Myra Monroe - Part 1

_______________________


The first thing Myra wanted to do when she was released from prison, was to get her hair restyled.
The idiots hadn't even allowed her to re-touch her blonde dye at her first trial. Now it hung in an almost-shoulder length layered brown and it irked the hell out of her. She even begged the courts for a restyle before her appearance; but they refused immediately. Contorting her and calling her a horrible child killer. She smirked at the memory; they promised she would surely die behind bars but the two charges she received were not enough to ensure so. And now that she had been released...Myra took a mouthful of jail-free air through her nose and trotted along the heated pavement toward the township.
Even though it was now the late 80s, people would recognize her; but that wasn't her problem. All she could think about was redyeing her hair and continuing her life from where it was cut short and abruptly. Her family would not want her, that was no surprise. But she could get another job, and an apartment to stay in. Stupid Ian... such cockiness could get one into a lot of trouble. I hope he stays inside, Myra thought, her words dripping in venom.
Luckily for her, she was released earlier than expected; the evidence 'suggested' that Ian himself had in fact carried out the murders themselves. Myra was merely an accomplice and 'hardly present'. Who knew such little money could buy such a great lawyer?
As she passed an elderly woman hovering over a walker, Myra ducked her head to avoid being recognized.
But it was too late; the old woman raised her head in disbelief and grunted a gasp. Her eyes were like sapphire diamonds that had been polished of dust.
"You!" she bellowed. "You bitch, how did you get out?"
Myra snorted. "Read the damn paper. Isn't that what you old folk spend all your time doing?" She leaned forward, bringing her face to the incredulous face of wrinkles. "You should be familiar with poking your nose into other peoples' business."
With that, she walked off with her nose in the air and left the old lady behind, stuttering.
At once, Myra felt a glow within her chest that made her feel as though she had wings attached to her ankles. She drew her knitted black cardigan around her slender body as she walked; her black dress slightly rising above her knees.
Maybe I can trick a man into letting me stay with him, Myra thought. But her words were hollow and meaningless; there was no momentum to them at all.


When she reached the town square, she was pleased to find people busily rushing past her without a second glance.
Myra figured it might be because her hair was of chocolate, and not blonde. Still, they might see her face and come to terms... she hurried her steps until she came to a shop window decorated with scissors and strands of what looked like spaghetti.
"Hi!" the young English girl greeted her as she walked in.
The bell above the door chirped a greeting, too; something Myra thought she would never ever hear again. Damn... she felt good. But she kept her head down as she approached the counter, pretending to fumble with non-existent belongings.
Myra reached into her coat pocket and produced a handful of pounds. She was never going to knock saving again.
"Hi, dear," Myra mumbled, pushing the bills onto the counter toward the barber. "I want my hair cut short... layered, and dyed blonde."
"No problem," the girl replied. She was wearing a hot pink t-shirt that was threatening to expose her midriff; and black skinny jeans. Her hair was bound in two multicoloured pigtails.
While she counted the money, Myra looked around the shop. There were no other customers, just empty leather high-backed chairs against stainless steel benches. The walls had been repainted a crimson hue which reminded her of...
"Uhh... ma'am?" The girl broke Myra from her thoughts. "It costs eighty pounds to get a cut and dye. You've given me ninety."
"Keep the rest," Myra replied, bringing her gaze up with a smile.
The girl, who obviously didn't recognize her, grinned back. "If you insist," she said with a smirk. "Right this way."
She led Myra to a chair near the back of the room. There was that familiar scent of hairspray; it's a good thing Estelle wasn't working her anymore. She would have literally booted her out before Myra had the chance to say "Saddleworth".
Myra took a seat in the comfortable chair, while the young girl flicked a black sheet over Myra's chest and buttoned it loosely around the neck. As she did so, Myra was aware of the prod of the girl's breast against her temple.
"Are you sure you want me to cut this all off?" the girl asked, encasing her fingers through Myra's dark hair. Myra glanced sharply to the mirror's reflection and saw the barber delicately stroking her mane as if it were made of gold. "It's so rich and-" the girl continued.
"Please cut and dye it," Myra said firmly, entwining her fingers nervously. Did she have to stroke her scalp like that?
"Alright then," the girl said, final. "Do you want a magazine or something? Coffee?"
"I'll be right," Myra replied. Then she smiled into the mirror and prepared herself for the slideshow of transformation.



* * *