Page 142 of He Sees You

"Next month. After the publicity dies down. We can't appear too eager."

"And after that?"

"Boston. Miami. Los Angeles. There are monsters everywhere, Cain. We could kill for decades and never run out."

I kiss her, tasting ambition and bloodlust. "Some couples travel to see landmarks."

"We'll travel to create them. Crime scenes as art installations."

The moon rises full and bright over the mountains.

Somewhere, girls we saved are living new lives.

Somewhere, predators are thinking they're safe.

Somewhere, our next victims are counting money from selling innocence.

"I love you," I tell her.

"I love you too," she replies. "Now help me plan how to make the Albany kills look accidental."

We spend the rest of the night plotting death, my novelist wife and I, mapping out a marriage measured in miles traveled and monsters ended.

By dawn, we have three new targets and a dozen ways to kill them.

The news still talks about the Christmas Eve Massacre sometimes, the night a trafficking ring ate itself alive.

They don't know about the bride in the bloody dress or the groom who taught her to hold a knife.

They don't know that justice wore white that night and death said "I do."

But we know, and we're just getting started.

In bed later, sated and planning, Celeste traces patterns on my chest—words again, always words.

"What are you writing?" I ask.

"Our sequel," she says. "The bride and groom take a honeymoon across America, leaving bodies like breadcrumbs."

"Will people think it's fiction?"

"Of course. No one would be stupid enough to confess to future murders in published books."

"We would."

"Yes," she agrees, smiling sharp as winter moonlight. "We would, but no one will know, and even if they suspect, they have no evidence."