I snort ruefully, the trail beginning to open up to the cliffs where the water of the bay crashes against the rocks. When I turn to glance at him, I’m happy to see that Flanagan is still half-distracted as he fights for his life on unfamiliar footing. It’s adorably pathetic, and my smile widens slightly.
“But he wouldn’t let her. That night? When he came to our apartment? He stood there, banging on our fucking door. He was demanding Esme let him in, since apparently they had another fight at work and she finally decided to leave him. How fucked up is that, Mr. Flanagan?” In the open space and with the open air of the ocean behind me, I stop walking, my hands behind my back as I watch him trip the rest of the way out of the trees.
“Howfucked upcan a guy be to just not take a hint? She finally had to let him in because he turned on me when I came home, and Es was afraid for me. She’s always afraid for me,” I add with a rueful chuckle. “It’s very nice of her. Though I don’t usually need it. She wanted him gone and kept trying to tell him that after he got into the apartment. You know how men rant and rave, saying women should just tell themnoinstead of playing games?”
Flanagan looks at me with confused suspicion on his face.
“Well, Esme did all that. She told him no in every single way imaginable, but he didn’t listen. He put his dirty fucking hands around her throat and I honestly believe he would’ve killed her, Mr. Flanagan. So…” I tilt my head to the side, my gaze fixed onhis expression. “What would you have done? If it were your wife, or your best friend? Would you have stood there and just let that happen?”
Realization dawns across his face, and a rush of excitement goes through me. But like any overconfident man who can’t fathom the idea that a woman could be dangerous, he takes a few steps toward me with a bewildered look on his pockmarked face. “You killed him. You didn’t drive him here?—”
“No, we definitely did,” I assure him. “He just didn’t get to appreciate the drive. We drove him here and carried him along the same trail that you and I just walked.” Every step closer that he takes, something else lights up inside me. I nod my head towards the water and sidestep to give him access.
“This was the last place anyone saw him, Mr. Flanagan,” I promise the private investigator with a smile. “I made sure of that when I wrapped him in garbage bags, filled them with rocks, and rolled him over the edge that night.”
He turns to me, but the horror is tempered with suspicious disbelief as he searches my face for any sign of a bluff. Flanagan looks toward the cliff, then back at me, and I can tell he’s trying to decide if I’m full of shit or actually telling the truth.
I let him work through it, enjoying the conflicting emotions on his face. It’s a bit disappointing he doesn’t believe I’m capable of it straight off, but that’s okay. I don’t mind proving it to him, and that’s my goal for tonight, anyway.
He’ll believe me.
Even if it only sinks in once I’ve opened a hole in his throat and let him bleed all over the ground before shoving him off the cliff as well.
“Why?” he asks finally, when he’s stared at the ocean for a few long minutes. I don’t answer right away, however. Yet again I’m distracted by the feeling of being watched, and I’m tempted to search around the clearing to see if I’m missing something.
Who would be here?
Esme sure as hell wouldn’t follow me. She’s probably shaking herself apart by now. And if it’s not here, then the only other option is?—
My eyes find Larkin in the dark just as the realization hits me. He doesn’t move when I notice him, and he’s barely visible leaning against the broad trunk of a pine at the end of the trail. Still, I can feel his gaze, and I can sense his small smile, even in the dark.
Instead of fear, excitement floods me, pushing the cold of my murderous intent deeper through my bones. Somehow, the idea of doing this while he watches, of putting on some kind of fucked-up show for my new, psychotic lover, puts this on another level in my brain.
“Why,what?”I finally sigh. “I explained it already, Mike. He was going to kill Esme?—”
“But you could’ve called someone,” he argues. “You could’ve called the police. You didn’t have to hide the body or do any of this. Why go to all this trouble when none of it was necessary?”
The question catches me off guard, and I finally turn to give him my full attention. “The same reason I’m going to do this,” I admit, pulling the box cutter out of my pocket. “Because I really, absolutely, fuckingwant to.”
The fear in his eyes is everything I’ve hoped for, and it cements the fact that Larkin is right.
I’m a monster.
“I wish I could say sorry.” I test the box cutter’s blade against my thumb. “Sort of. Actually, I almost did this before. But you, uh, got saved by circumstances.” I watch him look between my face and the box cutter, before glancing back toward the trail.
“Look…” He raises his hands and edges backward, but I’m already expecting it. I circle him, similar to how Larkin circled me, and end up so my back is to the trail and the only easy pathhe has to go is right off the cliff. “I don’t know if this is about my investigation, or if you’re just trying to protect your roommate. But I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Tova.” The polite edge to his words like he used on his first visit to our apartment is back, rather than the menace from earlier tonight.
“Did we? Because you came to our apartment tonight to threaten Es. I was sort of there.” I take a step forward, thrilled when he takes a reflexive step back. Then suddenly his muscles bunch and he runs at me, shoving into my shoulder and knocking me to the side on his way to the trail.
Shit.
Whirling around, I know I’ll be too slow, but at that moment, Larkin makes himself known. He lunges smoothly forward, seemingly unsurprised by Flanagan’s escape attempt as he grabs his flailing arms and drags him back to the clearing above the cliffs.
“W-who are you?” Flanagan gasps, writhing in his grip. “Let go of me! She’s fucking crazy! She’s?—”
“She’s a very silly girl with not very well thought out plans,” Larkin chuckles. He kicks Flanagan’s legs out from under him, forcing him to his knees in front of me. “I did some research on you,” he remarks casually, still holding his arms behind his back and not letting Flanagan get up. “Your ex-wife isn’t very fond of you, is she? I bet after tonight, her life will be a lot easier. Now she can use that money she’s been saving up to get herself and the kids away from you for” —he shrugs—“well, anything else.”
Something in me unclenches. Some tension I didn’t realize I was holding in my shoulders eases at the knowledge of Flanagan not exactly being a blessing to the world. I don’t think it would’ve mattered to me in the long run. But it makes it a lot easier to drag his head back until he’s looking up at me, his chest heaving.
