Pieces of Her {A Closed Horror Rp Mystery Containing NSFW Triggering Content}
Beverly and Bethany Grace were identical in almost every way, their demeanor being the one true thing to tell them apart by. Beve was very outgoing, a bright soul that everyone adored. A girl who every man desired. Beth, on the other hand, was more closed off, quiet and the drabbest girl around. She was physically as beautiful as her twin but was practically invisible and plain in appearance. Men had hardly noticed the girl with her face hidden constantly behind old books. Beve herself was not just a centerpiece, or some man’s trophy, being as smart as her bookworm twin. She had just been more keen on life and men, even going as far as having a fling with Albert, a local lad who lived down the street in their youth that became a magician as he grew into adulthood. She had been the first to apply for the part of his lovely assistant, getting the role easily and only later bedding him. Beth also admired Albert, known to them as Bertie, but only from afar and he would become the one thing that she grew envious of in regards to her sister. But that was all a far more innocent time and all three eventually grew apart from one another, unaware back then of the horror their lives would become.
By her mid-twenties Beve married a very handsome sort named Roger, a complete package for a lovely girl that wanted to finally settle down…
Unfortunately he was the type that never gave up his youthful partying ways and got himself crippled in a drunken accident. He couldn’t deal with the shame of it all and took to beating his wife.
Beth on the other hand never found anyone to be particular about, not in the slightest, and she secured her future herself by becoming the head Librarian at the public library of their hometown. Before that there was a long stay at a place known now as the Caligari Institute, a place where Beth sought treatment for issues she secretly struggled with most of her life. She had only met her sister’s husband a few times, only once before his fall and change, noting the rise in her sister’s ‘clumsiness’, Beve rarely seen these days without a bruise or two. Life seemed to want its pound of flesh from Beve but Beth was determined to save her, her twin being the only important part of her life. But what could a quiet, lonely librarian do? That was a question that would later end with the death of a few people and a disappearance that would baffle many…
Roger Halsey had once loved his wife, or that was what he believed. Now all she was was a fucking reminder of the days before he messed up his life and became a prisoner to this fucking chair. The continuous, monotonous clacking the old rickety spokes of the wheels made infuriated him as he rolled his way through an old, large house that was once not so dark, neglected and worn down. He scratched at the scraggly beard that overran the lower half of his somewhat still handsome face. He was much paler these days with dark circles under his hateful eyes. He was quite something once, long ago. Now he was as cold and empty as the vault they shared together, a place of no escape. He made sure to do his best to kill the life in her. To kill her joy and sparkle, which enraged him to no end. Ironically those were the things he use to love about her, he couldn’t quite remember anymore actually. Was there ever real love there? Where was that bitch anyway?
Recently his wife had reconnected with her sister, a true waste of human existence if you asked him. And since then Beve has regained some of that sparkle and life he despised, disappearing for hours some days, leaving him with that fucking old nurse he hated more than his wife. That old bitch Anna always sided against him and Roger swore she was a thief. Sometimes he debated on just killing her, killing Beve, and then killing himself… There was the car door closing outside, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. Before he could fully turn his chair around to start down the hall, Anna came out of the kitchen ahead of him and shot him a nasty look as she marched by towards the front of the house. By the time he managed to reach the foyer, on his own as usual, he caught a brief glimpse of his wife’s back as she was being led from the landing on the second floor to around the corner where their bedroom was, Anna holding her up and Beve appearing ill. It was more lack of control in the situation than care for her well being that had Roger quickly roll to the small elevator, that annoying clacking of his wheels sounding more like the mocking chatter of onlookers who weren’t really there. What he was about to find upstairs in his bedroom would challenge what little sanity his paranoia and self hatred hadn’t yet fully chipped away these past ten years.
Beve was alone, Anna off somewhere else now he assumed, and Roger noticed his wife was still in her old, tattered, black and white faux fur coat, she was too weak to ever wear real fur. She must have dressed her best for what ever God knows what it was she had the gall to defy him over, something that kept her out most of the day. It was the evening now and getting darker by the minute. Time to start the usual routine before hitting her.
How dare she cut him off, staring blankly up at the ceiling and not even showing an ounce of fear. And had that bruise on her face already begin to heal or was it on the other side? The side he couldn’t quite see-
His wife turned her whole countenance to him, what had been left of it, and for a moment Roger was the one who felt afraid. He might of even felt a sad, horrified love for the destroyed beauty who he had mistreated for so long. The whole right side of her face, from her forehead to her chin, was bandaged, a bloodied bandage, and her eyes were that of a drugged woman without a care left to give.
That would be the last words that Roger would hear her speak, something in him finally snapping and it was more than the fact she had defied him. Did he even ask what had happened to her? Or who had done this terrible thing? No. Did he ask if she had consented in having half of her face removed? If he had he would’ve known the truth to it all. Instead he just rolled over to the bed and pulled himself up onto it. Making his way over to her and strangling her without a word. Her eyes became more defiant as she faded, a haunting stare that sent chills down his spine even in his murderous rage. Afterwards he managed to get back into his chair, rolling back behind the open door. Waiting for that fucking nurse to return…
In the end Roger Halsey was a chicken shit. His prior delusions of murder suicide fell through when faced with reality. After leaving his wife on the bed and rolling the nurse’s body to the guest bathroom, dumping her off of him and into the tub, Roger had a smaller, more pathetic breakdown. What to do now? He couldn’t kill himself. The sun would be fully down soon and- A thought occurred to him. One he found rather brilliant for the idiot he was. Beth, in a rare appearance at the house, for lunch days ago, spoke of an old flame of Beve’s. Bertie was it? The man had recently come back to town for a good stay. This gave Roger a perfect opportunity to get out of this mess. He could kill this man, get rid of all three bodies somehow, and always say she ran off with her old lover. He thought it a brilliant plan at the moment.
He had made sure to take the magician’s number from his wife, fucking Beth giving it to her right in front of him like he didn’t matter, and now Roger wheeled himself determinedly towards his office where he hid it. All it would take was a quick text to lure Albert here. Roger didn’t even realize he was smiling as he sent it, explaining to this man he hadn’t even met that his wife had not come home and in his physical state he couldn’t go looking for her. He was worried… What a laugh… he feared something might have happened to her… She deserved it… that he didn’t want to bother the police yet and maybe Bertie could go looking for her because he can’t… What a silly fucking name! Bertie… Roger then asked if he could meet him at the house so they could go over a search plan.
Clack clack clack clack clack clack clack… It was driving him mad. Roger sighed with his eyes set on the bedroom door. Could he even go back in there? He must. It felt like eternity as he rolled up to it, the sound the wheels made still feeling like a mocking chorus. His hand shook as he turned the knob. What had he done? And to his surprise. She was gone. Roger’s eyes widened and his voice got stuck in his throat. The bed where he left her body was empty.
Suddenly something narrow moved down past his vision and Roger felt a rope tighten around his throat. It was a noose- A young man stepped in front of him, not the one with a hold on the rope, he could register that much, and before Roger could muster a plea the young man with light blue eyes set his foot on the front of his chair between his legs, giving it a powerful shove backwards. That infernal clacking was heard as the chair moved out from under him and rolled quickly out of the room, hitting the railing by the top of the stairs. Roger felt his own weight become his enemy and he was helpless, unable to use his legs to stand. He first reached for the rope, choking slowly, terrified and only making matters worse for himself. He clawed at his neck for a few ghastly moments before attempting to reach for the floor. The last thing he saw was his own tense hands, numb hands that felt as it they didn’t belong to him, trying to grab at nothing… The last thing he thought before he finally died was the sound of the blank words uttered by his disfigured wife…
Mr. Gray and Mr. Frye felt that the architecture of the bedroom was perfect for hanging a vile little bastard like Roger Halsey. The ceiling was extra high and Mr. Frye, Edgar, that young murderer with the light blue eyes, wondered if the extra beams that hung low were for support or just decorative. The one above the doorway was used in the act of the killing. Edgar gave the deceased man’s shoulder a poke and watched as it swayed a bit, his dead hands dangling two and fro over the lush carpet. He looked to his companion, John Gray, who just removed his foot from the end of the rope, letting it slide up and around his arm twice before it ventured up and over the beam. The body hit the carpet with a loud, dull thud. They would have all night to clean up the evidence, including everything thing that connected Beverly Halsey to the Institute. No one need know of her generous donation to medicine. Edgar knelt by the body, his wrists resting on his knees, and he smiled even though this wasn’t a happy occasion. “You should have kept your fists to yourself-”
There was an odd beep from the dead man’s pockets and Edgar quickly searched him as Gray stepped closer. Edgar lifted up the phone he found to show his companion. The beep was a text. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just up the road… His smile faded as he stood, pocketing the phone as he thought on what to do. Gray’s eyebrows bunched as he wondered himself but he wasn’t an inventive thinker. Edgar happened to be and unlike the recently departed Roger Halsey, Edgar’s ideas always played out to his favor. And if they didn’t violence was in order. “You get the bodies out of here…” His eyes were on the wheelchair as he stepped out of the room, leaving Gray to what he was best at, well second to murder.
Clack clack clack clack clack clack clack… The sound of the old spokes brought Edgar’s smile back. It was melodic in an old dark way. The ride in the elevator to the first floor was quite fun and it gave him time to read the texts that Roger had sent this Albert. Obviously they had never met, he snatched a picture of the couple from a table along the wall, heading towards the front door as he stuck the picture behind his back in the chair. It was chance to take. Edgar hummed to the sound of the wheels, remembering to appear upset and worried, his smile fading. A shadowy figured appeared on the other side of the decorative, oval window in the door, and Edgar let his face drop, pulling that door open with his eyes cast to the floor.
“Hello… Albert I take it?” Edgar looked up at the worried man with sad eyes, thinking of the friends he himself has lost. “Please come in. I’m Roger…” He wheeled back and gave the man enough room to enter. “Forgive me, I’m not myself.”
