I'm a murderer. The kind the cops will never find. Because I can jump between places. Spaces. Create the perfect alibi, every single time. I killed one person after another. Right up until I killed the person I loved most. 1. I figured out I could do this back in middle school. It was a bright, sunny morning. I remember it clearly because I'd pulled an all-nighter doing homework the day before. I was totally groggy. Same routine as always. Ate breakfast, said bye to Mom, started walking to school. The little trees lining the street had new buds on their branches. I’d just reached the intersection when this huge semi-truck came barreling towards me, horn blasting. I just froze, completely stunned, only had time to throw my hands up in front of my face. There was this moment of silence, except it wasn’t that long, just filled with the screech of brakes. But the pain I was braced for never came. I slowly cracked my eyes open… and I was standing on the other side of the street. I looked back. There was a woman lying in the middle of the road. Looked like she’d just come from the farmer’s market, groceries scattered everywhere. She was… flattened. Brains splattered on the pavement. The truck driver scrambled out of his cab, saw the mess, and just bolted. Ran off like his life depended on it. A crowd started gathering, people shouting, a mess of noise. But nobody questioned how I got across the street. For a second, I thought maybe my memory was screwed up. Still reeling from the shock, all I could think was, Man, I wish I was home right now. Just thought it. And boom, the scene shifted. I was back in my house. I just stood there, stunned. But I knew, instantly. I tested it. Pictured the school cafeteria. Five seconds later, I opened my eyes, and I was standing right there. 2 After figuring out I could teleport, I didn't tell a soul. I had no idea how people would react. Would they think I was awesome? Or crazy? Or maybe something to be dissected in a lab? Telling anyone felt way too risky. A risk I couldn't afford to take. At first, the power was just convenient. Meant I could sleep in and never be late for school. Simple stuff. But that all changed when Madison showed up. Her arrival completely derailed my life. Madison was in my grade when I started high school. Her family had serious money. When we first met, she wasn't exactly nice to me, but she wasn't outright horrible either. Tolerable, I guess. Maybe it's some twisted rich-kid thing, I don't know, but she loved picking on this one girl in our class, Hannah. Hannah came from a poor family, always carried this faded, washed-out backpack. She was quiet, kind of withdrawn, didn't really have any friends. Every time Madison passed Hannah's desk, she’d say something nasty, like, "Ugh, what's that smell?" Just humiliating stuff like that. At first, it was just words. But I guess that got boring for Madison, because it escalated. Turned into physical torment. Madison started spreading slut-shaming rumors about Hannah, started hitting her, kicking her. Hannah constantly had bruises and cuts, all over her face, her arms. Scumbags from outside school would corner her, leer at her with these disgusting looks, asking how much for a night. Her textbooks would vanish from her desk. Then she’d find dead mice in there, or just trash. Someone would scrawl "SLUT" on her desk. People treated her like a garbage can, tossing their trash at her. She’d come in with clean hair, and someone would stick gum in it. They’d say her face was dirty and shove her head in the toilet bowl "to wash it." Telling a teacher was useless. Madison's family was too influential. The teachers couldn't afford to piss them off, so they just looked the other way. How do I know all this so clearly? Because later, I went through the exact same thing. It happened because Hannah killed herself. It was sophomore year, during evening English study hall. I was bored out of my mind, just spinning a black pen in my hand, half-asleep listening to the teacher drone on. Suddenly, I heard a desk scraping loud in the back of the room. Before I could even process what was happening, someone yelled— "Hannah killed herself! She jumped!" Yeah, her name was Hannah. A name full of hope for a peaceful, healthy life. Everything erupted into chaos. I looked back, stunned. Hannah's seat was empty. The English teacher was yelling for everyone to be quiet, call 911. But I couldn't hear anything clearly. Just one phrase cut through the noise, straight into my brain. "So much blood." 3 Hannah didn't make it. For her, I guess it was a release. Living was worse, right? Because of all the cuts and bruises on her body, marks that hadn't healed, the police suspected she’d been abused before she died. A bunch of cops descended on our school to investigate. Everyone in our class was pulled into small rooms, one by one, for questioning. I thought Madison would be scared. But that morning, she actually showed me a video of Hannah being sexually assaulted, like she was bragging. Smiled while she told me, "I just wanted to film her, you know? Who knew she was so fragile she'd actually kill herself over it? Shame, really. Guess this is her final portrait now." I knew Madison was cruel, but I hadn't grasped the depths of it. Or how utterly brazen she was. She was like a demon crawled straight out of hell, filled with unspeakable evil. When they took me into the little room, the cop across from me flipped through his notes. "No need to be nervous," he said. "Just tell us what you know. We're just investigating the circumstances of Hannah's death." In that instant, for some reason, I thought of Hannah's faded white backpack. I swear, I've regretted it countless times since. Why did I have to think of that backpack? Why did it stir that tiny flicker of pity in me? Why was I trying to be good in that moment? It was the stupidest I've ever been. Because I told them everything Madison had done. I thought I wouldn't see Madison at school again. I thought the cops would take her in, especially with the video on her phone as solid proof. But I underestimated the power of money. The next morning, I’d just put my backpack down and sat in my chair when Madison appeared beside me. She leaned in close, whispering right in my ear, "You really disappointed me." Yeah. You never know how much it hurts until the knife cuts you. It was like Madison couldn't function without tormenting someone. Her target shifted from Hannah to me. My books started disappearing. Friends I thought were close suddenly kept their distance. Bugs started showing up in my lunch. Madison and her little clique cornered me in the girls' bathroom. While they were ripping at my clothes, Madison pressed the lit end of a cigarette—one she'd smoked halfway down—onto my arm. Again and again. "You like playing hero, right?" she hissed, grinding it in. "Go on! Stand up and be the hero now!" I glared at her, pure hatred boiling inside me. And a terrifying thought surfaced. I actually can play the hero. I knew Madison's crew liked to hang out at this specific bar on Saturday nights. I'd even been there once. It was shady, lots of illegal stuff going down, so a lot of the security cameras didn't work or were conveniently "broken." That Saturday, I asked my teacher if I could stay late at school to study. Maybe because she felt bad about what I'd been going through, she sighed and said yes. I sat in the empty classroom, my pen moving over math problems, but my mind was racing, plotting how to kill Madison without leaving a trace. I stayed there, staring blankly, until ten PM. Then I walked out of the classroom and went to the bathroom – the one spot on campus with no cameras. I put on a mask, gloves, plastic shoe covers. Over my clothes, I pulled on a disposable raincoat. I pictured Madison's location, the bar bathroom. In an instant, I was there. Pure luck. Madison was inside, humming to herself while washing her hands at the sink. I appeared silently behind her. Grabbed her, clamped one hand tight over her mouth, muffling her scream. With the other hand, I pulled out the knife I’d prepared – one I’d stolen from her main lackey earlier – and plunged it into her chest. Again. And again. A part of me felt it wasn't fair. I should have tortured her, made her beg for death. But I didn't have much time. I just needed to make sure she was dead. Completely dead. I let go. Watched her crumple to the floor, her eyes wide, staring right at me. "Madison," I whispered, "you were always too arrogant. Turns out, I can deliver justice." Then I vanished. Left nothing behind but the knife clattering on the tile. The knife belonging to her follower. I didn't go back to school immediately. I teleported north, to a deserted landfill on the edge of the city. I threw the raincoat, gloves, shoe covers, and mask into a pile of trash. Then I set it all on fire. Watched my past burn away with it.
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