Chapter 42
When I get back upstairs, I locate a nice pair of boning shears in the knife block in the kitchen. I never used them much, so they are nice and sharp.
These will be perfect.
I walk back in the direction of the cellar. I left the light on down there, but because of Jeremy’s precious wine, it’s still not that easy to see. I grasp the scissors in my right hand by the blade, like they teach you how to hold them in school, as I walk down the steep flight of stairs.
When I get to the bottom of the steps, Veronica is right where I left her on the floor. But now her eyes are slightly cracked open. She seems a bit dazed, but then when she catches sight of me, her eyes fly the rest of the way open. She seems suddenly extremely alert.
The first thing she does is let out a muffled sound. Then another louder one.
She’s trying to scream.
“Hi, Veronica,” I say.
She manages to roll onto her side, although she can’t seem to sit up.
I wish I secured her better. Actually, I should have tied her to a chair.
But there’s no chair in the cellar. I suppose I could have brought one down here, but then I’m not sure if I have the strength to lift her into it.
I definitely would’ve hurt my back. I’m doing the best I can here, considering this is pretty far from how I expected this day to turn out.
It’s fine though. She’s not going anywhere with her wrists and ankles duct-taped together. And Jeremy is a safe distance away in an entirely different state.
“Sorry to do this to you.” I rub my chin thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m not that sorry.”
The hopelessness of her situation seems to dawn on her, and fear fills her eyes. She struggles against the restraints, but it’s no use. She can’t get free.
“I bet,” I say, “that you wish you had something like this.”
And then I turn the scissors so that the handle is in my palm and the blade is sticking out. Her face goes deathly pale at the sight of that blade, and now she starts struggling and screaming, even though it doesn’t do her one bit of good.
After all the things she did to me, I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t feel kind of delicious to observe her terror.
It’s even better than when I called her from that burner phone and hissed threats in her ear.
I figured I haven’t had one decent night of sleep since Jeremy left me, so why should she?
When I brought her down here, I had an idea for some sort of bargain between the two of us. But now that she’s down here, I don’t want to bargain with her. I don’t want to offer her money. I just want her to pay for what she has done.
“I need you to understand what you did to me.” I keep my eyes trained on her, watching her face for signs of remorse. “For you, this was nothing but a paycheck, but for me, this is my life! My family!”
Her eyes fill with tears. I sort of want to rip the tape off her lips so I can hear her beg for forgiveness. But I’m also scared she might bite me if I get too close.
“You took everything from me,” I continue, desperate for her to understand. “You stole my entire life, and you don’t even care.” I pause, gripping the scissors more tightly. “Well, I’m going to make you care.”
I step closer to her as she squirms, trying to shimmy her way backward. She’s making some progress, but not nearly enough. She can’t get away from me when her ankles are bound together. When I am within a foot of her, I crouch down beside her. She looks absolutely terrified.
You know what’s irritating? Even when she looks like she’s about to keel over from fear, she is incredibly pretty.
I was hoping that maybe when I got close to her, her pores would look enormous, or there would be some other flaw that would come to light.
But the only imperfection is the blood caked on the back of her head where I hit her with Teddy’s rock.
It’s just so unfair. It’s not like she earned her beauty in some way.
It seems only right that I should be allowed to even the score.
“You know,” I say to her, “the only reason Jeremy likes you is because of how you look. If you weren’t so pretty, he would never have done this to me.”
She lets out another muffled scream as she tries to squirm away from me.
I finger a lock of her long raven hair. It is just as soft and silky as it appears to be. How does she get it so soft? I don’t know if I should proceed with the scissors or ask her for hair care tips. But I’m sure they wouldn’t work for me. I’m sure she simply has superior hair follicles.
Life just isn’t fair. That’s why sometimes you have to even the score.
I wrap the lock of hair around my fingers and pull it taut until she screams again.
I take the scissors, and I hack it off millimeters away from her skull.
She’s crying now, sobbing big soggy tears that run down her porcelain cheeks.
But I don’t even pause—I grab a second lock and slice that one off too.
Veronica starts bucking hard on the floor, which makes it challenging to cut her hair.
I wrap another lock tightly around my fingers, and she jerks her head hard enough that the strands cut off the circulation in my fingertips.
Does she really think this is going to stop me?
Exasperated, I bring my lips close to her ear and say, “Hold still, or else this blade is going into your skin.”
Veronica continues crying and shaking, but she obeys and holds still while I continue to butcher her hair.
It doesn’t even take very long; I’m definitely going for substance over style.
I do manage to nick her a few times with the scissors, which makes her scream louder.
But that’s okay, because nobody can hear her down here.
And then I’m done. Veronica’s gorgeous hair, which she has likely been growing out for years, is lying in a neat pile on the floor of the cellar. Without her hair, Veronica looks a little bit like a shorn sheep. Her scalp is very pale.
I take a step back to admire my handiwork. Veronica is less spectacularly gorgeous now that her hair is mostly gone, and what’s left of it is sticking out in uneven tufts all over her scalp. And of course, on top of that, she is still sobbing, and her face has turned red and blotchy.
But the worst part?
She is still really pretty!
Jeremy is not going to look at her and decide he doesn’t want her anymore. Especially if he is texting her that he loves her. It’s obviously going to take a lot more than a bad haircut to change that. A lot more.
I need to think.
“I’ll be back,” I promise her. “Don’t even think about trying to escape. I’ll make you sorry.”
I abandon Veronica in the cellar, screaming and sobbing, writhing in a pile of her own hair, as she tries to get loose from her restraints despite my warning.
It’s fine—she won’t get out. When I get upstairs, I toss the scissors on the coffee table just as her phone buzzes with another text message.
If it’s another lovey-dovey message from Jeremy, I swear I’m going to scream.
But when I pick it up, the message isn’t from Jeremy. It’s from somebody named Lola.
So what are you going to do about it?
Do about what? I scroll back to read more of her conversation with Lola, and although it looks like she has been deleting most of their messages, the last few are still visible:
I took the test.
Well? What does it show?
It’s positive.
A sick feeling fills the pit of my stomach. I thought there might be a way to lure Veronica away from my family, but that fantasy has flown straight out the window. Veronica isn’t going to leave Jeremy. Not anymore.
Veronica is pregnant.