CHAPTER 148
THE PERFECT DAY
DEX
LATER IN THE EVENING
The room is dark, illuminated only by the flicker of a single overhead bulb swinging slightly with the breeze from the old ceiling fan. The shadows cast along the concrete walls feel alive, restless, as though they share my anticipation.
Timmy deserves this.
Every broken piece of Margaux’s spirit, every tear she shed, every time she flinched at the sound of a raised voice—he’s going to answer for all of it. Not quickly. Not easily. Not mercifully.
I pull a thick notebook from the table, its pages filled with my scrawled notes, diagrams, and lists. Tools, timing, contingencies. Everything is carefully planned. A sick sort of satisfaction rolls through me as I flip to the next page and see my collection of ‘reminders.’ Reminders of why I’m doing this. Photos of Margaux’s bruised arms and black eyes. Screenshots of his vile text messages. A grainy image from the courthouse showing her leaving, holding back tears.
He’s going to beg before I’m done. Not just for his life, but for her forgiveness. And I’ll record every pathetic second of it.
I step into the corner, where my arsenal is laid out meticulously. Each item serves a purpose, a twisted piece of the justice puzzle. The ti leaf leis and string of shells, symbols of the manipulative ‘thoughtful’ gestures Timmy used to keep Margaux under his thumb, now dangle like trophies.
The jagged lid of a smashed toilet tank leans against the wall—a small, dirty reminder of the mundane things he used to destroy her sanity.
A soft lilac hammer, absurd in its pastel brightness, sits next to a box of deer antlers.
In the far corner of the room sits the pièce de résistance: a wood chipper. Its metal teeth gleam even in the dim light, a predator waiting for its prey.
Timmy is dragged into the room by two of my most trusted associates, his wrists bound, his face pale and sweaty. His eyes dart around, taking in the implements of his demise. He freezes when his gaze lands on the wood chipper.
“Please,” he stammers. “What do you want from me? I’ll do anything.”
I crouch in front of him, forcing him to meet my eyes. “What I want is simple,” I say, my voice low and calm. “You’re going to confess. To everything. You’re going to apologize to Margaux for every single thing you’ve done. And you’re going to mean it.”
“I—I didn’t do anything,” he whimpers, the tremor in his voice betraying his terror.
I laugh, cold and humorless. “Oh, Timmy. That’s not how this works.” I gesture to the table, where a recorder sits blinking red. “Let’s start with the truth.”
I move behind him and fasten a lei around his neck, pulling it just tight enough to make him wheeze. “Remember these?Margaux loved them. Or, she used to. Before you turned every kind gesture into a leash.”
I release him and pick up the hammer. “This one’s fun. Pretty, isn’t it?” I swing it lightly, letting it tap his shoulder. He flinches as though I’d hit him with full force. “We’ll get to it.”
I walk over to the table and pull out a large pot of steaming ramen water. “Hungry? You always loved ramen.” I toss a ladle of the boiling liquid onto his thigh. He screams, writhing against his restraints. The sound is music to my ears.
“Confess, Timmy,” I say, tilting the pot toward him. “It’ll hurt less.”
His voice cracks as he begins to mumble incoherent apologies. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to... Please, don’t?—”
“Not good enough.” I pick up a grater, running its jagged edges across his arm with enough pressure to leave angry red lines. He winces as blood starts to pool in his abrasions. “This is for lying to the police about Margaux scratching you. Try again.”
He breaks earlier than I expected. “Okay, okay!” he yells. “I’ll do it! I did all those things to Margaux! I abused her and I hurt her. I lied to her. I’msorry!”
His words are desperate, fake.
“Can I go now?” he pleads.
I quirk a brow and smirk. “Did you really think I was going to let you off that easily?”
His eyes grow wide as he realizes I’m far from done with him.
That he’s not going to make it out of this room alive.