Len drank the wine quickly. When he was finished, I brought the glass inside, added another antihistamine, filled it up.
Then I did it a third time.
For the rest of the night, I smiled and chatted and laughed and sighed contentedly and pretended to be perfectly happy.
It was the greatest performance I ever gave.
“Let’s go out on the water,” I said as midnight drew near.
“In the boat?” Len said, his voice already a slurred murmur. The pills were working.
“Yes, in the boat.”
He stood, swayed, dropped like a sack back into his chair. “Whoa. I’m really tired.”
“You’re just drunk,” I said.
“Which is why I don’t want to take the boat out.”
“But the water’s calm and the moon is so bright.” I leaned in close, pressing my breasts against him and bringing my lips to his ear. “It’ll be romantic.”
Len’s expression brightened the way it always did when he thought he was about to get laid. Seeing it then made me wonder if he looked exactly like this while he killed Megan, Toni, and Sue Ellen. That horrible thought stuck with me as I led him into the boat.
“No motor?” he said when I pushed off from the dock.
“I don’t want to wake the neighbors.”
I rowed to the center of the lake and dropped the anchor into the water. By this time, Len was as high as the moon.
Now was the time.
“I found them,” I said. “The driver’s licenses in your tackle box. The locks of hair. I found it all.”
Len made a little noise. A low half chuckle of realization. “Oh,” he said.
“You killed those women, didn’t you?”
Len said nothing.
“Answer me. Tell me you killed them.”
“What are you going to do if I say yes?”
“Call the police,” I said. “Then I’m going to make sure you go to jail and never, ever get out.”
Len suddenly began to cry. Not out of guilt or remorse. These were selfish tears, bursting forth because he’d been caught and now had to face his punishment. Bawling like a child, he leaned toward me, arms outstretched, as if seeking comfort.
“Please don’t tell on me, Cee,” he said. “Please. I couldn’t control myself. I tried. I really did. But I’ll be better. I swear.”
Something overcame me as I watched my husband cry for mercy after showing none for others. An internal realignment that left me feeling as hollow and ablaze as a jack-o’-lantern.
It was hatred.
The seething, unquenchable kind.
I hated Len—for what he’d done, for deceiving me so thoroughly.
I hated him for destroying the life we had built together, erasing five wonderful years and replacing them with this moment of him weeping and begging and grasping for me even as I recoiled.
I hated him for hurting me.
But I wasn’t the only victim. Three others suffered far worse than me. Knowing this made me hope they had at least tried to fight back and, in the process, brought Len some amount of pain. And if they hadn’t, well, I was now able to do it on their behalf.
Because someone needed to make Len pay.
As his angry, deceived, now-ruined wife, I was suddenly in a position to do just that.
“I’m so sorry, Cee,” Len said. “Please, please forgive me. Please don’t turn me in.”
Finally, I relented and pulled him into an embrace. Len seemed to melt as I wrapped my arms around him. He put his head to my chest, still sobbing, as a thousand memories of our marriage passed through my thoughts.
“I love you so much,” Len said. “Do you love me?”
“Not anymore,” I said.
Then I pushed him over the side of the boat and watched him vanish into the dark water.
You killed me,” Katherine says again, as if I didn’t hear her the first time.
I did, but barely. My whole body is vibrating with shock. An internal hum that gets louder and louder, building from a whisper to a scream.
That’s what I want to do.
Scream.
Maybe I am screaming and just don’t know it, the noise still rising inside me so loud it eclipses all outside sound.
I bring a hand to my mouth and check. It’s shut tight, my lips flattened together, my tongue still and useless. The inside of my mouth is dry—so parched and numb from surprise, fear, and confusion that I begin to wonder if I’ll ever be able to speak again.
Because there’s no way Katherine could know what I’d done to Len.
No one knows.
No one but me.