But Leo doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t reveal any sign that he holds what happened earlier against me or that he’s even aware of it. It’s as if the moment we spent standing over there staring at each other—me at the top of his stairs and him at the bottom—never happened.
Leo turns toward the window and sticks a finger into one of the flowerpots, saying that he needs to check if they need watering. I suppose I am one of those people who gets so engrossed in my writing that I overlook everyday tasks. I nod, admitting that he might be onto something there.
“Because you’re working on something, aren’t you? You’re writing something new, right?”
I nod again, and Leo’s eyes instantly light up. He asks me to tell him more.
“You don’t need to give away the whole plot, but what’s happening in the chapter you’re working on right now?”
I don’t know what comes over me. Normally I don’t discuss the content of what I’m writing, not until the manuscript is done. Maybe it’s the sight of his sudden burst of enthusiasm that does it. Or maybe it’s because I feel like I owe him something.
“It’s about a woman,” I respond. “She’s acting weird, hiding a bunch of things.”
“Like what?”
I rest my chin on my hand.
“Well, for example, she does some online searches. She hangs out in certain forums where… well, where normal people don’t usually go. Violent forums.”
“Is that a hard scene to write?”
“Mmm.” I brush imaginary crumbs off the tabletop. “What’s hard is getting it to feel authentic, real.”
Leo leans forward over the table.
“You mean… so that it feels like real web searches, ones a real woman would do?”
“More or less, yeah.” I look up and our eyes lock. It’s time to steer this conversation in another direction. “Hey, by the way, how did it go with your essay? Have you turned it in yet?”
Leo shakes his head, says he needs to revise it one more time before he’s satisfied. While he talks, he turns his attention toward the stack of research books beside him and absentmindedly runs his finger over them. Then one of the books catches his eye.
“My mom has this one, too.”
He pulls out the book and holds it up for me. It’s Getting Away with Murder. Even though I was just holding it myself a few minutes ago, it looks different now. In Leo’s hands, the cover becomes darker, more sinister. The title roars out its message.
“How long has she had it?”
“Huh?”
“When did she buy it?”
Leo’s eyebrows go up. He looks like he’s trying to remember.
“I don’t know. Maybe… it could be, I’m not sure, but…”
As he contemplates, he draws out his words. The kitchen clock ticks in the background. It ticks louder and louder with each sentence Leo leaves unfinished, with each guess that he doesn’t find the words to express.
“When did she buy it, Leo, when? Was it recently?”
It’s not until I notice Leo’s upturned face that I realize I’ve stood up and am standing across from him. There’s something about his facial expression… My questions concern him, that much is clear. A string of little beads of sweat has formed on his upper lip.
He shrugs. He wishes he knew, but unfortunately… Then he puts the book back on the top of the stack and stands up as well.
The atmosphere between us has changed—or am I just imagining that? I follow Leo out into the front hall and ask if his dad is home, too, mostly just to make small talk. He shakes his head, says his father has an important meeting tonight, even though it’s Friday.
“But he’ll be home anyway, even if he’s really late, because tomorrow he and my mom are going to take a little trip together, just the two of them.”
“Really? Where to?”
Leo jams his feet into his shoes.
“Dunno. My mom’s having a birthday soon, and I guess my dad arranged something just for the two of them. It’s going to be a surprise, but I think I know what they’re going to do.” He pauses briefly before he continues, without my asking. “Dad has been talking about wanting to take Mom hiking in the mountains nearby. He’s been wanting to do it for a long time. The view from the top is supposed to be amazing.”
Leo imitates someone else’s voice when he says that last part. I assume he’s mimicking his father, but I hardly notice it. My head is spinning. I can’t wrap my head around what he’s saying.
“But your mom, would she even be up to that? She’s on sick leave and not—”
“Oh, that’s just during the day. Apparently she’s capable of more than one might think.”
Leo’s voice sounds normal again, and there’s a sharp edge to it. He opens the door and hesitates with his hand on the door handle.
“But you’re right. If they do actually go on their trip, it’ll be kind of a miracle. They’ve been going through a rough patch lately. I’m sure they think I don’t notice, but…”
He leaves the sentence unfinished, sneaking a peek at me.
“It’s not always that easy, being married, is it?”
I shake my head.
“No, it is not.”
Leo says goodbye and wishes me luck with my writing before returning home. But he doesn’t make it very far before he stops and turns around. We stand there looking at each other through the last fading rays of daylight.
“I can check her search history if you want.”
Before I have a chance to respond, before I even have a chance to process the words, he’s turned his back on me again. This time he sets off running.
I stand by my front door and watch him go. I can’t move, can hardly breath. What does he mean? Why is he offering to check Veronica’s search history? Surely he doesn’t think that… Something is bugging me in the back of my mind, something we just talked about.
Across the way, he opens the door, then closes it, and I’m still standing here. It’s almost sunset and there’s a cool breeze, which brings me back to life. I go back inside for my down vest and put it on before locking the door and hurrying off.
Out on the street, I call my sister. I’m planning to ask her what she feels like eating. To tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her tonight. But when she answers, something completely different comes out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I have to cancel dinner tonight.”
30
To kill another human being. How does one do that? She knew nothing of such things. Her fingers trembled as she searched the internet.
She didn’t actually expect that death—the violent kind, the kind that involved taking another person’s life—could be found just a keystroke away, but it was. Good lord, it was.
She ended up in a shady online forum, scrolling through the discussion threads where people had asked all sorts of questions: “What approach works best?” “What weapon is the most effective?” “How do you avoid leaving any traces?” “What do you do with the body afterward?” You didn’t have to wait for the answers. There were real people in there, hidden behind aliases and manipulated profile pictures, providing suggestions and describing in detail how they would do it. Or had done it.
“Don’t do it yourself—hire someone.”
“Do it yourself—that’s the safest way.”