The Many Faces of Tully

I was born in a nice suburban home. You could say my family was rich. I had a weekly allowance of one thousand dollars. Pretty much everyone in town thought I was a spoiled brat, and they were right. My mom owned a cosmetic business, so I always had the best make-up. My dad owned an electronic business, so I always had the newest phones, televisions, gaming devices, etc.

I was your average looking girl. I had straight, mousy brown hair, chocolate brown eyes. My features were normal, I was normal height, normal weight. I wasn’t a standout in any way. I wasn’t gorgeous, but I wasn’t ugly. Completely average. At least I used to be.

When I turned sixteen, I was given my very own Mazda RX-7 in candy apple red. I liked fast cars. My parents gave me everything, and why not? I was their only child. I never had to spend my allowance though, because my parents bought me anything I wanted. But I never wanted to spend my allowance because I thought one day I might need all of that money. And boy was I right.

I had been sixteen for a month. Life was going great as usual, but I kept having this feeling of impending doom, like something was going to happen. One day, the day, my boyfriend was over. We were upstairs in my room, and my parents were still at work.

We were lying on my bed, and you can guess what two sixteen year-olds with no parental supervision would be doing. Or close to doing. He was cute, your typical dirty blonde hair and baby blue eyes with a round, baby-like face. He always gelled his hair up into a Mohawk.

“I want you to have this,” he said to me, taking off his necklace. I had never seen him take it off. It was a simple black string with a shark tooth tied to it. He said his father had sent it to him when he was just a little boy, and that was the last time he heard from him.

“I can’t take this from you,” I told him.

“But I love you,” he said, tying the string around my neck. He started kissing me more fiercely then. His hands moved to the buttons on my shirt, and that’s when I thought, 'I’m not ready for this.’

My heart was pounding in my chest. It was painful. I tried to push him off of me gently but he was dumped onto the floor painfully, and that’s when he started yelling at me. I couldn’t hear what he said though, because my ears were ringing.

My heart was beating even faster than before, and I wrapped my arms around my chest. I curled into the fetal position, because my chest hurt so much. It felt like the whole world was crashing in on me. Surrounding me. Suffocating me.

And then it stopped. Everything was silent. Everything was still. It was so quiet that I could have heard my heart beating. If it was beating. My lungs burned, and I realized I was holding my breath. So I breathed out.

That’s when everything exploded.

Jack was my first boyfriend’s name. 'Was' meaning it isn’t any more. Which means he isn’t any more.

I screamed. I tried not to look at his body, but how could you not? My windows were shattered, my mirror was smashed, and all of my furniture was thrown against the wall. It was total chaos. But somehow, in a separate part of my brain, a part that wasn’t freaking out, started to plan.

My suitcase soared out of my closet, and opened up. My clothes flew out from my dresser and closet and folded themselves neatly inside of it. The floorboard in my room, the one I kept my money in, flung up, and my money packed itself inside of my suitcase. My passport, my ID, everything you needed to run, found its way out of the wreckage, and into my suitcase.

As soon as it zipped itself up, I grabbed the handle. I ran out of my room, and down the stairs. As I ran by the pictures hanging on the wall, my face disappeared from them. And somehow I knew I was being erased from my parents’ memories as well, which was a good thing, because they shouldn’t have a murderer for a daughter. What would they think of me? I shuddered at the thought.

I grabbed my keys, and ran to my car. The garage opened by itself, and my car started, even though the keys were still in my hand. I threw my suitcase into the open trunk, which shut by itself. The door was already open for me and I jumped behind the wheel.

That was the last time I saw that neighborhood. That was the last time I was in that city. That was the last time I was in Maine. And that was the last time I looked like my average, mousy brunette self.

When I looked into the mirror in the hotel that night, I looked different. Not in the “you just accidentally murdered your boyfriend” different, but in the “you miraculously changed appearance” different.

I now had short, orange hair. I was pale and with freckles covering my body. I was short, skinny, and had blue eyes. I looked at my ID, and my picture changed, to match how I looked now. The height and weight miraculously changed too. My name was the same but my last name was different. My birthday was the same, and my social security number was the same. I had no idea what was going on. And I still don’t.

I’ve killed two more men since then. The second guy and I had gotten into a huge fight, and I exploded out of anger. It felt just like the first time. The pounding heart, the world crashing in, and then silence. Until I breathed out. I took out one of his diamond earrings afterwards and put it in my own ear, to remember him by. I had just turned seventeen then. This time my appearance changed to a taller, slightly rounder girl. I had black ringlets, and my eyes were gray.

The next man I killed happened while I was trying to tell him that I loved him. I got too nervous, and I realized what was happening. My heart was pounding, and I tried to slow it down, but the world still crashed in on me. I tried to hold my breath when it went silent, but I couldn’t. I sobbed when I knew I couldn’t hold my breath any more. I took his watch afterwards. It was large and clunky, but it was his. I had been with him for almost a year, I was about eighteen and a half.

I still wear the shark tooth around my neck and the diamond earring in my ear. The watch bumps against my wrist all the time. I decided then that I couldn’t get emotionally attached to people. I couldn’t let my emotions get the better of me. I had to control it, or I would keep hurting people.

My parents named me Tully. It has two meanings. It’s more commonly known for the meaning ‘peaceful’, but it also means ‘powerful people’. My parents thought it fit, because they were two powerfully rich people, and I was joining them. If only they knew ‘powerful people’ meant me. I am powerful people.