Chapter Text
Marilyn was 24 when she died, she got her university degree in fashion and was doing an online course in literature. She worked at a supermarket she didn’t really like; and did commissions she loved. Sewing is what Marilyn lived for, the idea that she was creating beautiful pieces from practically nothing and then sending them off to new loving homes is what kept her going. Most of her commissions were made from recycled fabric, her roommate and best friend volunteered at a thrift store and would reserve the bests fabrics for her. She would do anything people requested, simple alterations, making entirely new garments, or crafting household items like quilts and cushions, she even did the occasional taxidermy job. Marilyn loved taxidermy in a morbid kind of way, she thought they were hauntingly beautiful, and she thought it was a celebration of life, instead of displaying their death. It didn’t make enough for her to quit her job, but it brought in extra cash, and she enjoyed doing it. Her dream was to open her own boutique, make enough money to provide and keep herself safe and content, never having to rely on anyone else again.
The night of her death Marilyn was on her way back from a party, her long black skirt and bell sleeves were fluttering in the wind as she unsteadily swayed down the pavement. Her dark hair was loose and laying messily around her face and shoulders, she had a small black purse hanging from a strap on her shoulder, barely fitting her essentials. She hummed to herself as she wandered down the empty street, swinging her hips and laughing, she felt free, completely isolated in the world and utterly free from any restraints. In hindsight she probably shouldn’t have drunk that much if she knew she didn’t have a ride home. But it was a warm Autumn evening and Marilyn felt like she could do anything. Her ankle rolled in her platforms as she stepped too close to the edge of the pavement, and she let out a giddy laugh I can do anything but walk straight, she thought. Living in a small, rural town in America, the way Marilyn dresses often makes her the receiver of weird looks, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She had been following several goth subcultures all through her adolescence, but under the oppressive and ever watching eyes of her parents she had never been able to indulge. Her freedom came when she left home at 17, hitched a ride with her girlfriend and never looked back. She found herself crafting and altering clothes like never before, her newly found expression feeling cathartic after a life under a strict regime. Her once ginger hair was dyed jet black, and she gave herself choppy bangs which never grew out evenly. It was probably stereotypical, but she was happy and to Marilyn that was all that mattered.
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Marilyn didn’t know the hosts of the party very well; she just knew it was free drinks and a bit of harmless fun, she had always been one to indulge. It had just turned three when she left the party, the walk home should have been a brisk one, only taking twenty minutes or so. But Marilyn was drunk, stopping to take photos and leaning against lampposts when the world began to spin. She had been flirting with the man on a neighborhood watch sign when the van slowed down, Marilyn didn’t even notice it at first, just giggled to herself and kept walking. Completely unaware of the vehicle that had been steadily following her for the last two blocks, until a man rolled down the window and called out to her. “Sorry love, I’m not from around here do ya’ mind pointing me to the nearest hotel?”
Even drunk Marilyn could tell something was off about the man, he had a large build and thinning hair, his arm littered with tattoos. When he spoke, he leaned right out of the window with a wolfish grin that showed off all his yellowing, tobacco-stained teeth. “I’m sorry sir” she slurred “I don’t come around here very often, you're better off searching online” With a determined nod, Marilyn started to walk away from the van, paranoia growing with every unsteady step she took. A few minutes later she chanced a glance over her shoulder and her blood ran cold, the van was right behind her, slowly inching its way forward.
She started to walk faster, the cold air and her panic beginning to sober her up. Rummaging around in her bag, Marilyn felt her fist close around the Swiss army knife she carries with her, clenching it for comfort. She had always been paranoid, insisting to bring it with her “just in case” no matter how much her roommate objected, and now it would finally have a purpose. Marilyn made it a few more feet before feeling a heavy hand on her shoulder, whipping her head around and preparing to unlatch the knife when she saw an unfamiliar face. For a second she felt her heart swell with hope, maybe he was just a well-meaning stranger who had noticed the van. That hope shrivelled when she saw a small tattoo on the second man's wrist, identical to the driver. Marilyn opened her mouth to scream before a chunky cloth was shoved between her lips, the man wrapped his arms around her neck and began to drag Marilyn to the open doors of the van. She kicked her legs and screamed, horrified when all the noise she could make was muffled sobs. Flailing her arms, Marilyn tried to dig her elbows into the man's waist, but she was still tipsy, and all she could do was hang limply as he dragged her.
Pain bloomed up Marilyn’s spine as she hit the floor of the van, exposed wood and nails digging into her side as she tried to haul herself up. She tried to think logically, format a plan of escape, there was two men – one driving and one locked in the back of the van with her. Her fingers curled around the soothingly cool surface of the knife, as she tried to think, blood rushing in her ears as her stomach curled in on herself. She could feel the rumbling of the van underneath her, they were moving, and moving fast. The man in the back with her only staying standing by clinging to an old handle that was barely screwed in.
They hadn’t killed her; she had barely been harmed, aside from the pain in her side which would definitely bruise. So, what was the point in taking her? Marilyn let out a choked sob when she realized, it all seemed so obvious, gang tattoos and trying to keep her as intact as possible- they were going to traffic her. She had seen it on the news, increasing disappearances around the area, girls vanishing and turning up on sketchy websites. Those pigs were a part of it all and were planning to use Marilyn for their sick empire.
She felt hot with rage and disgust, the prickly feeling running up her chest and neck. She looked up at the sneering man, towering over her and leering down smugly. His face swam in front of her eyes, and she knew what she had to do. She would not let them take her, let them take any more innocent girls, it had to end here. Shaking with adrenaline and fear she flicked open the knife, faking a sob to cover the sound of the metal latch, “p-please sir, please don’t hurt me” she pleaded looking up at the sick man with her best doe eyes. He took the bait and leaned down, touching Marilyn’s cheek with his disgusting hands, she flinched, and he let out a low chuckle “oh aren’t you cute, I thought a scary looking thing like you would have more bite.” he hissed, squeezing Marilyn’s cheeks condescendingly.
I just need him to lean down a little further. I only have one shot at that bastard’s neck. Her chance came when he leaned down, trying to catch Marilyn's mouth in a kiss, with all the force she could muster, Marilyn pushed forwards swinging her arm round. The knife caught the side of his neck and blood splattered across her face and arms, but still she leant further, slicing across his neck in a long, jagged movement. He let out a horrific gurgling gasp as he began to choke up his own blood, spitting it onto the musty floor of the van, he grasped at Marilyn’s arm, smearing his own blood across her before going limp, all life leaving his eyes for good.
His body hit the floor of the van with a thump, his eyes vacant and forever unblinking. The sound made Marilyn flinch; she had no idea how long they had been driving for, but she knew that time was of the essence. Choking back tears, Marilyn hauled herself to the doors of the van trying in vain to pry them open. When they didn’t budge waves of fear crashed over her, she was stuck, she had killed a man and was stuck with his corpse. She felt the van begin to slow and she froze, desperately trying to find something to claw the van doors open with, hoping she could jump out of the back and only escape with broken legs.
A glint of silver caught her eye, and she shakily reached for the knife, it was coated in his blood, and she gently wiped it off on her skirt, staring into her tear-stained reflection. Her face was red and puffy, inky lines of eyeliner and mascara caked into her cheeks, the blood of her victim splattered across her face and down her neck. Marilyn didn’t recognize herself anymore, earlier that evening she had been grinning in the mirror getting ready for the party, now she stared into the knife and sobbed. Staring into the vacant eyes of her pitiful expression she knew what she had to do.
Before she could have time to doubt herself, she raised the knife clenched in her shaking fists, and plunged it into her left side. Burning agony spread over her stomach as she let out a pained howl, no longer caring if her other captor heard her. She twisted the knife for good measure before yanking it out of her side, she hunched over and collapsed dropping the knife with a clatter. All she could do in her last moments was choke and stare into the empty void that was her victim’s eyes. She sobbed hoping that whatever comes after death would be kinder than this, a musty, filthy van and the overwhelming stench of blood. Unblinking eyes like steel bore into her soul, staring her down as if saying 'I know what you’ve done, and I will never let you forget.' Marilyn couldn’t help but remember the prayers she was made to recite as a child, in the vain hope that she would ascend. She muttered one under her breath for herself and the corpse in front of her, before closing her eyes for the very last time.
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Marilyn was falling, she could feel the hot air and the burning smell of sulphur attacking her senses. She managed to pry her heavy eyelids open and all she could see was red, the sky was a deep scarlet, her tattered clothes whipping around above her. The black fabric being a stark contrast to the blood-red all around her, she could hear roaring in her ears and the whistle of wind. Marilyn had no idea how long she had been falling, she had no idea if she was alive or dead. All she knew was the ache in her head and the sensation of flying as she plummeted. The ground came to meet her with a sickening crunch, she felt all the air get knocked out of her body as she let out a strangled scream. It was agonizing, red hot pain spread throughout her limbs as she felt the ground blister her skin. Marilyn fought to open her eyes, trying to adjust to the bright lights and scorching heat, all she could see was a blur of grey and a concerned face before she blacked out, giving in to the sweet release of unconsciousness.