Page 80 of Slashes in the Snow
“Being nice usually is. It’s a weakness. Makes you vulnerable. And then you end up in situations like these.” He motions to our surroundings. Our highly secluded surroundings. “I was nice once, you know. Generous with my connections and my money. You know where it got me?” His eyes darken sinisterly.
I shake my head.
“Ostracized. Kicked out of the only family I ever knew. They turned their backs on me. Blackballed me because I was different. Because they didn’t agree with my methods.”
Do I dare even ask what methods those were?
“So, you brought me here why?”
“Why else? Revenge.”
“What do I have to with any of it?” I’m trying to understand his motives.Why me?
“At first? Nothing. Your mother was the intended target.”
My heart sinks as soon as I hear that. Fucking bastard.
“I needed to get inside the house so I could tap into your alarm system and spy.”
“You were watching me through the cameras?” I feel violated. Disgusting. They’re all over the house. The only small consolation in finding all this out is the fact that I’m not crazy. Up yours, Hawk. I wasn’t making it up in my head. I knew someone was watching me. I could feel it. And here he is, bragging about it. Holding it over my head. Proud of every despicable thing he accomplished.
“Pretty much.”
“You know the code, too.”
“Yup. Once I was connected, I could control everything from my laptop. I could come and go as I pleased. Manipulate what I wanted. I was in and out of your house so many times. I watched you sleep. Shower. Eat . . .” Something else lingers at the end of his sentence. A perverted inclination.
“You watched Ky and me.” I’m nauseated. We had a fucking audience the whole time.
“Now that was a plot twist I didn’t see coming. You two were entertainment for sure. Watching your little soap opera unfold. When he fell in love with you, I realized you were the key.”
“Key to what?”
“Everyone’s suffering. It’s a chain reaction, and you are at the center of it. You’re the switch. Hurt you, hurt them all.”
I don’t like the sound of that one bit.
“Hurt them how?” I probe.
“Emotionally, of course. Killing Gerard would be too easy. Too fast. There would be no satisfaction in it. But” — he points his index finger up — “kill someone he loves, and he suffers for the rest of his life.” Deacon begins to cough fitfully. His body shakes so hard he spits blood right at my feet.
Ewww.
He walks off behind me, and I hear water run. I also hear the sound of his short breaths and uncomfortable moans. He’s sick. And I believe terminally so.
“How much time do you have left?” I ask.
“More than you,” he heaves.
My blood runs cold from his callous response.
“You don’t have to do this,” I try to appeal to his human side. “You don’t want to leave this world with blood on your hands.”
Deacon creeps around me, startling me half to death. “That’s what confession is for.”
“I don’t even think a priest can absolve you of that sin,” I argue.
“I guess one day I’ll find out.” He wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. I try to pry myself from his grip, but his hold is too tight. Hysteria rolls over me as my windpipe is crushed and all the air is stolen from my lungs.
