Beautiful Villain

“You’re welcome.”

Finley looks at me carefully, like she’s trying to decide whether to ask what’s on her mind. Finally, she summons the courage.

“So why did you come back, Neil?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you here?”

This is the part where I have to decide what I’m going to say. Am I going to be honest with her? Truthful? Or am I going to make up a story about how I just couldn’t stay away?

After a mind-wrestle that takes only a few seconds, I finally decide that being honest is what’s going to happen this time. Who knows? Maybe Finley will be able to help me. After all, she’s been here for years. She knows who’s who. Maybe she’s seen something that will help.

“Revenge,” I finally say.

Short and sweet.

“I thought that might be it,” she says carefully, but she doesn’t look at me like she’s judging me. Not at all. Instead, Finley is thoughtful.

“Neil, what happened?” She whispers. “Are you going to tell me? You were gone for five years. I mean…I wrote to you every day. You pretty much know everything about me. I don’t know about you, though. All I know are the memories we have together from high school, and honestly, the two of us weren’t really that close.”

It’s the truth, even though it stings a little bit. Instead of answering her question right away, though, I ask one of my won.

“Why did you write to me?”

“What?”

“What made you decide to send that first letter? It wasn’t because I’m handsome or because I’m smart. I was never your boyfriend. We were never close.”

“Well, if it was me, I’d want someone to send me a letter,” she finally says. “I wouldn’t want to be forgotten. I thought I’d pay you the same courtesy.”

“Thank you.”

“It was nothing.”

Not true.

It was five years of hope.

That’s hardly nothing.

“Finley, what do you remember about that night?”

I don’t have to tell her which night I’m talking about, and I don’t have to ask her if she’s going to talk to any of the people involved. Chances are she knows them all, but she also doesn’t know what they’re capable of.

“I was at the game with my friends,” she says. “We heard screaming, and then sirens. We saw you run out of the woods. The cops seemed to come out of nowhere. Then they hauled you away.”

So she’d seen it. I knew someone had watched from the parking lot of the high school. I just didn’t realize it was her. I should be humiliated that she saw me in that moment, but it honestly makes me feel a little bit better knowing that she saw me, and she still accepts me.

“They really did seem to come out of nowhere, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty fast response for something that happened less than five minutes before they arrested me?”

She looks at me carefully.

“You’re saying it was a set-up.”