Educating Rita(Eric H.P. Truong) 'You've been a naughty girl,' Rita said.
'YOU PSYCHO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?' The girl screamed as she attempted to free herself from the tight ropes that bound her.
'We can do this the nice way or-'
'WHAT? DEAD IS DEAD, THERE IS NO NICE WAY. YOU CREEP, LET ME GO!'
'It can be very painful and cruel. Or. You can be sedated,' Rita bluffed-she had already prepared the sleeping pills.
'Please... please don't kill me,' the sudden change in the girl's tone was suprising to Rita, but her plain expression concealed her shock.
'You know I have to. This isn't personal,' Rita said casually.
'Not personal, then why me? Or was my name drawn from a hat?' The girl replied bitterly.
'No, you're just not good for business. The professors love you too much and it's not your forensic skills they admire, not that it matters,' Rita gently shook her head and sighed, 'I'm sorry, no one, but I, can log extra lab time.'

The girl scrutinised the dimly lit room. It was definitely a basement, judging by the cheap tiles, but it had a familiar odour-the smell of a sterilised laboratory. She closed her eyes and opened them. This was indeed a lab and from the corner of her eye, she could see the outline of a bulky machine. Somehow, perhaps it was instinctive, she recognised the machine as a meat mincer; she had seen a similar one at the University's museum, but that one was polished and displayed in a glass case. This one was a raw nightmare.

'Rita, please, don't do this! You make pies, Rita, you're not a murderer,' the girl shuddered before she stuttered, 'I mean... you are... the... best, everyone knows Rita... PLEASE. You don't have to do this.'
Rita turned away from her helpless captive, she could not help but smile. 'Do you like my pies?'
'Yes, everyone does. Everyone loves you, Rita. Please, don't do this. I've no chance against you, I'm not a competitor-'
'This isn't about that. None of you threaten me, but that's just it-'
'Why us, Rita? People will start suspecting. I'd be the third, Rita, people will suspect-'
'Rita? Harmless Rita. The model student,' she glanced past the stacks of boxes; boxes where gold medals rusted, boxes where letters yellowed with age, boxes that stored Rita's pride.
'How will you dispose of my body?' The girl asked stiffly.
'Something you neither need nor want to know, but your death won't be in vain,' Rita smiled, a strange smile that portrayed a mixture of satisfaction and greed.
'Are there glorious deaths? When you die, you die? And what is to follow?'
'I'm not so philosophical myself, but life is precious and we have to exploit it whilst we can-'
'Are you going to mince me?' Her eyes suddenly bulged and she started shaking uncontrollably, 'Rita... pies...'
'You know, you're much more inquisitive than the others, maybe it's because they were boys,' she paused, 'they don't like me, the professors, they think my father's name benefits me too much. Maybe. I'm a shark and they're worried. You're all minnows, they shield you. But I can't have that, there are bigger sharks out there and I won't be eaten.'
'I don't understand-'
'Just when I thought you were smart-'
'You mean us... we're... crime scenes.. for your use?' A stream of tears rolled across her delicate cheeks.
'Well, yes-'
'But you can't examine a crime scene that YOU created!' Her frustration could be seen in her flustered cheeks and watery eyes.
'No, but I can think as-'
'Criminals do,' her vacant expression said only too much.
Rita smiled, 'yes! Such a shame it has to end here, I do enjoy your company.'
'I'm... a donor.'
'Yes you are, and I'm grateful-'
'I want a memorial, I want one of the new labs named after me... I won't be a simple victim like the others,' she closed her eyes.
'Okay,' Rita nodded and lightly held the girl's hand.

***

She scrubbed and scrubbed. The overpowering smell of vinegar filled her nostrils. Her hands moved vigorously as adrenaline rushed through her body; the sight of the limp body energized her. She was alive. She held all the cards. Rita was no longer a helpless child.

***

The overpowering smell of vinegar lingered. The beam from her torch illuminated the dark room. She observed the clean floor, it was definitely too clean-especially for a basement. Rita saw no blood. She removed the notepad and pen from her pocket and scribbled 'floor too clean-someone could have cleaned the blood'. She walked a few more steps and her eyes lingered upon a bulky, metallic mincer. She sighed. It was too risky to simply burn her body, Rita comforted herself. She paced towards the door and left the cold room.

***

'I can't deny it, I'm tempted,' Rita confessed as she stared at the blue ceiling.
'What is it about murdering someone or covering up the crime that lifts your spirit?'
'Have you ever bullied anyone? It's that feeling, except the satisfaction is magnified. I think I'm addicted,' Rita said as she turned to look at his gentle eyes, her father's gentle eyes.
'That moment, those feelings are ethereal. You can't live your life on just moments,' he wore his concerned expression.
'I understand them. I know why they do it. Sometimes those moments are the ones that make us human, they make us real-'
'Adrenaline... accelerates your heartbeat, perhaps it makes you more aware of your bodily functions-your breathing, your movements, but that doesn't make you "more real".'
'But you feel more alive!'
'Chocolate can have the same effect,' Rita could not help but laugh.
Her father smiled and said, 'well, off with you now, we can talk at home where I don't charge you.'
She strolled to the door, but as she touched the handle-she turned around, 'Dad, am I like her?'
'Yes, you're the spitting image of her,' he paused, 'she was sick, honey, you're not her.'
Rita flashed a faint smile before she exited the peaceful room.
Or perhaps she only lived in those ephemeral moments? Rita wondered.
Was she her mother? Or were those deaths, those victims, a way for her to understand her mother?
She smiled. Nevertheless, she would be a world class inspector.

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