Chapter 30
I’ve started thinking bigger lately. Not just about my own existence on this planet, but about how I can fulfill my lifelong goal of making the world a better place. Ironically enough, I’ve managed to work toward that goal through this deal I’ve made with Ambrose.
Killing men who make people’s lives worse might be a controversial way to make the world a better place, but it makes sense to me.
If one person is terrible enough to cause so much pain and suffering, their erasure from this earth will prevent any future misdeeds, rights?
The guilt I’ve felt after killing both the bartender and the pastor are outweighed by the satisfaction of knowing they won’t cause harm to any more people.
But like I said, I’ve been thinking bigger…
The bartender and the pastor were a good start as victims. The bartender hurt women in the community; the pastor took advantage of the elderly.
Now, after hours of research on my tablet, I have my next target: a slimy politician who intentionally and systemically harms entire communities.
It’s not like killing one (or even ten) of them will make a difference in the political climate—they’re like cockroaches, where even when one gets squished, there are ten more lurking in the dark—but it’ll at least cause panic and fear in those similar to him, wondering if they’re next.
I’ve been doing my research over the past week to figure out what Edward Abbot does in and out of office.
The words on my screen blur together as I scroll through yet another article about Senator Abbott’s latest proposed legislation.
My head throbs with a mixture of rage and disgust as I read his quotes, each one more callous than the last.
“Most claims of mental illness are simply excuses made by those who would rather stay home and take advantage of government handouts,” he proclaimed at a recent rally.
“These people don't need government handouts or crisis hotlines. They need to get off their couches and do some hard work like the rest of us.”
The ignorance of his statement makes me want to scream. Mental health has only worsened over the recent years, but instead of looking for the true cause of this crisis, people like him turn those who are suffering into the enemy.
It’s so fucking predictable. Men like him control the masses by placing blame for society’s issues on a small or struggling portion of the population rather than trying to do something about it.
It’s easier to turn people against each other than it is to make systemic change, and that’s exactly what they count on.
In another tab on my tablet, his latest budget proposal is open.
The numbers are bleak. Millions slashed from mental health programs, addiction treatment centers closed, crisis intervention services gutted.
All while he preaches about society’s “lack of discipline” from his ivory tower, his own pockets lined with “donations” from pharmaceutical companies and private prison contractors.
“The weak-minded are destroying our country,” reads another quote, this one from a committee hearing where he argued against funding for psychiatric care in low-income communities. My fingers tighten around my mug of now-cold coffee as I imagine them wrapping around his throat instead.
The more I dig, the deeper the corruption goes. Campaign contributions from companies that profit from human suffering. Backdoor deals that funnel money away from social services and into private enterprises. All while he stands at podiums, condemning those who are suffering as morally deficient.
My research shows he'll be speaking at a rally next week four hours from here. Security will probably be tight, but men like him always have weak spots. Their arrogance makes them careless, and their sense of superiority blinds them to danger. I've learned that much from my previous kills.
This one needs to be different though, more meaningful. His death needs to send a message to others like him, make them feel the fear they so casually inflict on others. Make them understand that their actions have consequences.
I open a new page in my notebook and begin to write, listing out potential ways to make this happen.
From the videos I’ve watched and photos I’ve seen, he has security personnel, but usually only a couple standing guard along the outskirts of the room.
It shouldn’t be too difficult for me to blend in before slipping past them.
As I’ve done more research and made more plans, I’ve realized something: I’m not killing with reluctance anymore. I’m fueled by vengeance and bloodlust for all the people who have made this world a terrible place. Turning corrupt, powerful men into helpless victims is a challenge I’ll happily take.
My hand cramps from gripping my pen by the time I have everything written out.
His speech will be held in the Grand Ballroom of one of the largest and most expensive hotels in the city. I study the layout of the ballroom and the hotel on their website, hoping my assumption that he’ll stay there for the night is correct.
In my research, I also note that Senator Abbott’s wife and kids are rarely seen at his events. Probably for the best, considering what I intend to do.
I close my notebook and head downstairs once I feel content that my plan will work.
Ambrose is in his usual spot by the fireplace with a book open in his lap.
The flames throw shadows across his face, and I’m struck by how beautiful he is.
After our kiss and our heartfelt conversations, it’s become harder to ignore the way his gaze makes my stomach swoop and his touch sparks against my skin.
“I have a question,” I say, perching on the arm of the couch.
“Yes?”
“You say I can only be away from you for a day or so before it becomes a problem, right?”
He hesitates. “It’s not an exact amount of time, but approximately, yes.”
“Well, in that case, can I interest you in going somewhere with me this weekend?”
Closing his book, he pins me with a questioning look. “Where to?”
I explain my plan to go to the city that’s a few hours’ drive away and that I have my next target in mind, but that I’d prefer to scope everything out the night before.
He listens silently as I explain my desire to kill the senator, though I get more worked up as I list all the vile things he’s said over the past few months.
“So, will you go?” I ask when he’s silent after my unintended monologue.
“I will. But only if I can go to the event with you,” he says.
“Deal. Just stay out of my way.”