As I put on my blood red lipstick I turned the television on to the 5’o’clock news to break the silence of the dead air filling my home. The TV echoed stories of bank robberies, gun fights, and kidnappings. “People in this town are unbelievable,” I mumbled to myself as I applied my false eyelashes. I struggled to put on my second; my fingers shaking to apply the eyelashes ever so perfectly. Suddenly it slipped from my delicate pinch only to get lost in a pile of stained and dirty clothes below my vanity chair, “Karma,” I whispered. I walked over my pile of clothes not bothering to salvage the lost and possibly broken eyelash and turned around to face my drawers. “What kind where these? Oh yes number 409.” I swiftly glided towards refrigerator door 409 and opened it with force “Hello Becky,” Her bloody, bruised, and punctured body shook uncontrollably, half alive. “This won’t take long. I just need a couple of lashes, oh and maybe some more AB+ lip color.” A muffled scream filled the room as I turned down the volume on the newscaster announcing the disappearance of Becky Simmons.