“Sophie, I don’t want to kill you,” I told her. “I want to somehow get through this without having to do that. What I’m going to do is move you to one of the bedrooms, then wait for your client to show up. I didn’t kill her sister, and I’ll find a way to convince her of that, and…”
And fuck it.
There are only so many lies you can stack on top of each other before they come tumbling down on you. Early on most of the lies were to myself. Deep, deep denial, you know. As much as I tried convincing myself otherwise, I knew on some subconscious level why I had to stay in the Boston area after I was released from prison. I had to be there for Lombard and his boys to make a play for me. And if not them, then someone else holding a grudge.
You see, I’m not a madman. I’m not some psychopathic killer who can just grab their victims at random. I don’t get sadistic pleasure from my killings, and I certainly don’t enjoy seeing my victims suffer. But I do need to kill. It’s something ingrained deep in my core. Until recently I’ve been trying to pretend that wasn’t so; I wanted badly to hold on to this idea of me being a different person, but I can’t do that any more. That’s okay. I can deal with what I really am as long as the killings are the result of a job or my acting in self-defense. As long as I’m not just some crazy lunatic running around slaughtering people.
For years I tried to convince myself that I was only doing a job for Lombard, that I could’ve just as easily ended up a bartender or a construction worker, or working any other nine-to-five job. I tried to hide from the knowledge of what was really inside me, and I think all of that denial and self-delusion was what caused my headaches. Even though I didn’t understand it at the time, the need to kill again was the real reason I defended Lucinda inside her diner – I must’ve been hoping that that dirtbag would be waiting outside for me and would give me my excuse. It was the same reason I must’ve also broken up that robbery outside the liquor store. Yeah, those punks attacked me, but they were so feeble at it that I wouldn’t have been able to justify self-defense if I had killed them. Maybe to a court, but not to myself. And I guess that was the same reason I let myself get hooked up with Sophie and build this idyllic fantasy about her.
And now for the lies that I haven’t just been telling myself. The way I had already described it with the two wiseguys was mostly true. But after I had them in the trunk, I didn’t tie them up. I shot them both in the head. And Nick Lombard? After he dug up the money for me, I put two bullets in his chest and left him dead in the cellar. Anything else would’ve been insane.
And Sophie…
She’s in another room now, but that’s only so I don’t have to smell her. I ended it for her right after she asked me to. And I made it quick.
Now I’m sitting here waiting for Sophie’s client. Sally Hughes’s sister. When she gets here I’ll be killing her too, but I’ll make it fast. She’ll be gone before she even knows what happened. I know what some of you are probably thinking, that the decent thing would be for me to tell her about Sally, but I don’t see it that way. It wasn’t pleasant how I disposed of the body, and I don’t see why I should burden her with that knowledge. Why ruin her last few moments like that? Better for her to hold on to the thought that she’s entering the house to see me tortured.
It turns out there was over a hundred and twenty thousand in the valise that Nick Lombard dug up for me. After all my lawsuits are finished with I’ll use that money to change my identity and set up shop where I can continue my profession. Fuck any book deals and fuck any interviews. Eventually I’ll slip back into anonymity. I might look a little familiar to my clients, but not enough where they won’t hire me.
I realize I’m content. My headaches are gone and have been ever since Thursday, and I know they’re not coming back. It’s a relief when you finally admit to yourself what you are, and in my case, that I’m a killer. I wish I had told Sophie what I found so funny earlier when she explained the route to the cabin, since she’s one of the few people who could’ve appreciated the humor – that she was trying to have me give directions to my own execution. In a way it was a shame I had to do to her what I did – we could’ve made a good team. Even if she did find me repulsive.
As I sit back I can smell the scent of death saturating my skin. That’s fine, it doesn’t bother me any more, and nobody else has ever seemed to notice it.
I hear a car pull up and I brace myself. Once I hear the footsteps on the gravel outside, I move over to the doorway and hide in the shadows of the room.
I understand how hard it must’ve been for her over the years, not knowing what had happened to her sister, and how torn up she must’ve been after convincing herself that I was the person responsible. Since she had hired a professional to kill me, I can justify now killing her as self-defense, but I can still appreciate the cruelty of it, and I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
The door opens.