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He was on Joshua’s list. But Joshua was taking too long to get to him.
Just like the last three I took care of.
Unlike Joshua, I’m not into torture. I got in, took them out with one shot, and got out. I used a different gun in each shooting. None of the men had ties to each other, and they were all in different states, so the police never connected the dots, but I know Joshua must have.
I waited for him to come find me, but he never did.
So I upped my game.
I eliminated Jonas Coulter in broad daylight, right on a crowded street corner, during his lunch break, on his first day back at work. The world is a better place without him.
I hear sirens, so I very carefully set the gun down on the sidewalk by my feet, and I wait.
Not so long ago, Joshua Smith kidnapped a girl. A frightened girl who had no idea of the true evil that exists in the world. And now he’s finally pushed me too far. He’s committed the one unforgivable sin.
He abandoned me and broke my heart. He made our love a lie.
I’m not a broken, frightened girl anymore. Now I’m a woman. A very angry woman, who knows her own worth and who will not be trifled with again. A woman with nothing to lose.
When I woke up this morning, I didn’t know I was going to kill Jonas Coulter. But I tucked a gun in my purse and found myself wandering downtown, right past his office building. And now…
I hear gurgling. I smell blood. I close my eyes and search for peace.
This feels familiar. I’ve come full circle from the night I saw Joshua as he really was for the first time. The night he took me. The night he killed the security guard and invited me into his world of love and madness.
I open my eyes and look down at Jonas Coulter and feel nothing but emptiness. Not the release I sought.
“Are you sorry now?” I ask, but it’s not him I’m speaking to. It’s Joshua.
* * *
Astrid will be arriving to visit me soon.
I feel badly she came all this way, but it will be nice to see her again. I’m being held in a hospital for the criminally insane, just outside Springfield.
After I was arrested, Joshua came to the jail and tried to come and speak to me, but I turned him away. My whole body ached with longing for him, but I stayed strong. It’sApril. He sent me away in November. It’s been four months. It’s too late for him to say sorry.
Then he hired a lawyer who came and tried to speak to me.
As soon as the lawyer started trying to give me messages from Joshua, I held up my hand and told him to shut up if he wanted to keep representing me. He had a worried look on his face.
“Joshua said that I had to give his messages to you. He made it very clear what would happen to me if I didn’t.”
Should I feel pity for him? I couldn’t tell. All my emotions seem to have been leached out of me. Pity, love, hate, hope, desire. I feel nothing. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel anything again. No, that’s not entirely true. I feelanger. A lot of anger.
When the lawyer kept talking, when he disrespected my one request, when he said, “Joshua says he missed you every single day and—Ahhhh!” I got angry and jammed my pen right through his hand. Because hearing about Joshua or even thinking about Joshua is the only thing that has the power to hurt me these days, and I think I’ve suffered enough for one life time, thank you very much.
After that, I received a public defender and I wasn’t allowed to have pens anymore. Only crayons. The public defender was the one who got me moved to the mental hospital. He says it will be easy for him to get me a sentence of not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. After what Joshua’s brother did to me, obviously I suffered deep, long-lasting psychological damage. And when I saw the news stories about Jonas Coulter, I developed an obsession with him andblah blah blah…I stopped listening and nodded politely.
Sounds good.
Whatever.
I toy with telling them about the other three men I killed. I haven’t yet. I might someday, just for fun.
In the meantime, I’m content to be where I am. They have a good library here; I’m getting a lot of reading done. I’ve finally gotten my appetite back after months of barely forcing myself to choke down food. I’m eating all the time now, gaining weight. I’ve increased a clothing size at least.
The door to the room opens and Astrid comes in. She looks good. The circles are gone from under her eyes, and so is the pinched look of worry. Her hair is styled again, honey blonde, flat-ironed and shiny. She’s wearing a pale blue sweater and slacks. No purse, no coat—they must be holding them for her outside the room. She does have an apple Danish for me.
