Like with what transpired after we took care of Addisyn Meyer.
First, a little backstory:
Grayson was telling the truth in his message; it wasn’t a manipulation tactic. My initial research into Addisyn only took me as far as proving she was deserving of my client’s revenge. I had no need to dig further, to acquire a toxicology report on Mia’s deceased fiancé.
My vetting process was surface level, about as deep as my knowledge of behavior and emotions at the time, where I didn’t question why a man, who was trying to rekindle a relationship with his ex-fiancé, would suddenly end his own life. And oddly choose to do so by ingesting acetone—a chemical commonly used by interior decorators to remove paint.
Addisyn was a highly touted interior decorator before I upended her life. Though I can understand why there was never any investigation into his death, and why Addisyn was never suspected in connection.
Honestly, it’s a leap. A tenuous connection, at best. Without any evidence, even Mia—who despised Addisyn enough to hire me—never thought Addisyn capable of murder.
Addisyn always wanted what Mia had, though, and if Addisyn couldn’t have Mia’s man, then she wouldn’t let Mia have him either. That was Addisyn’s nature.
As I couldn’t fathom compassion at the time, I couldn’t fit the puzzle pieces together to see the overall picture. I was staring too closely at the abstract image. After reading the tox report, and going through my interview notes with Mia applying my new insight, I was able to take a step back and see what Grayson cleverly deduced.
Addisyn committed murder and made it look like suicide.
Does that condone what Alex and I did?
No. I will never try to justify our actions. Alex and I took her life purely out of selfish need. We ended a life to save our own, to save each other.
But am I suffering guilt over Addisyn?
No. The curious thing about emotions is this: they allow us to judge from a morally gray perspective that places matters of the heart and our deeper connections and values above banal laws.
I believe most women would mourn the death of a stray dog over the murder of a malicious, murderous homewrecker.
Given the right motivation, we can justify almost anything.
Strangely, as I adapt, I find I was much more law-abiding as a psychopath, when I saw the world in black and white. Having a morally gray outlook has tailored my newest revenge schemes to be much more creative and riskier.
When it came to the cleanup at the kennel, we opted to give Addisyn a proper burial. Well, proper in the regard that we put her in the earth to decompose rather than incinerating the remains to hide the evidence.
Turns out, the best way to dispose of a body is not to dispose of it at all. This is where my logic won out over Alex’s mix of science and sentiment. Since Grayson will eventually require proof that we handled the “loose end,” we will need access to the body. And since we can’t trust the body won’t suddenly disappear overnight, we made the choice to stay close.
Besides, it’s not as if we could simply pin the murder on our fall guy—not when he was permanently removed from the board.
During our move to Devil’s Peak, a report popped up on my alerts that Shane Brewster died while incarcerated when he asphyxiated in his holding cell. Apparently, Brewster had a very serious shellfish allergy.
Authorities theorized either Brewster couldn’t face time on the inside and found a way to off himself, or someone was sent to take him out before he could roll over on a bigger player.
Both are acceptable theories—but here’s what Alex and I know: Brewster was a loose end.
After hacking the inmate logs, I confirmed Brewster met with a criminal psychologist for his case. Dr. London Noble made a last-minute stop to conduct a psych eval before she boarded a plane bound for Germany.
Check for the deranged duet.
That makes Alex and I the only remaining loose ends.
Once we arrived at Devil’s Peak, with our “cargo” packed in our moving truck, we acquired a timeworn Tudor in foreclosure in the nearest town, then we set to work building a new cottage atop the ruins of Alex’s cabin.
We did our due diligence and dug up the earth around the river, confirming the remains of Mary’s victims and Alex’s subjects had been removed. Then we put Addisyn to rest right there in the ground.
The construction project took ten months. A modern cottage with all the living necessities, an attached office for my new revenge business, and a detached laboratory for Alex’s research.
And then, we waited.
It took another two months before contact was made. A letter arrived at the post office addressed to us right when we were starting to settle into our new life.
Congratulations on your new home and business success. Let’s get drinks sometime!
Very short, very puzzling, as Grayson prides himself on being.
We could perceive the letter as a threat. They want us to know they’re keeping tabs on us. And after Brewster’s unfortunate accident, I doubt I’ll ever let London pour me a drink. Or the note could be a hint to London’s future plans for the chemical compound she stole from Alex. I’m sure London has questions in need of answers. Or…
Perhaps London and Grayson just have no friends, and this is simply a friendly greeting card. Maybe they really want to stop over for a friendly get-together and then a friendly murder spree.
The fact remains that, whether we’re friends, adversaries, nemeses, competition…it’s all the same, really. Friends, like enemies, can rarely be trusted, and plotting against the couple helps Alex and I stay ahead of them. Everyone needs a rival, after all. Rivalry keeps us sharp, prevents tedium.
Regardless, we have no choice but to be prepared. We have the word of a methodical serial killer to go on, who, by his own admission, likes to play games.
How do we know the relocated remains won’t appear on the news one day simply because the duo become bored and want to spice up their twisted love life?
Since Alex is big on contingency plans, in the event this day comes, we do have a strategy in place. We kept my loft in Tribeca, for one, because Vanessa wouldn’t hear of me not maintaining a residence in the city. I stay there when I visit the queen bee.
And for two: Our emergency funds are stashed there. If we ever have to flee the cottage quickly, the loft houses everything we need. Passports. Cash. Suitcases packed with clothes and essentials. A one-hit pit stop to freedom.
I still don’t accept the idea of running, but Alex insisted we at least have a backup plan.
I’ve been more focused on dissecting the details, working out the puzzle. Grayson doesn’t do anything without forethought or purpose. I started with the Rolex he embedded in Alex’s leg.
Why that pocket watch?
Did he merely pick one up at a pawnshop on his way to torture Alex?
Or does it harbor more significance?
What I found could change the dynamic, altering the status quo.
The antique timepiece was registered with collectables insurance. The value of the watch is in the high four figures. Well, it was, before Grayson welded the chain ribbon, thereby diminishing the value—but the price alone wasn’t substantial enough to be the sole reason as to why Grayson chose it.
Simply stated, the watch held meaning.
I was able to trace the owner through the insurance registry, unveiling a whole new twisted maze—one I have no doubt Grayson wants us to wander into, where a trap awaits.