You greedy little idiot.
I need to set you straight.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull the gun from the pocket of my dark sweatshirt. Too bad I can’t use it. Shooting you would be easy. But then your death won’t look like an accident. Plus, someone might hear the bullet firing through the air. Even though the roar of the waves is loud, I fear the gunshot would be louder.
Still, it’s a good scare tactic to ensure I get what I want.
Your eyes widen as your cockiness disappears. Your hands shoot into the air, palms facing me as fear dawns on your face. “No, please don’t! I’ll keep your secret.”
Like I’d believe that one . . . “Secrets come at a price.”
“I was being stupid. I’m sorry!” You back up, the edges of your sweatpants doused by the water.
I follow you as you back farther into the ocean, not caring about the fact that my own pants are getting wet.
I’ll think of an excuse for that later. I’m good at making excuses. Coming up with stories. Making people believe me.
You have the power to stop me from getting what I deserve. And I cannot let that happen.
As I continue toward you, you take several more steps into the waves.
You’re panicking.
Good.
The next instant, you turn and begin to run into the ocean.
You dive beneath the surface, desperate to get away.
If you really want to do things this way . . .
I stuff the gun into my waistband.
Then I easily catch up with you as you surface.
I grab your shoulders and pounce on you.
Your head goes under the water.
A wave hits us. We tumble and roll, but I hold on.
When I surface again, I slam your body down.
Your head hits one of the rocks barely visible above the waterline.
Even in the dark, I see blood trickling from your temple.
Your body goes limp, and you stop fighting.
Which is just what I want.
I shove your body farther out into the water, face down.
I don’t have to do anything else. The ocean will take care of this problem for me.
I watch your body floating in the moonlight.
Then I begin to walk back to shore.