I clicked off my headlights a mile before I reached the main property line. I knew the old service road well; I used to deliver landscaping stones to this very neighborhood years ago, long before Chloe ever met Liam. I maneuvered the heavy truck expertly through the wet, high grass, parking it behind a dense line of ancient oak trees that completely obscured the vehicle from the main house.
I stepped out. The smell of wet earth and sharp pine needles was thick in the air. I reached into the passenger seat and grabbed the heavy gas can. The fuel sloshed inside, a dense, liquid promise of absolute destruction.
I walked up the manicured hill. The mansion loomed ahead, a massive white monstrosity glowing with soft, expensive amber light from within. It looked peaceful. It looked like a luxury magazine cover.
I crept silently onto the expansive back patio. Through the floor-to-ceiling French doors, I had a clear, unobstructed view into the grand living room.
Liam was there. He was sitting comfortably on the massive leather sofa, holding a heavy crystal tumbler of amber scotch. He was watching a sports game on a screen the size of a wall. He looked slightly annoyed, shifting his weight, adjusting a silk throw pillow behind his back.
He wasn’t grieving. He wasn’t pacing in a panic. He was profoundly relaxed.
I felt a dark, jagged laugh bubble up in the back of my throat. He had beaten his pregnant wife into a coma twelve hours ago, and now he was annoyed at a referee’s call on television.
I unscrewed the tight plastic cap of the gas can. The harsh fumes hit me instantly, sharp and violently chemical, stinging my eyes and burning my nostrils.
“Burn,” I whispered to the wind.
I started at the back door. I splashed the heavy gasoline over the expensive teak deck furniture. I moved methodically along the perimeter of the house, dousing the pristine white siding, the expensive silk curtains visible through a slightly open window, and the dry decorative bushes that hugged the foundation.
I moved like a phantom of vengeance. I circled the entire massive house, leaving a wet, glistening, highly flammable trail of accelerant. I saved the last full gallon for the grand front porch—the towering entrance with the Corinthian columns that Eleanor Sterling was so immensely proud of.
