Chapter 56
HENRY
Henry watches as Marielle snaps on her blue latex gloves, wriggling her fingers, a smile of satisfaction on her face.
No nurse’s uniform this time. They don’t need to pretend, like they did with Simone.
Marielle has the glint of excitement in her eye, like a hunter about to shoot its prey.
He hadn’t wanted to do this. He’d tried to warn Lena to stay away – pushing while Marielle pulled.
But he’d been na?ve to think Marielle would forget about it.
He knows she’s not going to stop until she gets answers.
Except she’ll never get answers. Because he is the only person who can give them to her. And he’d rather die than tell her the truth.
Marielle’s standing at the kitchen counter with the syringe and she whips around to face him, holding it aloft. ‘Well, come on, then, Henry. Don’t just stand there. We need to get on with it. We don’t have much time.’
‘Marielle …’
‘Don’t bail on me now, Henry. Not when we’ve got this far. Lena knows what happened to our baby. She’s our last chance.’
Of course she doesn’t know! he wants to yell. But what would be the point?
He takes a deep breath. He’d tried all he could to dissuade her, to support her.
He’d even let her have that ridiculous silicone baby and watched as she passed it off as their grandson.
Anything, he reasoned, to make her happy.
He had hoped her make-believe would keep her from the reality.
But he’d soon realized it had been a temporary measure.
He pictures Lena, locked upstairs in the attic.
She has a son who will miss her. A friend who is always checking up on her.
Getting rid of her won’t be as easy as it was with Simone.
And it’s not that Henry feels pity. He knows he doesn’t have the same kind of feelings as other people.
And that’s okay. He’s learned to accept his limitations over the years.
Helped by Marielle. He understands he’s devoid of most basic human emotions and that he’s only ever loved one thing, one person, and that’s his wife.
His lack of empathy, of emotion, has made him a brilliant neurosurgeon.
It was the driving force behind his ambition to deal with his abusive father.
And when he met Marielle that Christmas all those years ago, it was the very thing he recognized in her.
He’s often wondered over the years if not wanting a child was altruistic: to save the world from another sociopath. Or purely because he hadn’t wanted to share Marielle with anyone else.
Marielle glares at him, flicking the syringe pointedly.
‘What’s that for? The last injection will be wearing off and she’s not going to be able to answer any questions if she’s drugged up, is she?’
‘It’s a deterrent, Henry. Follow me.’
This is useless, he wants to shout at her. But he follows her obediently up the stairs. He should never have allowed this charade to go on for as long as it has.
Lena won’t give Marielle the answers she so desperately seeks, because the only people who know what he did are Hugh Warrington and Simone Harvey. And they’re both dead.
He made sure of that.