Chapter 44
When I get back downstairs, Veronica has made more progress than I thought.
She has finagled her way into a sitting position and has scooted herself the entire way across the cellar. She hasn’t mounted the stairs yet, but I can imagine that would have been her next move if I hadn’t caught her.
“Veronica,” I say in a warning voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
There’s a look of dread in her eyes. She really thought she was going to get away with it with no consequences at all.
And now she is going to pay the price. She is going to suffer for every woman who was dumped by her husband for a girl over a decade younger. She is going to suffer for every mother who had her child wrenched away from her in a custody battle. I’m going to make an example of Veronica—for all of us.
I’m not doing this for fun, but I can’t claim that a part of me won’t enjoy it.
First, I’ve got to get her away from the stairs.
Since it worked so well earlier, I grab her by the feet and drag her across the room.
She tries to kick at me, but it’s hard for her to do with her ankles bound together.
I have to say, she is feistier than I gave her credit for.
But I have a feeling that what is going to happen next will take a lot of the fight out of her.
She lets out a low moan, and I’m not sure if it’s because the unfinished floor is so uncomfortable or if it’s because she knows that she has lost. I finally drop her legs at the other end of the cellar, closer to the wine racks. This is a perfect location.
Then I brandish the scissors.
Veronica stares at the blade in my hand, and she tries her best to scream. It comes out so muffled, it’s almost funny. She probably thinks I’m going to kill her, but I’m not. Although by the end of this, she might wish that I had.
One thing is for sure though: She’s going to be damn sorry she messed with my husband.
I descend on her, raising the blade of the scissors in my hand.
I should probably start with her eyes, because after I blind her, she’s never getting out of here on her own.
Although on the other hand, she might pass out if I do that.
I don’t really want her to pass out and miss everything. And worse, she won’t get to watch.
Then, while I am debating my next move, the doorbell rings.
My first thought is that it’s Jeremy, although that makes no sense since he texted that he landed in Boston, and also, why would he ring the doorbell? He would just unlock the door and come inside. So it can’t be him.
But who is it?
My instinct is that I should ignore the bell. Maybe it’s a package delivery? Whoever it is will probably go away.
But then the bell rings again, followed by the sound of loud banging on the door.
Great.
Okay, I’m just going to see who it is. I don’t want a nosy neighbor calling the cops because they heard some noise. Whoever it is, maybe I can get rid of them quickly and easily, then get back to what I need to do down here. After all, I don’t want to rush.
Veronica looks like she’s going to faint from relief as I start backing away from her. But she’s out of her mind if she thinks I’ve abandoned my plan. She got a reprieve, but it won’t last long.
I head up the stairs back to the first floor of the house. When I get out of the cellar, I carefully close the door behind me. If you’re standing near the door, you can just barely make out the sounds of Veronica’s muffled protests, but definitely not from the front door.
I creep quietly to the front door, hoping to see who is there without cluing them in to my presence. Whoever it is is still banging on the door, not showing any signs of giving up. And then a voice shouts:
“Naomi! Naomi, are you in there?”
Oh my God. It’s Ezra.