Lucy slid her hand across the crumpled paper, smoothing it flat against the Formica kitchen table. It was silly to think she had found her new mother in Emily Edmonds. What a little mouse she was. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Time to forget all about her now. All traces of Emily had been eradicated from her life, including her sidekick, Charlotte. Another waste of space that did not deserve to live.
Lucy scratched off her name with the blunt end of a pencil, counting down the rest of the list. She knew she had been born to a strong, loving, independent woman. Someone who would take her in and love her for ever. They would go on shopping trips together, and when Christmas came… the child inside her giggled with delight. When Christmas came it would be the best day of all.
The tree in the basement had been lovingly prepared, and the new set of lights dappled the walls with a green and yellow hue. Candles were more authentic when mirroring the customs of Victorian times, but some small deviations could be forgiven. She had replaced the broken chair with a stronger one, and cut lengths of washing line instead of rope. Better for restraining, Lucy thought. At least, until they came to an understanding. This time she would try harder; keep her temper in check. She had to, if she had any hope of making it work. But there was no remorse for the others that failed. How else would she find her true mother unless she worked her way down the list? But time was running out. It was only a few months to Christmas, and Lucy would not spend it alone. The thoughts cast a shadow over her soul. She scribbled asterisks beside her potentials: Monica Clarke, Anita Devine, and another, who she barely dared to look at. The biggest challenge of all.
The kettle clicked off as it boiled, reminding her that she had things to do. She afforded herself a few minutes to recollect last night. It was fun creating new memories of her mother rather than the childhood recollections that lay rotten and festering in her brain. Monica had been careless: leaving her back door unlocked. Her house keys sat on the kitchen counter, just asking to be duplicated, which Lucy dutifully did, before returning under the protection of darkness. She had become adept at sneaking around, and Monica’s four-bedroom detached property had lots of hiding places.
She’d imagined herself growing up there as a child: going to private school, attending barbecues and having playdates with the local children. If only mother had not let her go… but she shook the thought away. She was bound to have a good excuse, and Lucy was willing to forgive. She had glided around the home, careful not to leave any traces of her visit. Cold, impersonal, sharp, it featured a minimalist design. Spotlights against gloss, polished floorboards, gadgets that closed the curtains, all the latest technology at the touch of a button. Lucy was happy to see an absence of family photos. Disposing of family members was a messy business, but had to be done if they were to be together. The obligatory wedding picture hung in a framed canvas on the wall. A balding man with a chubby face, Monica’s husband, appeared the product of too many gourmet dinners and fine wines. He did not look like he would present too much of a challenge. Monica, on the other hand, was a vision in an understated cream lace dress. Lucy had noted the colour of her hair, capturing the photo on her iPhone. Picking up a hairbrush, she unravelled some of the strands. A natural brunette with a soft bounce to the end of her locks: Lucy had a matching wig at home. She peered closer at the photo. Brown eyes. But that was easily fixed too.
Standing in the bedroom doorway, she had watched her new mother sleeping. She had barely remembered picking up the scissors, and they twitched in her gloved hand. The urge to crawl in beside her and wrap her arms around the sleeping woman was strong. But she had appeared too peaceful to disturb so she slipped out the back door; the reassuring curve of the scissor handle still nestled in her palm. An effective weapon, should anyone try to disturb her.
She smiled. Soon they would be together. Lucy would have her fairy-tale ending after all.