It’s true, but I am behind it, and I’m not a damn bit sorry.
Jackson was an idiot. The world doesn’t need more of those.
Then she slaps down incriminating printouts—including some I feel sure should be confidential, but I’m reluctantly impressed with her for risking her license to practice law in her efforts to save Hallie from me. It won’t work, but I appreciate her energy.
She tries to tell Hallie that Ross Ellison—her doltish first boyfriend—was arrested for possession and found with drugs he swore he’d never seen before. It’s an incredibly flimsy argument—what criminal doesn’t claim innocence when they’re caught doing something they shouldn’t?—but for one thing. I did go slightly overboard with the amount of narcotics I bought for him. I hadn’t realized the extent of the poverty Hallie came from and I was a little overzealous.
It didn’t matter, of course no one believe that the drug fairy gifted him with more than what he bought with the intent to distribute, and there was corroboration with a girl he fucked for a couple of weeks and then ditched to go back to his on-again-off-again girlfriend that he had been talking about how he had an idea to make some money.
Spurned women come in very handy sometimes.
Hallie still isn’t convinced I’m behind any of this, and I love her for that.
I pull up Nordstrom’s website on my computer so I can absently order something for her while I watch the rest of this.
The next part is the problem.
I was angry when she told me about what Mark had done to her when she was younger. Not on moral grounds because he’d done a bad thing, but how fucking dare he do it to Hallie?
Hallie is mine, and it doesn’t matter that she wasn’t back then, she gets retroactive protection. Anyone who ever fucked her over from the time she sucked on pacifiers had better hope like hell that I don’t find out about it.
I said more than I should have that day. She was upset and I wanted to comfort her. Hallie is too gentle to be able to appreciate something like, “Don’t worry, darling, I will deliver that man’s roasted dick on a plate for you to laugh at for ever thinking it could hurt you,” so instead, I simply told her I would make that reminder go away.
And I did. I’m most proud of this accomplishment, to be honest. A trail of misfortune mysteriously follows anyone who has wronged my Hallie, but Mark’s demise was the most layered, which made it fun to plan.
The first stage was digging up infidelity. Mercifully, none of these fuckers are capable of keeping their dicks in their pants, and that makes it much easier to ruin their lives.
When Mark’s live-in girlfriend discovered he had cheated on her, she took the kids and left. Heartbroken by the loss of his family, it appears that poor, sad Mark yanked the stove out of the wall, causing a gas leak in the kitchen. The whole thing was declared a suicide because the fire had been set very deliberately—enthusiastically, even. In addition to the gas leak, he had doused the entire kitchen in gasoline before starting the fire, then the poor fucker sat right there at the kitchen table and watched while his whole house burned down around him.
That’s not how it really went down, of course. Arson earned that nickname for a reason—had it changed legally, because he’s a crazy fucker, but it did begin with him being a very enthusiastic fire-starter.
I wanted him for the job, didn’t care what it cost. Because he genuinely likes to set fires, I knew he’d make sure it hurt.
I felt good about that one, but I can see Hallie doesn’t.
She’s pale and motionless, staring off at nothing, horror etched across her delicate features.
Oh, Charity. Why do you have to ruin everything?
The real problem is, now that she’s realizing I am definitely responsible for Mark’s death, it’s much easier to believe I’m responsible for the other things.
Charity also presents an argument that I’m behind Lance being shot, but that was boring because Hallie already knew. Even knowing that didn’t spread her doubt to cover the things I actually did do, but Mark… Mark was too far.
Hallie doesn’t say anything to Charity, though, and Charity doesn’t know why.
I do. Hallie has figured out that I have cameras.
She doesn’t know where they are, and I know that because after she makes a very confused Charity leave, she walks back to the living room and calls out like a beggar praying to a God they’re not sure is listening, “If you hurt her, I will never forgive you.”
I suppose I am her god. Whatever happens in her life only happens because I command it.
Still, I love her and don’t want her to be upset.