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It would be so easy.
He’s returned home and now lives alone. His divorce has left him isolated, and his kids have distanced themselves from him. No one will find his rotting corpse over the holiday weekend. As William comes toward us, I quickly switch to a pleasant veneer, though Gwen notices the change in my facial expression and fixes a smile of her own as our host approaches us.
“How are you doing this fine evening, Blake?” he asks.
“Good,” I answer, delicately wiping my mouth with a cloth napkin. “Lovely place you have here.”
He smiles warmly at Gwen and extends his hand. “Mia, isn’t it? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
She takes his hand. “The pleasure is mine,” she says, politely returning the smile.
I try to keep a neutral expression on my face. But inside, I want to scream. When I said I’m the jealous type, I meant it. I struggle against every desire to tear William’s arm off as his hold on Gwen lingers a beat too long. I shove another forkful of potatoes into my mouth to prevent myself from plunging the utensil into his carotid artery.
Thankfully, Gwen senses my anger and quickly pulls away from him with a polite but firm tug of her hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you,” she says sweetly.
He smiles. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” he comments, chuckling at his joke as he departs for the bar.
Once he’s gone, I exhale in relief. Gwen entwines her fingers with mine and looks me in the eye.
“Are you okay?” she questions softly so that no one around us will overhear.
A part of me is almost ashamed by my near loss of self-control, but I’m thankful for her quick thinking. “I’m fine. I just didn’t like how handsy he got with you.”
She grins and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Don’t worry. I can handle the old creep.”
We share a laugh before resuming our respective meals. But as I finish the last of my crumble, I can’t focus on anything. Even after taking two aspirins, all I can think about is ending Bryant’s life. I can’t take this banal party anymore.
“Could you excuse me for a moment?” I say, squeezing Gwen’s hand before letting go. “I need to use the bathroom.”
She nods as I dart off into a hall with gleaming marble floors. I consider asking one of the other guests for directions but decide against it. I’m bound to discover one of the probably six bathrooms in this damned fortress.
After passing by an ornate curved staircase, I finally stumble upon what I’m searching for. I step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, grateful for the privacy. Placing my palms on the sink, I take a few deep breaths as I attempt to clear my head. But as soon as I close my eyes, all I envision is a bloody crime scene, with Bryant as the centerpiece.
I quietly exit through the window, fully aware that Gwen will be furious with me for this, and swiftly make my way to the car.
It’s time for that detective to pay for prying into our business.
It doesn’t take long to reach Bryant’s house.
I’ve hidden the car two blocks away, being vigilant to avoid any cameras. So I couldn’t idle nearby, even though it’s freezing out.
From the tree house across the street, I watch Bryant through binoculars. He’s pacing and muttering in the living room, as if speaking to someone in his head. His brow is creased, and that perpetual scowl of frustration appears to be etched into his face. There will be more than just frustration splashed there by the time I’m done with him.
Carefully, I inch my way down from the tree house. I don’t make a noise despite the deserted, dark status of the neighborhood. Maneuvering past the snow-covered bushes, I silently cross the street and slip into Bryant’s backyard undetected. I peer through a window, seeing him pad into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.
I scowl at him through the mask as he downs the can in one fell swoop. Some of it dribbles down his chin, and he wipes the golden liquid away with the back of his hand. My resentment for him grows by the second. But I keep my composure and continue observing him as he meanders back to the living room.
Stealthily, I track his every move through the windows. I begin to devise a plan, my mind racing as I figure out how to best approach ending this fucker—because the longer he walks around the house, the more furious I become. It’s only a matter of time before the leash on my temper snaps. I pause, my gaze sweeping across the house to survey it—and inspiration strikes me.
I go over to his storage shed and enter, spotting a ladder tucked in the corner. I snatch it before quietly kicking the door shut behind me and set the ladder up near the back porch. Though my gloves provide some purchase, I’m not stupid enough to risk climbing the slippery gutters. I make my way up and soon find myself at the ledge of Bryant’s second-floor bedroom window. After prying it open, I slip inside.
The messy room is filled with scattered clothing, an unmade bed, and an overflowing trash bin. I can’t help but feel disgusted at Bryant’s lack of propriety. Vaguely, I also wonder where his murder board is. I’ll have to make sure I burn it, along with any other evidence I can find after I’m done dealing with him.
The sound of a football game blares from downstairs, drowning out everything around it. I contemplate whether I should wait up here until he heads to bed or hedge my bets on Bryant falling asleep in his recliner instead. Normally, I’m patient—but tonight, my blood sings with restlessness. So I choose to bide my time, but only for so long.
Unable to tolerate another air freshener ad, I unsheathe my knife and descend the stairs with light steps. Peeking around the corner, I can just make out the outline of Bryant’s slouched frame in his recliner, his mouth open and drooling, his fingers half-clutching a mostly empty can of beer. As I move closer, he stirs lightly but doesn’t wake up. This is going better than expected.
But it’s too good to be true. His eyes flutter open, though he doesn’t initially comprehend what’s going on. I cut him off mid-sentence as he stumbles over his words.
