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Nineteen
HIM
Brian MacDonald exits the pizzeria and steps into the cool night, throwing back the last of his drink. He crushes the can against the brick of the shop and tosses it into a nearby trash bin before wiping his greasy hands on his pants. It is a habit of his to devour a large pepperoni and sausage pizza on his own, with beer on the side, every Tuesday and Thursday.
I watch as he shuffles down the sidewalk, passing a boarded-up bakery and a closed discount clothing store. This part of Fallbank is quiet, with the only sound the echo of his footsteps against the pavement. He pauses at the alleyway, peering inside as if expecting someone to be there. Then he lingers for a few moments before moving on, yet something has changed in his demeanor.
Perhaps he senses someone watching him.
I should cut his throat for looking at Gwen the way he does at work. But my interest wanes the more I observe him. I tail him for a few more blocks until he stops in front of a mid-sized, two-story house with peeling paint and crooked shutters. He takes out a key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and disappears inside.
Getting rid of Brian had once been on my list. By now, I’ve watched him long enough that I know his routine. Ending his life would be simple; he lives alone and seldom has visitors. He mostly spends his time in his living room watching raunchy porn and jacking off. However, killing him wouldn’t have the impact I need it to have on her.
I stand in the shadows, contemplating my next move. Although I don’t have the urge to kill him tonight, I still need to make my Little Finch pay somehow. She must be punished for her hesitation, for not doing what needed to be done. A wicked smile plays on my lips. I’ll have to figure out another way to make her learn from her mistake.
I can increase surveillance on her friends, follow them wherever they go to collect more information about their activities. Her care for them is one of the few things I have leverage on—other than her true identity and past. Making a grand statement at the festival will show her there is nowhere to hide and that her mistake has consequences. It’s the perfect plan.
I’m always one step ahead, and she’ll find that out the hard way.
I return to my car and leave, imagining the kind of suffering I can bring down on my Little Finch. It will be something she will never forget.
I swing by Nick Campbell’s residence. To my amusement, Zoey comes storming out of the house, her cheeks splotchy with tears, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. Nick rushes after her onto the porch, his hair disheveled. I park across the street, roll down my window, and pull my hood down as they exchange heated words.
“You can’t do this to me!” she shouts. “I trusted you!”
His expression hardens. “Look,” he begins, his voice taut with anger, “you need to understand that treating Jen that way is unacceptable. I was always loyal to you.”
She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “Then what the hell is this?!” She thrusts the paper at him. “She wrote you a fucking love letter, Nick. And by the sounds of it, you two have gotten pretty damn close these past weeks.”
His brow furrows, and he runs a hand over his face with a sigh. “I like her, yeah, but?—”
“It’s called ‘emotional cheating,’ you asshole,” she snaps. “You led me on and told me what I wanted to hear, but it’s obvious you had feelings for someone else the whole time!”
He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. We talked, got closer, and?—”
“It’s over,” she says through sniffles, turning away from him.
He reaches for her, but she coldly shrugs him off before turning on her heel and walking away without looking back. His shoulders slump as he stares after her, watching as she drives off. He hangs his head in shame, runs a hand through his hair, and vanishes into the house.
What an opportune time to eavesdrop; it seems the dynamics of Gwen’s friend group have shifted. I’d heard stories about the drama of unrequited love—watched movies and read books about it—but witnessing it firsthand is an entirely novel experience.
Suddenly, a thought crosses my mind.
Jen and Gwen also have become close in recent months. Maybe I can use that.
As I brainstorm an approach, my burner phone rings. I grab it from my bag, curious who would call at this hour. It better not be David or, God forbid, William, I think, answering it.
“Hey, Blake,” Gwen greets. “Sorry to call you so late.”
I force a smile, my metaphorical mask in place. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I ask, my tone joking.
She chuckles. “Yeah. But surprise, surprise—some of my coworkers called off again.” Immediately, I think of Zoey and Nick, and resist the urge to snicker. “Anyway, I wanted to know if we were still on for this weekend. I meant to call you sooner to confirm, but …”
“It’s okay. We’re still on.” I sigh, feigning weariness at the situation. “Still have to write that article and work, but we can hang out in between my obligations.”
“That sounds great,” she says. “What time do you wanna meet at the festival?”
“Well, I’m supposed to be there early, so …” I trail off, unsure if I should give her an exact time. “It’s a bit touch and go at the moment. I’ve never covered an event like this before.”
