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

by Alexandra Winter

  “After we finished reading on Christmas Eve, I fell asleep. An hour later, the gunshot woke me.” Cecilia strokes her palm on the table as if brushing away the difficult past.

  I lean over the table, horrified. The scene of a gunshot reverberating through the house, Cecilia’s feet rushing to the sight of Pip lying on the floor with her head blown off, and blood covering the walls makes me shudder. Goosebumps cover my body. “I’m so sorry.” I take her hand. “I am so, so sorry.”

  Cecilia lets my hand go. “I should have stopped her.”

  I shake my head. “No. You couldn’t. How would you know?”

  Hacking. That’s why you monitored me.

  “She believed my family and I would be better off without her.” Cecilia looks at the ceiling. “That’s what her letter said. She didn’t want to burden us anymore.”

  Knowing my letter to my family says the same thing, it’s like Cecilia has hit me in the stomach. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

  Cecilia gets up. “I stopped you, didn’t I?”

  I want to argue, try to make her feel better, but I can’t.

  She points to the picture wall. “I stopped everyone here except Pip.”

  “You can’t monitor every person who shows up at your support group.”

  “I don’t.” She leans her chin in her hands. “We give the same peace lily to everyone, but most participants aren’t contemplating suicide, they just want support. You were different.”

  “It still doesn’t justify…” Ten different people are in the photos, which she refers to as her surviving clients. Seven women, three men, all with different ages, ethnicities, and looks. One woman has freckles and red hair, another has chocolate skin and beautiful curly hair. I’m the second blond woman to belong to that group, the eleventh client she stopped. “Not a job, but a life mission?”

  “Nobody should ever have to feel that ending their life is the answer,” Cecilia says.

  Thinking back to that night, the revolting taste of pills, and the emptiness, I can’t help but agree.

  Behind her, the clock shows a quarter to four. I’m running out of time. “Will you help me record while I talk to Henrik?”

  I’m not taking no for an answer.

  “You’ll have to send the recordings anonymously to the police, though. I’m not getting involved in that,” Cecilia says.

  “The police?”

  “Isn’t that why you want to record his confession of Isac’s crash? Or did you want to keep it for yourself?” She frowns.

  I bury my face in my palms.

  Why didn’t I think of that? Record his confession. The police will deal with him.

  “I’ll turn the microphones back on. But be careful. You never know how Henrik will react when he discovers that a person he thinks loves him has been deceiving him all along.”

  “Like I discovered with you?”

  A sad smile stretches her lips. “You’re the love of his life, and his future at this point. Don’t underestimate that.”

  “I won’t.” I rise to leave, but before I go, I hug her. “I’m sorry about Pip.”

  When I get back home, panic creeps up on me as the reality of what I’m about to do sets in. I call Cecilia. “You’ll call the police if it escalates, right? If Henrik gets furious?”

  “Count on me.”

  “Where are the microphones and cameras? I need to position them strategically.”

  “I left one microphone in your office. It’s the pen I used to draw the stick figures. The camera is in your kitchen behind the molding under your wall cabinets.”

  Ever since the idea came to me, I’ve asked myself, “Why didn’t we do this to start with?”

  “Because I wanted you to date him, to buy time until you found meaning to your life again,” Cecilia says. I don’t have the heart to tell her nothing has changed.

  I locate the pen on my desk. It’s black, heavy, and fancy looking with a golden circle where you twist to get the tip out. “This pen is impressive. Where did you get it?”

  I position the pen, so its microphone is directed at the office chair in case Henrik demands evidence that I’m telling the truth about our time together, or I decide to show him. I don’t want any cameras in here, though, since I don’t want any film to reveal our illegal activities.

  “I make them,” Cecilia says.

  “Why am I not surprised.” I rip Judit’s photo and information off the wall and glance around. I should burn it to make sure he never knows. But if he confesses to having killed Isac, if he gets angry or threatening, I could use this as leverage to save time until help arrives. “Any idea where to hide the information about Henrik’s mother?”

  She laughs, and her tone jokingly informs me that she has no idea. “A place he won’t find it?”

  “Great help. Thanks.” I fold the pages and place them under my books on how to sexually please a man in the desk drawer. “Done.”

  In the kitchen, I reposition the slim black microphone from the cupboard to underneath the dining table and speak in a quiet voice. “Can you hear me now?”

  “Loud and clear. One last tip. The more attracted Henrik is to you, the more he’ll want to think you’re a good person and open up. Subconsciously we all think beauty equals good, unfortunately. I have to go, but I’m all ears at seven.”

  Great. Hopefully, this is my last night of deceiving my husband.

  33

  In two hours, Henrik will be here. I shower, wash my hair, and take my time to look perfect for him. While my hair dries, I place the phones and cameras in strategic positions. I conduct sound checks to capture every movement and word spoken but wait to hit record to save the battery. At six thirty, I finish my hair and makeup and slide into the dress I wore on our second date when we watched Californication at my apartment.

  At a quarter to seven, I light the fireplace and turn on the cameras and microphones. Then I sit at the table and whisper to Cecilia, “If Henrik attacks me, call the police.” She texts me a thumbs up in response.

  The doorbell rings. My pulse beats harder. I rush to the intercom, but stop halfway, forcing myself to saunter instead. Rushing will get me into trouble. I must stay calm and in control. “H-Hello?”

  “Hi, honey. Can I come in now?” Henrik’s tone is distressed and pleading, and I can’t help but feel bad for what he’s about to go through.

  I buzz him in, unlock the apartment door in welcome, take a deep breath, and lean on the doorframe.

  Henrik is dressed up in jeans, a white shirt, and a new camel-colored coat, his hair styled. He’s made an effort. I smile and open my arms to greet him. “Hi, honey.”

  He tilts his head. “You do realize that you’re behaving a bit strange?”

  “Yes.” His body is warm on mine when I pull him in for a hug and whisper in his ear. “Let’s talk.”

  While he hangs his coat and removes his shoes, I sit strategically at the dining table, hoping he’ll take a seat on the opposite side to face me.

  He does. The chair creaks as he sits, and he reaches his hands out, gesturing for me to take them in mine. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  I reach over and place my hands on his shoulders. They lower in response to my touch, and a sigh of relief escapes him.

  I evoke my soothing voice. “At the cabin, you told me you had shared everything.” I take his hands. His palms are warm in mine. “I want to know what you left out.”

  He frowns. “Nothing. I...you know my entire history of dreadful behavior.”

  “So nothing was omitted. No incident that haunts you?”

  “Not that I recall, no. What…have you heard something? Please tell me, and I’ll explain what that relationship was.”

  “I’m not talking about your dating life.” The fire subsides. I put another log in with the disintegrating ones to distract myself. “What were you…I need you to tell me…” I choke, and for some reason, his mother’s dark-set eyes and hollow cheeks flash before me. “Whe
n did your mother die again?”

  “Five.” He stares into the fireplace for what feels like forever. “I’d do anything to see her again, talk to her.”

  I want to leave it there, ask about the crash, but I wonder, “Even if your mother was sick?”

  “What do you mean?” Henrik frowns.

  “Well…” I pretend to take ideas from thin air. “What if she was alive but a criminal on death row, or a drug addict? Would you still want to see her?”

  Henrik’s voice is determined, as if trying to hide the hurt and insecurity, creating a slight tremble in his tone. “She’s my mother. I don’t care if she’s in jail or sentenced for trying to murder me. If she were alive, I’d do anything to see her again.” He stands, walks around the table, pulls the chair around to face me, and sits taking both my hands.

  “I know what I’ve been. I never want to be that way again.” His voice is low, like a whisper. “Why do you think I proposed? You see me, and I don’t want to lose that, to lose you.”

  “This isn’t about that.” I do my best to stay calm while my pulse beats harder having Henrik so close and in anticipation of his revelation of what happened when Isac crashed. “What were you doing on December 14th, two years ago?”

  He laughs. “Two years ago?”

  I take a deep breath to stay calm as the photo of Isac’s hand appears in my mind. “Yes. If you think back, that date should mean something to you.”

  Henrik shakes his head, and his lips are pinched as if deep in thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly.”

  His denial infuriates me. Nobody forgets seeing a dead person. Especially not taking a photo of it. “Fine. Let me spell it out for you. December 14th, two years ago, you drove from your apartment to Cecilia’s, correct?”

  “How do you know that?” His eyes flicker back and forth as if desperate to connect what I’m saying to his experience. “Do you know her?”

  My neck is itching from the adrenaline in my body, but I fight the urge to scratch it. “Yes.”

  “I ended it with her when I started dating you.” He grins and opens his arms to wrap them around me, convinced that the issues bothering me are out in the open and resolved.

  “Stop it.” I push him away. “I don’t care about you dating her. I know you were there.” Isac’s crushed car flashes before my eyes.

  “Where?” He stands. “Can we move to the couch? It feels awkward having this conversation here. You’re upset. I want to help, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did Cecilia tell you something about me you didn’t like? If she did, please tell me, and I’ll straighten the facts out.”

  He gestures for us to move, but I stay seated to ensure the microphone is close enough to record us.

  It’s time for me to be honest about things. As if a knife is twisting in my drained heart, I have no more blood to shed, no more tricks. I’m done playing this game. “December 14th, two years ago, you caused or at least witnessed a car accident. I need you to tell me about it.”

  Henrik sits back at the table. “I never told her about the accident.”

  Tell me so I can get it on tape, finally reveal why I’ve dated you, and get you out of my life.

  My hands twist into fists. “Don’t change the subject. What happened?”

  Outside, a snowplow drives by, screeching its metal frame on the asphalt. When the sound disappears, Henrik’s expression has changed from a curious, loving one into one that’s suspicious with strained lips. “How do you know about that car crashing?”

  Blood seems to drain from my face in response to the harsh tone in his voice. I rise and back up towards the kitchen drawer, where I have the knife ready. “Tell me about what happened.”

  “No.” He follows me. “First, tell me how you know.”

  My hands hit the counter behind me, my fingers on the drawer knob. “I hacked you.” I point to my diploma on the wall. To make the revelation as quick as possible, I hung it back before he came.

  “Hacked?” Henrik looks like he might laugh at the thought, but reads the text on the diploma. “Why would you do that?”

  My voice is trembling. “Answer the question. What happened that day?” I slide the drawer open enough to reach in.

  Henrik turns, walks over to the couch, and sits on the armrest, staring at me with an expression as if I’m a stranger. “How do you…” He stops, shakes his head as if dismissing the thought. “If I ignore that you are a hacker, the more important question is why you would hack me?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” If Henrik attacks me, I won’t be able to keep him off. It’ll only take a minute for him to get any knife from my hands and kill me with it. He has, after all, left a man to die before. Why wouldn’t he have it in him to kill me? “What happened on that road?” My voice cracks.

  Ignoring my question, he points to the diploma. “You know…to hack a person you’re dating…that’s not a sane thing to do. It’s actually quite crazy.” He moves from the armrest to the couch itself. At least it’ll take him more time to get to me from there. “What reason did you have to do that?” He mumbles something I can’t make out.

  I lean forward to listen, but don’t let go of the drawer. “Do what?”

  “Hack me.” He throws his arms in the air. “Do you hack all the people you date?”

  This is getting out of hand.

  “Tell me what happened with the car crash.” I force myself to appear demanding, hoping that Cecilia is ready to come to the rescue.

  He stands. “Hacking people is illegal. And if you hack all your dates, that makes you insane.”

  What?

  “I’m not insane.” I slide the drawer fully open as he takes another step closer, making sure he sees what’s inside. My fingers clench the meat knife.

  “No, of course you’re not. You’re about to stab your boyfriend because he won’t tell you about a road accident that happened two years ago. A man…” He raises his hands as if surrendering. “…who loves you, and is terrified that his girlfriend has lost it.”

  “I’m not crazy.” I lift the knife from the drawer.

  Henrik steps back. “Then put the knife down.”

  I don’t. Instead, I lay it on the counter next to me and slide the drawer shut. “December 14th you caused a car crash where a man died. That is why I hacked you.” I speak through my teeth. “Tell me what happened.”

  “If that’s why you hacked me, you already know,” Henrik says.

  Tell me!

  “I know you didn’t call an ambulance, that you drove on, pretending nothing had happened while the love of my life lost his life.” The words fall out before I’m able to stop myself.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I take a deep breath before I continue. My voice is loud and angry. “On your way to Cecilia’s, you sexted her. At seven thirty, you caused a car crash as a result.”

  He stands still with his arms down and looks at me as if I’m crazy. His brows pucker when he realizes I’m not joking. “That is not true.” He takes one step closer.

  I’m so angry with him. I struggle to maintain eye contact. “Yes, it is, don’t deny it. I’ve seen your Google Maps log. I know you stopped. You didn’t call an ambulance.” I clench the handle as Henrik walks towards me.

  His complexion pales. “Why does what happened on that road upset you so much?” As he asks the questions, his mouth falls open. “That man was your husband.”

  He’s too close now, but hearing him finally make the connection that Isac was in that car freezes me.

  Henrik grabs my arm.

  “Fuck you!” I slap his hand off me and hold the knife up between us, not caring if I seem insane to this disgusting excuse for a man. “I read your texts and saw the photo you took of Isac, you sick fuck. I know it was you. No one else was on that road at seven thirty. Never did you show concern or contact help. You let him bleed, you let…” My voice cracks. “You let him die.”

  Henrik holds his hand
s up as he backs away. “No. I did care.” His eyes flutter back and forth between me and the knife. “Can you please put that down. I won’t hurt you. You’ve got this all wrong, honey.”

  “Don’t honey me. Why didn’t you help him? Call the ambulance? Do something? You let him die!”

  Henrik takes a deep breath and holds it for what feels like an eternity before exhaling. “There was no time.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s always time.”

  Sounding desperate, he seems to want to lunge at me, but changes his mind and sits. “You’ve made a mistake. I didn’t cause the accident.”

  “Stop lying to me! You claim to be a good man, yet you can’t admit this?” My body is shaking from the internal struggle. I want to attack him, but restrain myself for his confession.

  His brows lower, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. “I was there, driving behind a cyclist who got into your husband’s lane. His car dodged the cyclist, then hit the tree. The pause you saw in my texting was me pulling a woman out of his car who was still alive.”

  A woman?

  “You despicable liar. Isac called me from the car ten minutes before the accident. He’d never do that if he had a woman there with him.” My knuckles are white from the grip on the knife. “You killed him.”

  He takes a step closer, holding his hands up in front for what looks like protection and to calm me. “The man was dead when I got to him. His pants were pulled down, and…” Henrik stops, watching the horror in me.

  “Stop!” I scream at him. “Stop lying!”

  Loathing grows in me, my mouth waters and the room spins. “Isac was not in the car with his pants down with another woman. I saw the photos. He was dressed.” Henrik reaches out to touch me, but I slap his arm. “Don’t you dare!”

  He steps back, his voice begging. “The police might have dressed him, I don’t know.”

  Frantically I shake my head. “No! It’s not true!”

  Henrik’s eyes are red. “The cyclist said she’d call the ambulance while I drove the bleeding woman to Ullevål Hospital. Her leg was slashed open. She screamed for help and bled a lot, so we didn’t dare wait.” He sighs. “I didn’t kill anyone.”