he clips will be a nice little trigger, Jane hoped as she boxed them up. She’d taken these with her when she came to Repo Ridge five years ago. Jane wasn’t sure exactly how they would fit into her plan, but she knew she could not leave them behind. She was momentarily distracted by the sound of wailing coming from the other side of her thin apartment wall. At first, she mistook it for a child crying, but the more she listened, she realized it was actually a woman having an orgasm. She shoved a pair of headphones into her ears with a grimace and turned back to her task.
The butterflies on each individual clip were beautiful, covered in glitter and fake gold. She loved holding one on the palm of her hand and watching the light sparkle across it as the wings flapped on their own accord against the springs that held them. Her sister handed these down to her for her 12th birthday—Elizabeth was the only one who ever remembered the date. It was hard to let go, but it was necessary. With one last loving glance at the dancing insect, Jane gently lowered it into the box. She felt stubborn tears forming behind her eyes as she recalled her sister lovingly doing her hair. That would never happen again. Ellie was gone, dead, never allowed to shine and sparkle much like the clips themselves—no, she was buried, forgotten by all but Jane—but not for long.
For a brief and excruciating moment, Jane recalled Ellie’s coffin being lowered into the ground—she blocked out the glittering of the clips as she shut the cardboard box and taped it shut. She scribbled Dave’s name across the top with the address of his office. She wanted to keep him on his toes and would continue to switch it up. There wasn’t a chance he was going to find her until she was damn well ready.