heart attack, which, with her father's age and poor physical health, would be believable, and the skin of the tongue would heal itself before any medical examiner would have a chance to see it. Once they had regular visits, she could have dinner with him and get him drunk enough to pass out on his bed. Once the deed had been done, she could let herself out, leaving him on his bed, dead. He wouldn't be found for a few days. He was retired and lived alone. Decomp would already have started by the time the police were called. By that time, any evidence would be long gone.

Letting out a small huff, she smiled. She could get away with this. Within the year, she would have no more trouble from her father and would be over 20,000 dollars richer. Yes, it would take some time, but then again, good things usually do. Saoirse began to laugh. Grabbing her phone, she started to play her favorite band, pushing the volume to 100%. She slid the chair back from her desk and strolled into the kitchen, green eyes catching the lightning strikes from the window. She began to dance her way to the fridge, spinning, and twirling. Her hair fell out of its tie, whipping around her as she danced. She yanked open the door of the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of champagne. Dancing back to the bedroom, she popped the cork on the champagne and took a generous swig. Giggling, she fell back onto her bed, letting her arms glide across the cotton sheets. She let loose a huge smile, and whispered 'oh, dad, I'm really looking forward to this!'