A scrawny girl with dirt covered blond hair, squeezed through a previously boarded up window. She muffled her grunts, trying to stay as quiet as possible as she wiggled out into a dingy alleyway. The ruckus coming from the building behind her told her that she had enough time to get far enough away from the building without her captors noticing. Once free, she quietly jogged down the dark alleyway; nights smoggy skies and the murky stank of molding trash and piss accompanying her on her walk home.
This wasn’t a new development in her life, no, the whole kidnapping scenario was oddly reoccurring. Different groups of scumbags every time but the same lousy routines. They’d grab her, intimidate her, throw her in some moldy room, and check on her occasionally. She stopped being scared after the fourth or fifth time this had taken place and since then it had been a regular, yet annoying, routine in her life.
She made her way through the labyrinth of streets and alleyways to a backpack she had planted behind a large trash bin; thank God it hadn’t been stolen and that this time she had enough of a heads up to plant it. She took a seat beside the pile and methodically stripped away her disguise. Dirty golden hair pulled away to reveal fiery red locks and makeup wiped away to reveal skin that had been mauled. She peered into a small handheld mirror and scoffed at the woman peering back at her. She snapped the small mirror closed and chucked it back into the backpack, she would take off the latex that smoothed her features into a younger and less scarred face when she got home. She pulled out a jacket and sweatpants she had stashed in the bag and shimmied them over the leggings and long-sleeved shirt she wore. Once the wig was stuffed into the bag and the makeup wipes were disposed of, she flipped up the hood of her jacket and made her way to the closest bus station. It was a quiet ride home on the buses, small victories for the late routes.
The woman made her way back to the same shady trailer park that she’d lived in for 15 years now. The rows of mobile homes were lined with weathered asphalt and the neighborhood sandwiched between the main city and woods. This place never truly felt special to her but it was the closest thing to home she had. She stopped in front of a lime house, the paint long faded and vines started to creep up the sides of it. She didn’t bother trying the front door, just made her way straight to the back door. It opened with a creak into a dead silent main room, she didn’t dare bother calling out, just quietly moved through the musty house towards her room.
Her room was the same pale eggshell color as the rest of the house’s interior but far minimally decorated. She flopped onto a small stool sat in front of a dirty desk and dust covered mirror; the imprint of a hand routinely wiping away the specs that settled on it gave her a clear spot to view her own reflection. She peeled away the latex that hid an ugly acid scar that ran the expanse of her right cheek and down the right side of her body. Then she carefully popped out the contacts that changed her eyes from a subtle green to one dark brown left eye and one milky white right eye. When her disguise was successfully removed and her face was once again her own, she threw herself back onto her bed. She only had a few hours to sleep but she took this moment to simply breathe before falling into the comforting arms of a dreamless sleep.
This was the life of Maxine Auclair, 25-year-old, French American, scam artist and high school dropout extraordinaire.
Aren’t you tired, Maxine?
Maxine woke up with a gasp. Her peace disturbed by slamming doors, screams, and burning eggs. She sighed and got out of bed, showering, getting dressed, and finally putting on a new disguise. This one was one she was much more familiar with. Today, and every other time that daylight hit her hemisphere, she was Bridget Laurent. Bridget worked at the corner store. She had unmarred flesh, brown hair, brown eyes, and always wore a gentle smile when checking out the greasy low lives who asked what she was up to when her shift ended.
She took a deep breath and slipped out of her room. She made brief eye contact with her father and offered him a lazy wave, one that went unreciprocated as he continued to yell at her mother.
“Stupide pute, QU'EST-CE QUE C'EST!?” The graying and lean man screamed with a thick Brooklyn accent. His taunting parroted by the equally thick French accent of her mother.
Max walked over to the stove, flicking off the burner and scooped some of the now partially charred eggs onto a plate, then moved the skillet to a cool burner. She slumped into an empty chair at their dining table and watched the two adults continue their verbal war. To say she resented the pair would be an understatement, after all their bad decisions were directly responsible for the misery that her life is full of. The reason her skin was marred with scars, the reason she had no further education than a GED, the reason she lived a life of fake identities, and oh yes, of course, the reason she often found herself blindfolded and gagged in the back of shady vans.
Are you not craving freedom, Maxine?
She was snapped from her thoughts by a crooked hand firmly clasping her shoulder, “Good to see you made it back, girl. Try and be a little quieter coming in next time? Your mother is a she-devil when she doesn’t get her “beauty rest.””
Mr. and Mrs. Auclair had the unmistakable talent of doing business with the absolute worst kind of people but at Maxs young age of 16 they developed the incredible strategy to scam the low lives they borrowed money from. Most parents wouldn’t take pride in routinely selling their daughter, but the Auclair’s certainly did. They were tight on cash and out of things to barter so they traded her to a shady group. To their surprise, Max showed back up at their door a few days later, shaking with tears streaming down her cheeks. With a dog so loyal their next steps were a no brainer; sell her again and again and she would just come right back. But eventually they ran out of groups to deal with, so she took up new identities to scam the same groups again and again. All of this resulted in losing her true identity along the way. By day she was Bridget, by night she was anyone they needed her to be. This cycle resulted in a terribly miserable and lonely life; one she had no relief from, not as she kept living a complete and total lie.
You could live your own life, Maxine.
She finished her eggs, cleaned her plate, then grabbed her bag and headed out for the day. Mornings were a lot nicer without all the screaming so generally, she enjoyed her commute to work. Work itself was about as good as it could be when you work at a gas station. The weathered eggshell walls, grime covered tile floors, and bright LEDs was the perfect environment to attract all sorts of folks. Funny enough, she recognized some of her captors from her “adventures” as they stopped in. She always took a little bit of pride in charging the lowlifes for items they most certainly didn’t buy, after all nobody looked close enough at their receipts to call her out. Day in and day out this was the cycle, one that she couldn’t escape. Go to work, go home, see if she had any “surprises” waiting for her, escape, go to bed, rinse and repeat. The monotony killed her but it’s hard to realize that when your whole life has been the same routine, running and hiding for survival.
That is, until the cycle was broken by her parents flying too close to the sun in their scams and greed.
It was a quiet evening, so she had no greasy lowlifes to escape and no late-night busses to catch. No screams filled the house, which meant her parents were in a good mood. Unfortunately for Maxine that was a good indicator that tomorrow would bring more problems for her; they were only this quiet and content after getting the money for whatever they needed it for. Tonight though, Maxine let herself breath, quietly drifting off to the muffled sounds of some late-night sitcoms laugh tracks and the smell of nicotine gently rotting the walls.
Loud banging and the shrieks of her mother filled the air, startling Maxine awake. She didn’t think, just sprinted to her door and threw it open. She was barely two steps passed the threshold of her room when hands gloved in leather yanked her back. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her side and her body against their own. Her captor’s other hand slapped against her mouth, effectively silencing her.
Maxine was dragged into the living room, her heart pounding in her ears. Fear and adrenaline mixed into an ugly, sickening concoction in her stomach. Her eye landed on her mother and father, screaming and pleading down on their knees. Then her eye landed on two men who stood in front of them. One was tall and big like the man that held her, and the other was lean and weaselly. She didn’t get long to process the scene before she was unceremoniously thrown to the floor in front of her parents.
“Now that we got the whole family here let’s discuss our little problem Mr. and Mrs. Alarie or maybe Blanchet is what you’d prefer?” a man spoke. When she lifted her head, she noted that it was the weaselly man.
“You see you lot owe us a hefty price. Those two different deals under two different names sure didn’t make the boss all that happy when he found out he had been swindled. Especially when your payment has trouble staying in her cage, so the boss sent me to collect,” he squatted down and yanked Maxines head back by her hair, “Huh, ugly little mouse, aren’t you?”
“We didn’t mean any harm, honest, you see our daughter has always been a basket case ha-ha- We had no clue that she’d come crawling back, but we obviously tried to return her with our second dealings. I know-” her father’s desperate ramblings were silenced by the weaselly mans gloved hand raising. The man slammed Maxines head down and stood up, wiping his hands on his coat.
“Hush hush Mr. Blanchet. It’s no sweat off our back; the boss is a forgiving man. You just have to give us the total you owe us to clear up this misunderstanding, with interest of course.” A wry smirk sat on the weaselly man’s lips as he spoke.
“We- how much do we owe your boss?” Her father sighed, anxiety in his tone drawled out by his thick accent.
“$78,000! You can’t possibly be serious- we borrowed no more than 40- 48- 56k from you guys. No one has that sort of money on hand!”
The weaselly man ran a hand through his hair with a mocking sigh. The two larger men went behind Maxines mother and father, kneeling down and restraining the couple.
“Not to worry, you can buy an extension of… oh well, how about a month?” His words were punctuated by the gun aimed directly at Maxines head.
Maxines breath and heart quickened as she looked down the barrel of her death. No, surely her work escaping and being traded around was too valuable to give up. Her parents wouldn’t trade her life like this. Her demise would surely spell their doom, they had to have money somewhere, especially since they just traded her for some more.
Maxines thoughts stilled as her mother’s voice cut through the tension like a butcher’s knife and landed in her back.
“Oui, oui, s'il vous plaît. Nous accepterons l'affaire, nous aurons votre argent dans un mois.” The woman pleaded through anxious sobs.
“Maman?” Maxine whispered looking back at her mother.
“What was that? Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” The weaselly man replied with a chuckle.
“Yes, we will accept your deal,” her father doubled down.
Everything was happening in the matter of a few moments for Maxine. She faced her twilight, the final act of a life she had had no control over, an itch for freedom left unscratched by the hateful maws of those that drowned her. She turned her gaze to the man, noting his smile.
She didn’t think, just acted. Her hands shot out and grabbed the gun, a loud bang rang out as she wrestled the weapon from his hand. She howled in pain as a bullet buried itself into her thigh but something louder in her howled. The ugly concoction of fear and adrenaline mixed into something new under her skin. She pried the gun from the man, pressed it to his chest and pulled the trigger.
She didn’t even watch him drop as she spun to face the rest of the people in the room. Maxine briefly stumbled as she aimed the weapon at the big guy that restrained her mother. She shot twice, one bullet lodging itself into her mother while the other hit its mark in the man’s chest. She didn’t notice the other man already reaching for his own gun, just pivoting and firing. As Maxines own gun went off, another bang echoed, its bullet lodging in her shoulder. She let out a shrill scream but watched as the behemoth fell.
Silence enveloped the house as she panted. Finally looking at the carnage in the room. Cold filled her veins as the adrenaline of the moment washed over her. Her eye flickered over the corpses of the three strangers bleeding out in the greasy living room. Her mother’s body was draped over one of them as well. Her eye then landed on a figure in the middle; her father getting off the floor and approaching her with his arms out.
“Maxine! You did so good, girl!” Her father’s voice drew her out of her thoughts and back into reality.
She was aware of everything at that moment. The smell and slight tang of copper mixing with the lingering smell of nicotine, the sharp pain in her shoulder and thigh, and the gun that felt heavy in her hand. Her eye drifted to the weapon, sleek and covered in splatters of crimson that extended to her scarred hand. She was shaking but not from fear or regret, no, she was shaking from the aftermath of the rush she just felt.
Her father’s voice was drowned out by the roar of her heartbeat as he pulled her into a tight hug, her gaze still trained on the gun in her hand. Its weight felt like liberation. Her gaze rose back to her father who limped to go pick up his cane from the floor, still rambling nonsense that was lost on her. Her hand stopped shaking as she raised the gun again. Her eye locking with his as horror flashed over his face. Some part of her delighted in the look he gave her as his mouth started to move again. She didn’t have to be a good shot; he was close enough.
A small smile made its way to her lips as she pulled the trigger one last time.
Sirens started to fill in the silence, with all the commotion, of course police would be called. She picked up her father’s cane and hauled out the door. Her eye landed on the forest at the end of the street and she took off. She ran as fast as she could with a bullet hole in her leg and another oozing blood out of her shoulder. Using her dads old cane as a crutch, Maxine thumped down the trailer parks roads. Sirens drew closer but her attention was on the woods, the sound of the wind in her ears, and the freedom that she now possessed. She huffed, bare feet meeting broken asphalt, fiery red locks catching the light of half burnt out streetlights, a wide grin on her face as the woods in front of her drew ever nearer.
Maxine reached the threshold of the woods as the sirens started to pour into the trailer park. She dodged and weaved through the large trees, trying not to draw any attention to her as she made her escape in the dead of night.
Sharp rocks and thrones embedded themselves into her skin, causing her to wince and cry but she pressed on. She began to feel faint from blood loss, but she forced herself to stay conscious. It was only a matter of time before people came looking but she wanted to get a little further into the woods. She stumbled into a patch of Aspen trees. By now her balance faltered as her end approached fast.
Maxine knew that she would die but at least she would die knowing that she was finally free. She would not die as Bridget Laurent, or Blanchet, or Alarie, not even Auclair. Tonight, she would die as Maxine, just Maxine.
She tripped and caught herself on one of the pale trees. She slid down the bark of the tree, her vision blurring in her one good eye. Her body hit the forest floor with a thud, but she managed to prop herself up. She threw her head back and looked at the stars, huffing for air as she bled out. A small laugh leaving the normally quiet and stale woman.
She looked at her surroundings, her freedom and grave, with a smile, life fading fast from her. In her delirium or so she thought, her eye landed on a tall figure. The watching eyes of the aspens melding into the form of a man, no he was too tall to be a man, perhaps a monster. Her thoughts didn’t linger on him much more though as her vision fell to black and she slumped over.
Before eternity took her gracefully one last thought wiggled its way into her fading mind.
You are not done yet. Don’t you want more than a lick of freedom?
“Yes” she whispered with her last breath.
So began the life of Happy, 25-year-old, French American, murderer extraordinaire.
Hi Hi!!! So erm I am slowly rewriting everything, its going to be posted here and AO3 but I hope yall enjoy. Ill probably have more shitposts here over the weeks. Also! Like the official chapter 1 should come out soon so there wont (hopefully) be more multi month waits. Enjoy!!!!
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