Pretty Little Dead Girls

CHAPTER ONEA Body is FoundBryony Adams was the type of girl who got murdered.This was always so, and it was apparent from the way men looked at her as she adjusted her knee socks, to the way women shook their heads in pity when she rode by on her bicycle.“I made you a present, Mrs. Lopez,” she said, dragging her backpack over to the desk. A vivid orange poster hung on the wall, demonstrating how to tie shoes. Bryony was well versed in tying her shoes, and could even double knot, but that was because she and her father worked very, very hard on it at home. Now she was working on counting to one hundred and was almost there, although sometimes she got lost while wandering around in the ever elusive eighties.“Oh, did you? What a sweet girl you are. What did you make?”Bryony pulled the gift out of the backpack, and set it on the desk. A bookmark, made of bright construction paper with cheap sequins glued to it. A cockeyed Mrs. Lopez was painstakingly drawn in crayon, her smile

CHAPTER THREEIt ComesIt is time.It is time.She always knew this day would come.

CHAPTER FIVEA Killing Sort of LoveBryony ran.She ran for many years, bouncing in and out of school, and discovering that she did not care for (in this order): journalism, engineering, dancing, creative writing, psychology, or dirt biking. Dirt biking was more of a fluke, a class that she joined in an out-of-this-world moment of sheer whimsy, because she wanted to do something fun and free and different. The bike itself wasn’t a problem, but a bike plus dirt equaled a hot, cranky, sweaty Bryony, and that is never a good thing. So, no. Dirt biking was right out.But a degree is a degree, regardless of what it is in, and all of the world looks fondly upon said degree, so Bryony slogged through her psychology classes. She also briefly considered Criminology, but figured that most of the people there weren’t as interested in capturing criminals as they were about criminals learning to avoid being caught. She was a butterfly, fluttering around joyfully. She was not stupid.But she wa

CHAPTER SEVENEddie Meets BryonyEddie Warshouski didn’t have anything that he really loved besides his guitar. He called her Jasmine, and grudgingly shelled out the money so that he could buy the permit necessary to play her down at Seattle’s Pike Place Market. The crowd was good there; happy, wide-eyed tourists, wide-eyed locals who came for the flowers and to support each other. They stopped by the first Starbucks and ogled the mermaid. They stopped by the tables and sampled honey and candies and pointed at the jewelry and crocheted hats that were always beautiful, but seldom sold. They made a solid wall of noise behind Eddie’s brain, and he liked that. Anything to shut out the visions. Anything to shut out the voices.Eddie put his head down and played.His music got him through the days, and it was even more essential during the nights. He closed his eyes and picked out an intricate melody. He heard some change drop into his guitar case, and forced his lips into a congenial sm

CHAPTER NINEDisconsolationChad the Fish Guy almost regretted knocking the mysterious girl down and making her cry, except that he never really regretted anything. Chad did what he did and then it was done, and what a simple and unimposing world this was for him. This meant that he ate whatever he wanted to eat with no regard for his health, and yelled at whoever he wanted to yell at out on the street, which happened more times than even he would perhaps care to admit. When he found a particularly pretty girl (which happened more nights than not) he smiled his charming smile and took her out to dinner and then brought her home and then kicked her out. He never saw her again, and if her feelings were hurt and she cried into her teddy bears or whatnot, well, that didn’t really concern Chad now, did it?“Well, perhaps it concerned him, maybe a little bit,” you say, because you are a sweet and gentle reader, and are apparently hoping for the best. And that is very gallant of you to thi