He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge

by Alexandra Winter

  The paper bag crunches as I lift out the second set of pills. The white capsules clink together as I pour them from their plastic container, filling my hand.

  “I love you,” I say, then fill my mouth with the pills and raise the glass of water to my lips.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Daniella!”

  I stiffen. My phone flashes too—it’s support group Cecilia.

  What is she doing here?

  When it stops ringing, a notification tells me it’s her sixth call.

  If I don’t move, she’ll go away.

  The doorbell buzzes again, and this time, it doesn’t stop. Like a bee’s nest near a microphone, it drills its way into my mind.

  Let go of the button!

  But she doesn’t.

  Instead, she screams. “Daniella! I know you’re there. Your lights are on, and I saw your shadow moving.”

  Who the hell do you think you are? Go away!

  I wait, but her voice pierces through my windows. “I’m not leaving!”

  The pills’ coating melts on my tongue, and a revolting taste of iron fills my mouth.

  A bang sounds from the apartment over me as my neighbor Mr. Nerli opens his window and with authority calls at her. “It is one o’clock in the morning. Show some consideration, please.”

  “Let me in and I will.” Her voice is determined.

  Mr. Nerli never lets anyone into the building, not even the mailman.

  I lift the water to my mouth, ready to swallow, but the buzzing of the front door opening downstairs jerks me to my feet.

  What the hell?

  Shit, the door is open.

  I spit the pills into my hand and reach for the envelopes to hide them under, but the pills fall and spread across the table. “Shit.” I gargle water to rid myself of the repulsive taste of poison stuck to my tongue before stumbling to the front door.

  2

  Cecilia snaps her umbrella shut. “Can you believe this weather?”

  I block her view into the rest of the apartment, struggling not to show my teeth rattling with the cold. “You’re not here to talk about the weather. I told you, I’m not coming back to your grief group, and busting in like this is not okay.”

  “Well, we do things differently than other support groups.” Cecilia takes a deep breath, then exhales like a smoker blowing circles, observing the white fog lingering in the air before her. “Heating broken? It was warmer here the last time I stopped by.” She brushes water off her leopard-print rain jacket.

  I’m about to escort her out when she flips off her shoes. The thud of each dropping to the floor echoes through the apartment.

  I pick up both shoes and hand them to her. “It’s one in the morning.”

  She takes them but puts them back down. “This won’t take long. I just need an answer.” Her voice is serious, as if grasping the severity of what I am doing.

  I close my eyes.

  How can I explain this?

  When I open my eyes, she’s on her way past me, and I half run backwards through the living room area until my butt hits the dining table. I position myself in front of the scattered pills. “What kind of answer?”

  Please don’t see the pills.

  Cecilia inspects the square on the wall in a lighter shade of gray where my diploma for ethical hacking hung last time she was here, the plastic on the floor beneath my feet, and me. She stops, and I let go of the breath I’ve been holding, pretending I’m not panicking inside.

  Smile.

  Her frown eases. “Do you have any wine?”

  What? If I walked in on Cecilia in an empty apartment with freezing temperatures, I wouldn’t ask for wine. I’d ask what the hell was going on. Why isn’t she asking? With the plastic underneath the table, I could be a serial killer preparing to operate on my victim right here.

  Cecilia walks straight past me, her coat dripping, and before I can stop her, she pulls the fridge door open. “Tidying, and dieting on alcohol?” Cecilia is holding the bottle of vodka in her hand, waving it like the pendulum of a metronome. With each wave of the bottle, my pulse beats a hundred times.

  I hate lying.

  I swallow before delivering the best excuse I can think of. “I’m moving out, selling our things to start over. It was harder than I thought.” I point to the bottle of vodka. My hands scramble behind me to get pills off the table and into my pocket.

  “I can imagine. You want some help packing?” Cecilia opens an empty cupboard, closes it, then moves onto the next where four crystal glasses remain. The other two glasses are on the table behind me.

  “No, thank you.” I desperately fumble behind me to locate the pills without her noticing.

  Cecilia takes two glasses from the cabinet, fills them to the brim with vodka, and holds one out for me. “One for me, one for you.”

  It’s like we’re both lying to each other, acting out parts in a play. I know my role, but why would Cecilia be playing along? The glass she’s holding out feels like a trap to force me to step forward. We’re only three arms lengths apart, but it feels like a mile.

  I can’t move, she’ll see the pills. Her outstretched hand feels like it’s mocking me.

  “I…I don’t want vodka anymore.” My right hand gets hold of a few pills, and I shove them down my back pocket.

  She gestures to the empty fridge. “How about we go grocery shopping tomorrow? My treat.”

  “That’s very kind. Unfortunately, I’m not available tomorrow.”

  “You have to eat eventually.” Cecilia sips from her glass, then walks towards me. Her long red nails clink one after another on the glass, then pause before clinking again. “I have to ask you something, and I need you to consider this seriously before answering.”

  Shit. Cecilia’s figured out what’s going on, and she’s calling me out on it.

  I can’t talk about my plans to kill myself. That will just involve her, make her responsible for saving me. She’s not. She shouldn’t even be in my home.

  “Did you see that my plant is thriving?” I nod in the direction of the peace lily on the counter behind her, and as she turns to see, I grab the last pills behind me, pushing them down the pocket of my jeans. By the time she’s looking back at me, I hope I seem normal.

  “I noticed.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “I hope you’ll bring it along when you move.”

  “Sure.” My voice is shaking. “What is your question?” I move to the side, careful to cover the envelopes and wedding picture from her sight as she closes in.

  My pulse quickens when her syrupy perfume blankets me, but I keep eye contact so as not to appear uncomfortable.

  If she hasn’t figured this out yet, she will if she sees the wedding photo and envelopes.

  The stupid frame won’t fit in my back pocket, and the envelopes will wrinkle. “I want a drink after all.” I hope to buy myself enough time to hide everything in the cabinet behind me.

  She stops as if deliberating if this is a trick, then straightens and nods as if I’ve made the right decision. “Perfect.”

  When she turns her back to me and heads for the fridge, I lift my feet from the clinging plastic and tiptoe to the cabinet by the wall behind the kitchen table, slide the drawer open, and slip in the envelopes and frame.

  Cecilia’s talking to me about something, but having been focused on closing the drawer without her hearing it, hiding my tracks, and tiptoeing back towards the table, I don’t register what she says until she’s finishing with one clear statement. “…this shouldn’t be happening.”

  I stop halfway, accepting the glass of vodka she’s holding out. “I agree.” I use every muscle in my jaw not to clatter my teeth.

  If she’s talking about suicide, I can’t argue with her. It shouldn’t be happening. Isac should be here with me, not dead.

  “Is that water?” Cecilia points to my two glasses on the dining table, one filled with vodka and the other with water, both now out in the open.

  Shit.
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  She lingers, waiting for my reply, but I’m out of excuses. When I don’t say anything for what feels like an hour of silence, she shrugs. “We should toast to this.” She raises her glass.

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  She clinks her glass to mine, then downs half of it, her long false nails clutching the crystal. I put mine to my lips but drink nothing.

  Why is she toasting suicide? She’s always seemed a bit strange to me, but this can’t be what she means?

  “Which leads me to my question.” She takes a huge sip. The sound of it forcing its way down her throat reminds me of the enormous swallow of pills waiting for me when she leaves. The foul taste still left in my mouth makes me shiver.

  I refuse to explain myself. You need to leave.

  “It’s late.” I gesture to the door, hoping she’ll take the hint. “I’m not good company tonight.”

  She sets her glass on the table. “If you’d listened, you’d know I didn’t come here for your company.”

  “Then why did you come here?” I regret the question the second it leaves my mouth. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter, and regardless of what you think, I’m fine.”

  You’re the only thing frustrating me right now.

  “Um. Okay. Good for you. I still need you to hack him.”

  “Hack? Is that why you came?” I grasp the glass tighter, pain shooting up my freezing hand. “I’m an ethical hacker, not a criminal. Maybe you misunderstood me. Just like the bad guys, we use bots, viruses, and back doors to identify weaknesses, but our job is to protect the bank and challenge the security, not hack a guy. There’s a fine line between good and evil, and it’s a line I won’t cross.”

  You got your answer, now get out.

  “Don’t refuse without hearing me out.” A nervous laugh escapes her. “Let me explain. I’ve been dating Henrik for two years, and he’s started standing me up, and canceled on me again tonight, last minute, so I…”

  “No. And you’re crazy for asking me—it’s one o’clock.”

  Hacking Henrik is nothing. But if Cecilia were to brag about it to the wrong person, it could discredit my work and ruin the reputation of the bank. I could never do that to them or my family.

  “Come on! He’s a great guy, but he’s changed.”

  “Every woman alive knows his type. He stood you up and canceled on you last minute. This isn’t brain surgery, it’s logic. He’s an asshole.”

  “He had good reasons!”

  “Assholes always do. Henrik is not interested. That’s his reason.”

  Even with anti-nausea pills in my system, I’m sick from the tension of having her here. “I’m not hacking him.”

  She’s so caught up in her own mess with Henrik that she doesn’t realize what she’s barged in on.

  I walk to the hallway, waiting for her to follow me, put her shoes back on, and go.

  Instead, she moves to the dining table, waiting for me to join her. “I’m not leaving until you help me.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “Please go home.”

  She sighs. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning then.”

  And find me dead? Although you’re getting on my nerves at the moment, I don’t wish that on you.

  “Tomorrow’s bad for me.” I get her boots from the hallway and give them to her.

  She follows me to the hallway, slips them on, then pulls out her phone. “Look at the message Henrik sent tonight. He’s cheating, right?”

  The screen lights up in my face, making it impossible for me to ignore it.

  Something came up tonight. I’m sorry. Promise to make it up to you ;)

  “You want me to hack him to see if he’s cheating?” A sigh of relief escapes me. She has no idea about my plans.

  Three curved lines on top of her screen indicate that she’s logged on to my Wi-Fi, and it makes me flinch. People underestimate the power in a Wi-Fi password.

  She was out of data the last time she was here asking me to join her group again, and had to buy a bus ticket home. I gave her my Internet access. I’d be gone soon anyway.

  “I have to know.” Cecilia pushes the phone in my face again with a new message from him.

  You are so beautiful. Can’t wait to repeat last night, but I have to cancel tonight. Work trip to Bergen. I’ll make it up to you ;)

  Cecilia’s a mess. But just like I’m not her responsibility, she’s not mine either.

  “Dump him.” I open the front door, waiting for her to exit.

  “Help me. I need proof Henrik is playing me. He even talked about us having children. Who does that if they’re not interested?”

  “Assholes.”

  “This was when we started dating.” She shoves yet another message in my face while she continues to explain. “He was on his way over to me, then out of nowhere, silence. I told him not to text and drive, but this was at the beginning of our relationship. We were smitten with each other. In love. You see the differences in his texts?”

  Like a wave crashing into a steep cliffside, shock knocks through me, causing me to lose my balance. I grab the doorframe to avoid falling over. “What was the date of that last text?”

  She scrolls back to it and gives me the phone. “December 14th, 2017. Feels like ages ago.”

  Not ages. One year, eight months, and eleven days. It’s like it was yesterday.

  “And he drove to see you where?”

  “I live in Frogner. He traveled from across the city, from Sagene, why?”

  Cold chills run down my spine when she mentions the city neighborhood of Sagene. That’s where Isac crashed at seven-thirty that evening. I read the time stamps on the messages. December 14th, 2017, seven twenty-seven, three minutes before Isac died, Henrik wrote Cecilia.

  Can’t wait to have you in my arms, sexy.

  Cecilia responded immediately.

  I have a surprise for you ;) It’ll look sexy on me. Want to guess what it is?

  Eighteen minutes passed without a response from Henrik, and in that time, Isac died according to the police. Cecilia texted him again.

  Hello?

  When Henrik still hasn’t responded, a suspicion rises in me. Whatever grabbed his attention away from her sexual message must have been significant. By now, thirty minutes had passed since Isac crashed and died on the road leading to Sagene. The time stamp shows that another nine minutes elapsed before Cecilia texted Henrik one more time.

  You’re making me worried. Are you all right?

  Another twenty minutes passed before Henrik responded.

  I have to make a short stop on the way. See you in an hour.

  I reread the messages to make sense of it all—the letters blur.

  Maybe Henrik witnessed the accident, and that’s why he didn’t respond?

  I do my best to sound calm, because what are the chances? Still, the hope of answers, which the police couldn’t provide, lurks in the back of my mind. I glare at the bright screen. Like a moth to a flame, I’m hypnotized by the time stamp on Henrik’s messages to Cecilia, and the ones missing from him. “What road was he driving on?”

  “I don’t know. Ullevåls Road? Or Griffenfeldts? The road isn’t relevant here. It’s not what I’m…”

  I hand her the phone back and grab the door handle to show I’m about to close it, leaving her out in the hallway to go home. “When will you meet Henrik again?”

  From the apartment above, the front door shuts with a bang and Mr. Nerli’s heavy footsteps descend towards us and stop halfway down the stairs, probably to make sure I’m all right.

  He’s usually asleep by now, and now I’m keeping him up.

  Melvin runs in front of him, stops at the sight of us and hisses at Cecilia. I always liked Melvin’s judge of character.

  Cecilia ignores him, though, and he sprints back up. “Tomorrow. Henrik’s cooking lunch for me at his place.” She places her hand on the doorframe.

  I close my eyes, hoping to maintain my balance as she blurs
before me.

  I have to know if Henrik was there.

  I push her hand away, but leave the door open. “What type of phone does he have?”

  “An iPhone 8. Why is this…” She places her hand on the door this time as if to ensure to keep it open, making it impossible for me to shut her out. “I have to be honest with you. I didn’t come here to…”

  Ask me to come back to group? I got that!

  “His last name?”

  Her hand lowers a bit. “Larsen. Henrik Larsen.”

  I lower my voice. “Stop by here on your way to Henrik’s. I’ll prepare something for you to bring along. And whatever you do, don’t text me about this. There can’t be anything written about Henrik between us. Not now, not ever.”

  I swore an oath I’d never use hacking illegally. Two years ago, I trusted the police, my friends, and my family, but I’m without my husband, without answers. There’s no way it’s a coincidence that the man Cecilia is begging me to hack became radio silent at the exact moment of the crash. If Henrik was there when Isac died, he didn’t call an ambulance. No one did. Why did he stop texting Cecilia right at that moment if nothing significant happened that night? Why did he say he’d be an hour late? He saw something. He must have.

  A grin spreads across Cecilia’s face as she whispers, “You’ll hack him?” She lets go of the door. “Find out if he’s cheating?”

  My grip on the handle tightens, and pain spreads through my arm, but I don’t care. What have I got to lose? If there’s one reason to break my oath, this is it.

  “Yes.”

  3

  I lock the front door, listening to be sure Cecilia has left before I peek out. The hallway is empty, but a creak on the staircase reminds me of my eighty-year-old upstairs neighbor. “Nothing to worry about. Good night, Mr. Nerli.”