There was a single box in the cupboard, standing on the base of the wood. There was no tape over the flaps, they were just dipped inwards. But the box was not what made her body shake with fear. It was the walls. The inside of the doors, the walls of the cupboard, were plastered with photos and newspaper clippings. Coloured sticky notes, ripped paper with things scribbled on, peculiar objects stuck on with red tape. The same tape as the 'x' on the cupboard door.
The main thing that caught her attention was one newspaper headline. Thick, bold, heavy font. Screaming at her through the cluttered mass of other things.
INNOCENT MOTHER MURDERED, INNOCENT CHILD GONE.
Innocent. Innocent. Innocent. What was this? Who was this mother, who was this child, who was this murderer? There was an article next to it, describing the lost infant.
BROWN HAIR, LIGHT SHADE, NO HIGHLIGHTS. Ada touched her hair.
BLUE EYES, BRIGHT AND STRIKING. Ada thought of her eyes.
FAIR, WHITE COMPLEXION. VERY PALE. Ada brushed her skin.
The description went on, but Ada couldn't focus anymore. The hair, the eyes and the skin was enough. But what about the name? Was she the lost child? Nearly everything matched up. But then, Mama wasn't dead. Unless. Was Mama the murderer?
What are you doing Measle? screeched a voice from the doorway, and a cold judder shook Ada. Slowly turning around, she stared at Stefonie. Her supposed Mama.
Mama? croaked Ada, watching Stefonie's mouth curl into a tight, mocking smile.
Hello Aurelia. Care to talk? With one move, Ada was the pushed onto the bed, sitting upright and shaking in utter shock.
Aurelia Helens. The innocent child. The innocent child gone. Ah, nice to meet you.