Chapter 27 Cooper #2
Reed's hand finds the small of my back, his touch both a comfort and a nod of encouragement. He leans close to my neck, his words as sweet and lethal as wolfsbane.
"But sweetheart," he purrs, his breath warming my ear in the chilly dark. "He might also be the reason why we met."
I turn my head, our faces hairs apart. His eyes are black pools of intricate conviction.
"Sometimes you have to look at the lethal lining," he continues, a wicked, feral smirk gracing his lips.
"Life is full of opportunities. It just depends on what you're willing to do to seize them.
This waste of flesh took one path from you.
And in doing so…" His gaze lingers on mine.
"…he blindly handed us another. A better one. A truer one. With purpose."
The logic is twisted and insane, but it makes perfect sense to my brain. It doesn't erase the pain and shame I felt, but it ascends it all. The decade of grief was worth every tear and death wish. It paved the ground for love to violently blossom.
Bernard may have destroyed my family, but he caused the formation of a new one—one that has been forged in vengeance and a love that understands the necessity of a sharp blade.
A slow, genuine smile crawls across my face, the first one that has ever felt completely right in this godforsaken town. "The lethal lining," I repeat, tasting the phrase. It tastes like truth and honesty. Like everything me and Reed represent.
Reed's smirk grows in its depravity. "Exactly. So let's not waste this opportunity he's given us. Let's make it count."
I look at Bernard in the trunk, tears flooding down his cheeks.
My mind has cleared. The blinding rage has faded, replaced by a chilling, intent purpose.
He is no longer just the man who killed my brother.
He is the catalyst. The sacrificial lamb that brought me to the man I was destined to be with.
And I can't wait to express my gratitude in the only way we know how.
Reed starts the ignition and I hop in the passenger seat. With the wind-chill and all things considered, we decided to rent a storage unit for tonight's celebration. Paid in cash of course.
In the trunk, Bernard makes a nasty, gurgling whimper, a sad attempt at a plea through the gag that is filling his mouth. The sound is nothing. Less than nothing.
I look up through the windshield, and God is it fucking clear. Every constellation, every star can be seen shining brightly against the pitch black nether. Almost as bright as Carson's smile used to be. It feels like a sign. An audience for justice.
Reed has the route memorized. He drives with the confidence of a stalker. His hand rests on my thigh, his presence slowing my heart rate.
We pull up to a long row of storage units, anonymous and quiet in the darkness of Christmas Eve.
Unit 237. Reed gets out, unlocks the heavy padlock, and rolls up the door.
The interior is a cold, concrete cube, empty except for a drain in the center, a chair, six handles of vodka, and a single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.
It's the perfect setting to lay this bastard to rest.
Together, we haul Bernard out of the trunk. And God, is he fucking heavy. His eyes are wide as we plop him into the creaking chair, darting around the sterile, hopeless space that we chose for him. He knows. He finally; will find out the difference between accident and intention.
Reed closes the door behind us, plunging us into a silence broken only by Bernard's ragged panting. He leans against the closed door, arms crossed, my guardian and witness.
I look down at the writhing man who split my world in half, now begging for my mercy.
"See that Bernie," I say, my voice bouncing off the concrete. I point up, through the ceiling, to the sky above us. "My brother's watching. He's got the best seat in the house. Better than any courtroom."
I reach out slowly, savoring the moment, and pull the sodden gag from his mouth. He draws a sharp, shuddering breath, ready to unleash a scream, a bargain with the devil, a last Hail-Mary prayer.
But before a single word can form, I press the cold, flat of the scalpel blade against his lips.
"Shhh." I soothe, my voice a deadly whisper. "No more talking. You've had ten years too long to sputter bullshit. To lie." I lean in, my face inches from his, my breath shooting down his trembling throat. "Tonight, we write a new ending."
A single, clear tear escapes the corner of his left eye and traces a path down his cheek. It is the most beautiful tear ever shed.
I smirk, a real fucking fat one.
"It's showtime baby."
I grab the first bottle of chilled vodka from the floor, the bottle slick from condensation. It's the cheapest one we could find, pretty much rubbing alcohol.
Bernard's eyes fix on the bottle, confusion momentarily overriding his terror. This isn't the scalpel he was expecting.
"Oh, this isn't for drinking, Bernie," I croon, uncapping it. The sharp, clean smell of ethanol pierces the stale air. "Not the way that you usually do."
I step forward. He flinches back, but the chair remains steady.
"This is a purification," I explain, tilting the bottle. "A cleansing. We are washing you off this Earth. The piece of shit who thought a few drinks and a drive in a snowstorm was a lousy mistake."
The vodka pours over his head, a shocking, icy cascade. He gasps, choking and sputtering as it soaks his hair, streams into his eyes, drips into his open mouth. It stings, I know it does. But not enough. It won't ever be enough.
The alcohol washes away the grime on his skin, the sweat of his fear, readying the filthy bastard to burn in hell.
"See?" I say, emptying the bottle until it glugs dry. I toss it aside, and it shatters satisfyingly in the corner. "All clean. Now we can see what we're working with."
He's shivering uncontrollably now. His skin is dreadfully pale and goose-pimpled.
I hold the scalpel in my hand; it feels at home in between my fingers. A sixth digit.
"The first cut," I announce, for him, for Carson, for Reed, "is for the lie you've been telling yourself. The one where you were the victim."
The blade touches his cheek, just below his eyes. It's a precise cut, not too deep. A line of crimson wells up instantly, vivid against his shivering, pale skin. He screams, a rabid, animalistic sound that bounces off the concrete.
Reed pushes off the door and walks over to the kit. He pulls out a roll of gauze and tosses it to me.
"Can't have him bleeding out too early," Reed says, his voice gleaming with deviant satisfaction. "We have a whole sermon to get through."
I catch the gauze, my smile widening. I press it to the cut on his cheek, staunching the flow. His sobs are hysterical.
His cries make my soul dance and giggle.
"See how we take care of you?" I whisper, stroking his cheek almost tenderly. "We're not monsters. We're thorough."
I look over at Reed, and the pride in his eyes is a drug more potent than the adrenaline of an evening run. This is our love. This is our justice.
"Ready for your last call, Bernie," I gloat, allowing the pleasure to seep into my words.
I grab another bottle, uncap it, and plunge the cold glass down his throat.
He gurgles and chokes as the vodka gulps, filling his trachea and esophagus all at the same time. His lungs will burn, his stomach will try to vomit, but to little reward. I made sure to tuck that bottle deep.
It's a moment as precious as the universe being born.
A genesis of a new reality. The one where Bernard Meyer chokes on his favorite poison. A new universe sculpted with my own hands. One born in this concrete room, cooled in the chill of the vodka, and sanctified by his muffled screams.
The sound of his suffering is cosmic bliss. A dreadful harmony of him drowning.
This is my Big Bang. The single, catastrophic event from which our futures will expand.
All of the Christmases past, the hollowed-out birthdays, the silent dinners… they were just the long, cold contraction before this. The universe holding its omnipresent breath.
And now, it explodes at my will.
I look at the image I created, at the rawness of life leaving a body, becoming a corpse. I feel a creator's pride. It is horrifying. It's majestic. It's the most important thing I have ever done, because I executed this myself, with my own two hands and a heart full of righteous hate.
I meet Reed's gaze as Bernard's gurgles cease. My co-creator. My partner in death. Us against the evil of this world.
"I love you," I whisper.
The words linger in the air, between the vodka and copper, they are the most honest words that have ever come out of my mouth.
Reed closes the distance between us, his hands embracing my frame. "I know," he says, his voice an elegant rasp. "I have loved you since the moment you first begged me to chase you."
He leans his forehead against mine, our hearts syncing in pulse, the only sound in the entire world.
"You are my purpose, Cooper. My righteous killer. My beautiful, blonde monster." He pulls back and kisses me, his lips tasting of salt and conviction. "And I am yours. Until we kill every son of a bitch that deserves it."
In this moment, the realization hits me. This isn't the end. Our happily ever after. This is just the beginning of our love story.
And Ava, your ass better be quitting med school too. I can't be surrounded by all these Quinns myself.
The End