By the time Dahlia regained control of her body, her husband Ronald Baloney was lying face-down at the dinner table with a massive dent in the back of his head. Her blood froze. She felt the chill strongest in her upraised hand. Slowly, her gaze rose to see the vast, dripping, slightly dimpled frozen leg of lamb. She dropped it. The thud was loud and sickening. Again. Shock and nausea forced her to her knees. Shuddering against the sobs, she wished, wished, wished he hadn’t said that. Poor stupid old fool! Why had he said that? [i]Because he doesn’t care about you anymore,[/i] said the dreaded voice in her head; glee dripped from every syllable. [i]He never cared about you. Trophy wife. Punching bag. Baby factory.[/i] That voice had taunted and haunted her since childhood. “No!” she said hastily. “He wanted everyone to know he loved me. He wanted a family.” [i]HahahahahaNO! Oh, he was all smiles and kisses and promises on your honeymoon, but you secretly hated him for turning them into nothing but lies. I can see your every thought. Oh, that felt good![/i] Weakly, Little Dahlia eased herself off the floor. “Now what do I do?” [i]Now we make sure no one spoils our fun.[/i] And just like that… the [i]other[/i] Dahlia took over. Little Dahlia watched in horror – tinged with fascination – as Other Dahlia calmly walked outside under the pouring rain and swung the leg of lamb, smashing a window. She filled a bucket from the pump, walked back inside, and carefully dribbled a trail leading up to Ronnie’s corpse, then pushed the body off the chair. “There we go,” she said, finishing the trail up to the front door, which she pushed, ripping its old locks. “Some madman broke in, bopped old Ronnie boy, and broke out.” [i]This is wrong,[/i] said Little Dahlia, but she couldn’t resist that voice. She’d never resisted anyone’s voice: Ronnie’s, her parents’, Other Dahlia’s… Other Dahlia placed the lamb leg in the oven and said, “Make a trip to the village for vegetables. We need alibis. Then come back, scream, and call the police. You’re an innocent victim in shock. Got it?” Little Dahlia whimpered. No problems there, she felt. [hr] Later, the oven hummed. It was old, and Ronnie never replaced anything until it wore out. Little Dahlia paced up and down. “I’m gonna get caught,” she moaned. [i]Admit it. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?[/i] “No!” [i]Oh, but you are. You’ve craved power like this ever since you were Little Dahlia in Big Bertha’s playground. You wanted someone to take care of the bullies of the world.[/i] “I never wanted you in my life!” [i]Oh my god, you’re killing me! My sides ache! You wanted no one but me. Even Mom and Dad tanned your hide, but who was there to take care of the “pwecious baby bwother” and pass it off as S.I.D.S.? Who was there to get Big Bertha crippled for life in a “tragic playground accident”? Me, me, always and forever ME! You should thank me on your KNEES, not push me away![/i] The doorbell rang. Dahlia was across the hall and opening the door before she had time to think. She sighed with relief. PC Washington had answered. Old family friend. He tipped his hat respectfully; the two constables flanking him nodded. [i]Play the part![/i] “Thank goodness you’ve come!” she wailed. “Oh, Peter! Peter!” “It’s all right,” said Washington, coming in and taking off his mackintosh. “You haven’t disturbed the scene of the crime? I’d like to take a look, if you please.” Other Dahlia laughed her head off while Little Dahlia wiped her eyes and said, “In the dining room. I don’t wanna go in again!” “I understand. Duncan, Freeman: take a look around the premises. We might find some clues regarding our mystery madman.” [i]They’ve swallowed it hook, line, and sinker! What better cop could you have asked for than trusting old PC Washington!? It’s perfect![/i] Little Dahlia shushed her and returned to the kitchen, wiping her eyes. Washington’s gasp could still be heard. He and Ronnie had been old school friends. She attended to the cooking as calmly as though policemen weren’t poking and prodding the premises all around. Hours crawled by. Calmly, mechanically, she took out the lamb leg and carved it into chunks. Washington ambled into the kitchen. “Heavy blunt instrument,” he was saying. “Poor Ronnie. Definite signs of a break-in. Pity the footprints would’ve washed away in this rain by now…” Little Dahlia said nothing. Other Dahlia was feeding her some idea of giving the lamb to the officer, but the rest of her was too numb to try. Why would she say that!? Washington smiled. “You always were a fantastic chef, Dahlia.” [i]Should I tell him? He’s always been so nice to me…[/i] [i]Yeah, and how long do you think that’ll last once you confess? Anyway, Ronnie used to be so nice to us too.[/i] Instead, Washington went back to the crime scene to “look around some more”. Dahlia sighed. Later, the police left with bits of glass and the body. Dahlia threw dinner away and went to bed feeling sick. Other Dahlia. Revolting as she was, she wasn’t really a different person. It was still Dahlia. The Dahlia she needed and never wanted. But how to kill a bully-killer when you needed [i]her[/i] to kill?