Irene rarely left the flat these days; she began to eat less, heck, even contact with her peers lessened.  Wendy was nothing but amused by the situation.  The longer she gazed upon Irene’s pensive expression on the windowsill of their flat, the more she realized that the latter was becoming more and more like her.  How ironic that was.  Up until this point, Irene had attempted countless times to get Wendy out and about; and for some strange reason, the tables had turned and it was now Wendy’s turn to remind Irene that she needed fresh air.

    As usual, Wendy was lying atop her own bed, kicking her legs into the air as Irene did her work.  The thump of the bedpost brushing the wall should have driven her insane.  Instead it did the opposite and gave Irene a reassuring beat for her train of thoughts.

           “When are we doing this?”

           Irene shrugged, not once turning away from the screen of her laptop, “Once I shut down the surveillance cameras in the building and the stupid security guard leaves his post.”

    It was nearly time for their plan to be launched.  Wendy recalled watching Irene model an ancient murder, take every flaw time had ever found and shape it into something deviously flawless.  Perhaps it was too perfect?  What was the point of a good murder without the thrill of the chase?  Wendy also recalled watching the ends of Irene’s lips twitch into a grin as she planted a knowing mistake: her signature.

           “You should shut down the cameras of the buildings nearby as well.  Just in case.”

           “Well what’s the fun in not giving the police a little clue?”

    If she had cared enough, Wendy would have gasped.  Irene was plummeting at the speed of light into the dark abyss of her own insanity.  It was only a matter of time before the hit rock bottom, onto realization.

           “There,” even the tone in Irene’s voice began to take an uncanny turn, “Done.  Let’s get started.”

           “Gladly.”

    “Good,” Wendy nodded, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between her amused lips, “now rub his body all over the walls and stuff by the windows.  An area with no fingerprints is far too suspicious.”

    Irene hummed, dragging the victim’s hand over the windowsill and the crannies surrounding it.  To be quite frank, she hadn’t hurt him -- yet.  She needed to take all the precautions she could think of, especially if she was going to be as careless as to leave a few cameras on.  Chloroform was rather tacky, but it performed its purpose well; now all that was left was to wash his hands and face with soap, to flush any trace of the drug.

           Wendy was proud.  A little bit surprised, but nevertheless, proud.  Everything was going according to plan, and they both loved it.   

           “Have you cleaned off his face?” Wendy asked as she shook some ash off the of her cigarette.  Irene wasn’t too worried about it the particles -- Wendy wasn’t real anyway.

           “Yeah.  The moron never really saw anything coming,” Irene sighed, “I was expecting a better fight.”

           Wendy chuckled and grabbed Irene’s shoulders before whispering into her ear, “We can talk about this later.  For now, you should finish the job before someone needs this guy.”

           Irene nodded.  

Then she threw him out the window.

           “Shouldn’t you get started on his suicide note?” Wendy puffed a cloud of smoke into Irene’s face.  The latter shrugged.  It was much more fun this way anyway.

           The plan was perfect.  She stayed inside the lobby bathroom for a few hours after throwing the body off the seventh story.  After all, wasn’t it a bit strange for someone to enter the building near the time of the murder and then leave soon after?

           They were sitting in their living roo