Terrible Me
Elizabeth A. Cooper
Copyright © 2012 Elizabeth A. Cooper
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1507509731
ISBN-13: 978-1507509739
DEDICATION
To my family and friends who have supported me on this crazy adventure.
CONTENTS
1 A Different Life
2 Long Forgotten
3 Caught By A Pair
4 Withdrawal
5 Plans
6 Back to the Past
7 Changing Time
8 Changes
9 Disappearing Forever
10 Life's Uncertainty
11 Putting the Past Back Together
12 Making Amends
Preface
I'm an awful woman. I've known this my whole life. It's in my walk, my speech, my personality. Who would believe that baby that started sweet, fragile, and innocent would turn out to be like me.
My parents hated me for my gifts; that’s why I left at 18. They hated what I could do to them, what I had become. I can live on my own without my parents, without anyone. I can get everything I want.
I'm not sure there's anyone else in the world like me, no one else with the power to persuade. I don't know what people see in me or what makes them give over to my wants. I concentrate on what I want them to do; I stare deep into their eyes. They take one look into my strikingly green eyes and give in.
Daily, people willingly let me take their possessions. I have no remorse for what I've done.The addiction for more is growing and comes on suddenly. I take and take and take, but I will never be satisfied. I'm a danger to everyone around me. I should be locked up somewhere and highly medicated.
1 a Different Life
3 Years Ago
I hear the door bell ring, followed by a loud bang on the door. I roll myself off of the couch and onto my feet. I glance at the mirror above the fireplace. I see round emerald green eyes on an oval face I no longer recognize. Framed by a mop of disheveled, curly blonde hair. I used to straighten my hair, but I don't bother anymore. The door bell rings again, and I swing the front door open. In front of the doorway stands an average, athletically built cop standing beside a balding, mid-forties, beer-bellied man I recognize from the store yesterday.
"Great," I mumble under my breath.
"Molly Princhett?" says the cop.
"Yes," I say.
"I'm Officer Brown and this is Mr. Jacobs."
"You!" Mr. Jacobs yells. "You took my wallet!"
"No," I say "You gave the wallet to me."
"Why would I give you my wallet?" he says. "I don't know what kind of voodoo magic she does, but this has to stop. She's stealing from everyone. And I know I'm not the only one who has complained!"
"Molly," starts the cop, "I have had several complaints from others in town. Why does everybody’s money disappear after talking to you?"
"It doesn't disappear," I say. "I'm not a magician. I ask and they give their stuff to me. What's the crime in that?"
"She puts a spell on people; she's a witch!" Jacobs yells.
"Settle down," says the cop. "We will get your money back. Molly, where is the man’s money?"
"Here," I say, handing him the money from my pocket.
"These situations need to settle down or you're going to be seeing the inside of a jail cell pretty soon."
"He gave me the money. I'm still not seeing the crime in that."
"He says differently."
I slam the door shut. How is it my fault he gave me what I asked for? I feel a little twinge in my chest, that twinge you feel when you know you're lying to yourself. When you know you made him give you the money. I push the thought away, I don't deserve to be treated like this. I can't help that I have a gift; there should be a hate crime against hating people with gifts.
The door swings open again and slams against the back wall. My mother walks in, looking unnerved.
"I just saw a cop leaving our driveway.Do not tell me he was here for you again!" she screams.
"What do you think?" I say.
"Molly Marie Princhett, I cannot do this anymore; there are cops at our door every day and more neighbors that hate us than live in Oakley Falls,Ohio."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mom. People give me things, I can't help that they get mad afterwards."
"You take things from people without their protesting at the time, but you know they will want them back later. How can you do that to someone? What is wrong with you? We are going to have to discuss this when your father gets home. I don't know what we're going to do with you. You need help, your a kleptomaniac.”
"You don't have to discuss anything with dad. I don’t have anything wrong with me. I'm packing my things. I will be gone. I don't need you. I don't need any of you, I can survive perfectly fine on my own."
"Then go try. Live on your own."
My mother doesn't get me, doesn't understand me, and she never will. She doesn't understand what I do, what I go through. The drive, the need, the compulsion to take. It's become my lifeline.
Slam! My dresser shakes and glass shatters against the floor. I hated that vase, anyways. I crumple up the clothes, throwing them into a large duffel bag. I want to leave before my father gets home. He'll never let me go and I need to get out of here. I can't live with people always breathing down my neck. I don't care about what I take, I enjoy stealing.
The door comes quickly behind me, slamming against the door frame. I hear a faint noise, maybe crying. It’s coming from the kitchen, growing louder as I walk down the stairs. I stop, looking back at the kitchen door. I could make this right, but I don't want to.
I have as good as left before my foot crosses the threshold. I'm gone. I've placed the finishing touches on what I've become. I am no one; I'm a mystery and a fleeting dream, something that will never last, something that just disappears.
I pull the door shut behind me, leaving that final memory. The only good-bye I could give them.
I walk to the train station in the center of town and buy a ticket to Portland, Oregon.
Portland isn't far enough away, but it will have to do for now.
2 Long Forgotten
Present day
I wake from a dream, remembering the last time I saw my parents. I have traveled to many places since I bought that ticket to Portland. Being me, I can only stay in one place for so long. Quickly word gets out about the girl with the emerald eyes that can steal your heart and your belongings. Chicago even nicknamed me the Emerald Thief.
Chicago was the first place I went big. I was no longer getting the satisfaction I needed from stealing coats, rings, wallets, etc. I broke into a high-end jewelry store and stole a diamond necklace. Afterwards it was reported that the guard had only this to say.
"They were as bright as emeralds, shining even in the night."
The robberies continued from banks to jewelry stores, coach bags to designer jeans. I moved from place to place, remaining unseen. The police said, "The Emerald Thief is a mystery, she's not real." They thought the robber sprayed some kind of hallucinate on the guards, making them forget everything except her eyes.
The small-town thefts were only the beginning of my string of robberies. I no longer received the highs I used to get from stealing small amounts of money and personal items. I started looking even bigger, museums and banks. The adrenaline pushing me forward, as soon as one robbery was over, I would be planning the next.
I think back to last week; I walked into a high-end purse store. I went right in during the middle of the day and took the bag off the shelf. I waited until the register was free of purchasers
and went up to the sales associate.
"Can I help you, miss?" she asked. She was dressed in a navy blue skirt suit and her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head.
"Yes," I said, looking up into her eyes. "I would like you to take the tags off of this handbag and place it in a shopping bag."
"Yes, of course," she said.
Right in the middle of the day, how amazing. I really can have everything I want.
I roll out of bed, the cold hardwood floor sends a chill through my body. The apartment takes up half the top floor, way too big for just one person, but the manager lets me stay here for free. The ceilings are vaulted with dark wooden beams. There are five separate rooms, each uniquely designed to fit that perfect rich person. I've placed all the stolen trinkets, artifacts, and jewelry throughout the rooms.
I start my day as I usually do. Letting the need drive me, take me where I'm supposed to be. I long to look into someone’s eyes to feel my power at work again. I rush to get ready. Pulling myself together, I head to the nearest crowded area I can find; these areas have the easiest targets.
The mall in Oakley Falls, Ohio reminds me of Opryland. Beautiful trees and flowers are gathered in the center for visitors to walk through and enjoy. I walk down the path and find a small wooden bench next to the flower bed full of lilies and daisies. I pretend to be smelling a red rose as a young gentleman walks by. His broad shoulders and wide stance give him the illusion of confidence, but confidence is no match for me.
"Hey there," he says with a sly smile spreading across his lips.
I turn my body toward him and look into his brown eyes.
"Hi," I say.
"Wow, your eyes..." he says. "I have never seen anything like them."
"I hear that a lot," I say. "Do you want to go for a walk?"
"I'd love to," he says, grabbing my hand. "How about we enjoy the rest of this flower garden?"
I hold on to his hand, following him down the path.
"I really love your jacket," I say, bringing his face close to mine and looking into his eyes. "I think you should give the jacket to me."
"Of course, you can have it," he says. "I don't need a jacket, anyway."
He pulls the jacket off, placing it into my arms. "You can have whatever you need. I would give you anything."
"Thank you," I say. "But, I really must be going."
"Will I ever see you again?"
"That is up to you," I say.
I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and leave him alone on the path.
When I get back to the mall, I leave his jacket on a nearby bench. I don't need it, I just wanted to take. These minor thieveries, I use them as a crutch, helping me along to the next big steal.
The addiction drives me, pulls me, toward the weak and the helpless. I can't control the need, the impulse, the adrenaline. My parents didn't understand; no one understands but me. Most people don't realize they're addicts; they live unaware, only affecting those around them. I wish I was like that. Instead I live aware that I am choosing to do the wrong thing, aware that I will face severe consequences if I hurt others. I can't seem to break the pattern. Or I just don't want to?
I remember last month I was in California and decided to check out the Wainwright Museum. They have unique artifacts from the Mayans civilization all the way up to the early 1950s. I figured they would have something that would catch my eye there.
I ran up the front steps of the museum and started banging loudly on the door.
"Help, Help!"
The security guard came running.
"What's the matter?"
"I need you to let me in the museum," I say, glancing up into his blue eyes.
"Of course. Come on in," he said, unlocking the door.
"I need to look around," I said. "You can stay here and keep watch."
"Okay," he said.
I walked through the museum as if looking for something but nothing was catching my eye. There were models of planes, cars, spears, daggers, nothing I wanted. There had to be something there I could take, I thought. I rounded the corner, taking in the next section of the museum, and lining the walls were models of ancient pyramids and entombments.
Then I saw the sundials. They were lined in order from oldest to newest. Starting with a sundial drawn in the sand with a small piece of wood sticking out to catch the sun's rays. I looked up the line of sundials and stopped at the 1600s. This sundial was made of bronze and was small enough to hold in the palm of my hand. I placed the sundial in the pocket of my jacket and walked back over to the guard.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked.
I looked into his eyes. "You let me in and I was just leaving. You have no idea what happened to the sundial."
He opened the door and I escaped into the cool, black night.
3 Caught By A Pair
I duck down low, creeping down the street. I hide under the cover of darkness. The sixth avenue jewelry shop sits a few blocks away from my apartment. Although I don't know why I bother to hide, I could always persuade someone to leave if I needed them to. I have been researching the 6th avenue jewelry shop. There’s an alarm at the entrance and only one guard inside. I spent the last few days sitting across the street watching how everyone works; this will be all too easy.
I come around the corner and walk to the front entrance of the shop and begin to cry, tears instantly streaming down my face. I've done this before. I scream and bang against the entrance.
"Help!" I yell. "Help me, please."
The guard runs to the front entrance.
"What's the matter?" he asks. "What happened?"
"Someone tried to mug me," I say through the sobs, sniffling a few times. "I barely got away. Please let me in. He'll come back for me!"
"I can't let you in, but I can call the police to pick you up."
"No! They'll be too late." I say, looking up into his eye. "Let me in the shop."
He hesitates for a moment, scratching his head. I didn't even use my full strength.
"All right, miss, let me disable the alarm."
"Thank you, thank you so much."
He walks away for a moment and I watch the lights flicker above. He comes back and opens the door for me.
"Let me call the police now to pick you up and take you home."
"Don't call the police," I say. "I'll be fine in here.”
"Okay," says the guard. "I'll let you stay here."
"And you'll let me pick out a piece of jewelry."
"Yes, you can pick out a piece of jewelry."
I slide my hands across the glass, looking each piece over. I stop in front of the last case. A large emerald butterfly catches my gaze. Perfect. The guard unlocks the case for me, and I pull the shining necklace out, holding the chain in front of me. Breathtaking. A small silver body, polished to perfection. The emeralds catch the faint light and sparkle.
"How perfectly it matches your eyes," says the guard.
"What about the diamonds in the vault?" I say. I press my power farther, testing the limits.
"The vault?" he asks, “wait, what are you doing in here?"
I'm losing him, quickly I look up and gaze into both his eyes. Carefully, moving my energy into his mind.
"Yes, the vault." I say.
"Turn around." He says, reaching for his gun.
"I was just kidding." I say, pushing all the energy I have into his mind. "I was just leaving."
"So soon?" he says. Removing his hand from his gun. He relaxes, his mind giving over control.
"Yes."
I turn to walk out the front entrance and see a S.W. A.T. team pull up to the curb.
"How did I trip the alarm?"
"What’s going on?" the guard yells.
"Nothing," I say, turning toward him. "But I need you to be out of my way."
I take one step forward and land an upper cut right
underneath his jaw. I hear the crunch and he falls backward. Lights out for now. I run to the back entrance and pull the door open, then step outside. Why wouldn't they put someone at the back entrance?
"Hello," says a woman to my left.
"Oh, hi. I must be lost. Can you just show me the way out of here?" I say, looking up into her eyes. "I don't know anything about the robbery."
"I see," she says, stepping into the light. She reveals her emerald green eyes, the same as mine. "Then why were you coming out the back entrance?"
I stare even harder this time, concentrating on changing her mind. "I don't know anything about the robbery."
"Well, I'll still have to take you in for questioning," she says, reaching over to reveal the butterfly necklace around my neck. "Especially since you have this."
She turns me around so quickly I don't even realize I am moving. Handcuffs tighten around my wrists. Who is she and why didn't my ability work? This can't be right; something’s wrong.