Chapter 3 Chapter 3

SHANE

“Good morning, sir.” Timothy greeted me in his usual smooth, polite tone as I climbed onto the back seat.

I let out a low grunt in response. “Take me to the nursing home.”

“Of course, sir.” He replied, turned on the engine and then set the car in motion.

I relaxed back on the seat and let out a soft sigh, licking my lips. As always, my mind became an incessant pool of thoughts, and they were all circled around him.

Jones.

I detest it.

Because every time I think about him, I'm filled with this murderous rage. And my rage is meaningless if I can't take it out on someone… not even through sex.

Yes, as though being unable to sleep in peace, hunt and walk comfortably isn't enough, I also can't have sex without feeling great pain in my thigh.

How did I come to this?

Jones, that little bastard. I've been saying it, and I'll keep saying it. I'll find you. You don't possibly think you can turn me into this pathetic mess, and I'll let you go scot-free.

Think again.

Ruining people is my job. Not the other way round. And to think that that little… that little… arrggh!

Thinking about it is useless.

I just need to find him.

Timothy suddenly jerked the car to a halt, his voice lurching me out of my mind, “We're here, sir.”

I glanced out of the window.

Already?

I let out a low grunt and opened the door, then stepped out. The nursing home stood tall before me.

I made my way up the concrete steps inside, ignoring the fearful eyes I received from the nurses and caregivers. Stepping into the elevator, I jabbed my forefinger into the button, the door slid shut automatically and then started moving.

The elevator dropped me off on the third floor. Then I sauntered down the hall to Mr Blackwood's private suite, which stood at the end.

I didn't bother knocking. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, twisted it and flung it open, stepping inside.

Mr Blackwood was sitting comfortably on the queen-sized bed, a duvet thrown around his now useless legs as he had breakfast in bed.

Apparently, this pathetic thing miraculously recovered from his stroke. Since he had the stroke for nearly four years, I was hoping he'd choke and croak.

But, somehow, he recovered and lived. Though he became permanently paralyzed in one leg and decided he was going to retire. So, here he is. In a nursing home.

He whipped his head to me as the door burst open, horror jumping into his eyes when he saw I was the one. His eyes darted to the call button on the side of his bed, ready to press, just in case.

Oh, how I relish the terror in his eyes at this very moment. At least that is one thing that isn't ruined for me.

“W-what are you doing here?” His voice came out choked.

I slowly stepped closer into the room, folding my arms across my chest. My throat started working, voice dripping with pleasant sweetness. “I came to visit you. Is something wrong with that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, really?” I tilted my head to the side. “What's wrong with a son visiting his own father?”

“I'm not your father.” He declared, the fear in his eyes slowly dissolving. “Never was and never will. You also never regarded me as one either way. I'd believe it if you said you were here to kill me… just like you did your moth....”

“Oh, please, Mr Blackwood, this is getting old now, don't you think?” I asked, then started to slowly pace around the room, studying the interior. “Must you always bring up that miserable woman whenever we're having a civil conversation?”

“Yes, I do.” He said quietly, “Because every time I see or even think about you, I remember that day. And I hate myself for sitting there, being too horrified to do anything.”

I made a face. “Yeah, you've always been a pussy.”

His jaw clenched, “Why are you here, Shane? To insult me so you could feel good about yourself?”

“Erica Blackwood.” I called out the name softly, then gently walked over to the nightstand and leaned against it, taking the weight off my left leg, which was now starting to hurt. “Did you know that she used to cheat on you with her high school sweetheart when she was alive?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously and distrustfully at me. “What are you trying to do here? You want me to resent her or something?”

I raised my shoulders in a shrug, “No. Not at all.”

“Then what…”

“Ricky Barnes was his name, wasn't it?” I said, and he paused. “The name of the guy that your dear loving wife, Erica, used to be smothered with back in her teenage years before he dumped her. You were always available and were willing to overlook her every flaw, so she latched on to you.”

Unwanted shame flickered through his eyes. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I’ve met him.” I said in admittance, smirking at him. “More than once, actually. He used to come over to the house while you were at work. And he would spend hours with her inside your bedroom, smiling, laughing and of course, getting quite intimate in your matrimonial bed.”

“You're lying.” He gritted, voice rough.

“I'm not lying.” The smirk on my lips stretched wider. “You can call Jacob and ask him. He's your favourite son. I know you keep in touch with him. He used to be best friends with this Ricky guy back then.”

His jaw clenched, “Even if she did cheat, that didn't justify killing her. You could have come to me.”

I couldn't help but let out a low mocking chuckle, a sound that echoed through the room. “Oh, Mr Blackwood, you’re solely mistaken if you think I killed her because she cheated on you. I couldn't even care less about you both's marriage. Nonetheless, would you have believed me if I told you?”

He stared at me. “So, why did you kill her, then?”

I held his gaze, my voice dropping to a menacing tone. “You know exactly why I killed her. You know the things she did to me. And I'm not talking about the part where she would lock me up in the dark and let me starve. I'm talking about the other part.”

His gaze wavered, and he glanced away quickly, “That's enough.”

“You don't want to face it, Mr Blackwood.” I drawled, “You know exactly what type of woman your wife was. Where else did you think I got this ‘psychotic’ attribute of mine from, hmm? Because it definitely wasn't from you.”

“I said stop it!”

“She and I would have dominated the earth together, like mother and son. But she hated what we were. Couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand me. What a bitch.”