Candi Morgan was a Bitch. It was for that very same reason that unfortunately (or not) she had to die. So when Candi Morgan arrived home early that evening expecting to shrug off her expensive coat and kick off her limited edition Laboutin heels, she was sadly mistaken.
You see, women like Candi Morgan usually get by in life by making other women feel insignificant, powerless and inadequate, therefore leaving men vulnerable for manipulation. Just the way she liked it. If it meant she made a few enemies along the way, then darling..damage limitation.
As Candi Morgan approached the breakfast bar on the ground floor of her newly renovated stucco walled duplex she almost didn’t notice the small plastic card tucked into the fruitbowl. Nestled snugly in-between this morning’s fresh bananas and plums, was an ID Pass. Not Candi Morgan’s ID Pass however. The small passport photo was a little grubby but the face of an unknown brunette stared back at her. Alexa George. Plain, unassuming, probably a virgin, Candi Morgan thought to herself.
Before Candi Morgan could think why Alexa George’s ID Pass was now currently in her hand, she heard a faint squeak. The kind you hear when a sports shoe hits the clean smooth surface of a squash court, or a school hallway….
Just as Candi was about to place the ID Pass back onto the counter, a sickening thud connected to the base of her skull and she dropped. A dead weight. As Candi fell her forehead met the counter, instantly splitting the skin and releasing fresh dark crimson droplets. As she lay crumpled against the cupboard, a thick heavy swell pounded through Candi’s head. Disoriented and unable to focus properly, although enough to see Alexa George stood over her, a large stainless steel Thermos hanging limply in her right hand.
With a groan, Candi managed to slowly and cautiously raise her own hand up in some last attempt at defence or mercy. Through the ringing in her ears all she heard was…