Page 104 of He Sees You

One blink.

"My father didn't catch you because you were doing his work for him."

Through the paralysis, Morrison manages something like a smile.

"Enough," Cain says. He positions the second needle. "This is for every girl you've touched. Every life you've destroyed. Every father you've corrupted."

"Wait," I say. "Morrison, one more question. The cabin address in your wallet—that's where you keep them? The girls?"

One blink.

"Are there girls there now?"

Two blinks.

"But there will be soon?"

One blink.

"When?"

He can't answer. But his eyes flick upward, toward the sky.

"Tonight?"

Two blinks.

"Tomorrow?"

One blink.

"Christmas Eve," Cain says. "You're bringing in a shipment on Christmas Eve when law enforcement is distracted."

One blink.

The digitalis goes in smooth, directly into the jugular.

Morrison's eyes widen impossibly, his body trying to convulse but unable to move.

The heart attack is immediate, massive, devastating.

His face purples, eyes hemorrhaging, foam tinged with blood at his mouth.

"Does it hurt?" I ask clinically, watching him die.

"Every nerve is firing," Cain says. "His heart is tearing itself apart. He can feel everything but can't scream. It's agony in its purest form."

"Good."

It takes three minutes.

Three minutes of agony he can feel but can't express.

Three minutes of his heart exploding in his chest while his mind remains conscious.

I count them down on my watch, observing his death with the detachment I use for writing scenes.

The way his eyes bulge, bloodshot and desperate.