Chapter Text
Breaking into his classic car is easy. Waiting for him to return to it is hard. And after the third hour of lying in wait in the shadow of the backseat, Halbrand begins to worry his victim has actually been responsible and called for a ride. But as he peeks over the leather bench seat, he finally sees him and his mates spill out from the pub into the dark carpark.
Puddles, left over from an evening rain, dot the wet tarmac, glowing with the pub signs reflection. And as Celeborn stumbles his way back to his vehicle, Halbrand has a front row seat when the other man trips into one, splashing onto his knee and soiling his trousers. His drunken staggering is almost cartoonish. He's certainly mashed and unaware of his surroundings, but Halbrand hides further into the shadows nonetheless.
He hears the scratch of Celeborn's keys as his first two attempts to unlock the door fail. When he finally achieves this amazing feat of dexterity and slips his way inside the car, the stench of smoke and beer follow him making Halbrand's stomach turn.
The door slams shut, the engine turns over, and they make their way onto the road. Halbrand isn't thrilled by the idea of riding in a car with a driver drunk off his arse, since having them both die in some grisly accident would make for an unsatisfying revenge. But he'll trust Celeborn to get them to the first traffic light without causing their deaths, at least.
Halbrand feels them turn left.
Squeezing the gun in his hand, he knows he could sit up and put a bullet into the back of Celeborn's intoxicated head right now. But that's no good. After all his planning—waiting. He needs Celeborn to know what he's done to him. And most importantly of all, he needs the drunk idiot to know he most assuredly did not get away with it.
While Celeborn is suffering, he needs to know why.
He's either having very good luck with catching green lights, or he's running through the red ones since they pass multiple streets before they finally stop.
The moment they do Halbrand sits up, melting from the shadows of the backseat like a nightmare. Celeborn gasps and begins to turn, but Halbrand sticks the revolver in his pretty face and he stills immediately.
"I have money," Celeborn whispers, trembling.
"I know."
"My wallet is in my back pocket."
"I don't care. When the light's green, drive. Slowly. Do not turn. Do not stop. Do not take your hands off the wheel or look at any other drivers. Understood?"
Celeborn releases a full body shiver as he succumbs to tears. "Please, just take the money."
"No."
"My car, then. Take the car."
"I don't want your car."
"My wife."
This causes Halbrand's brain to trip. "Your wife?"
At the possibility of finding something his kidnapper might want more than him, Celeborn's lips twitch into a hopeful almost smile. "She can make you happy. I guarantee it."
Halbrand rolls his eyes.
"Please."
"Stop begging," he snaps, already feeling the combination of his rising frustration and the stale smell of cigarette smoke splitting his head. "In fact, don't speak at all. Just stay quiet and follow my instructions."
"It's green," Halbrand says. "Drive."
As Celeborn drives, Halbrand hopes he doesn't try anything stupid. He's confident he has the situation under control. But he's only human. And a scared drunk guy might try something mad, like plowing into a tree.
"Just stay calm," Halbrand tells him, switching from his menacing voice into something more soothing.
Celeborn starts to sob. Halbrand should be enjoying this, but it's actually quite pathetic and off-putting. Enough almost for him to contemplate putting a bullet in the other man right now. But he knows he'd regret it.
"My wife's going to wonder where I'm at."
"I'm sure this isn't the first time you've gone home late after a night at the pub." Halbrand sighs. "In fact, something tells me you often don't go home at all."
This happens to be something he knows is fact, having been watching Celeborn for days now. Halbrand's learned that Celeborn doesn't seem to like going home.
"Did you tell Galadriel you were going out drinking with some mates? Or would that compromise your dominance over her?"
Celeborn frowns. "Is this about her?"
It's not. Halbrand's never met the woman in his life. "Maybe."
"It only happened once. Okay? I barely touched her." Now he's just blubbering. "Did she tell you how she was acting? Huh? What she said? She's fucking mental. You would've done the same."
The throbbing in his skull worsens. "Christ, now you're just blurting out stupid confessions. Did you call her? Did you tell her you were on your way home?"
"No. No."
"You better not be lying because I'll be checking your call history."
"I'm not, I swear. I didn't want to wake her."
"Good."
Knowing that Celeborn is a wife beater should make Halbrand feel better about his plans. But truthfully, he doesn't care. Wife beater, child molester, pet killer, volunteer at a children's hospital. It doesn't matter. It's going to end the same way no matter what.
All Halbrand cares about is what Celeborn did to him. He's a very focused person.
Fortunately, Celeborn doesn't try anything stupid. And his sobbing turns into simple weeping. A calm settles between them until Halbrand notices a silver car. He watches it in the mirror, watches it follow them, anxiety ratcheting up higher until it turns down a different street.
After driving for another ten minutes, Halbrand orders Celeborn to pull into a dark and lonely carpark.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"No. You're riding in the boot."
*****
The transfer goes smoothly. Celeborn now trapped in the boot and his keys and mobile now in Halbrand's possession. The rest of the drive should be much safer without holding a terrified drunk at the wheel.
*****
It's another half hour of driving with Halbrand's anxiety high but manageable. The wife should still be asleep, he tells himself. The friends left at the pub, none the wiser. There's plenty of time left before anyone notices Celeborn missing.
He keeps an eye out for the silver car, but thankfully never sees it again.
Once they reach the storage unit Halbrand parks right up beside the sliding metal doors. He unlocks and opens it quickly, driving inside the large unit before closing and locking it behind him, casting them into utter darkness.
It's soothing. And he feels his nerves unwinding bit by bit. The only sound, his deep breaths.
He blindly feels for the lamp in the corner of the unit, switching it on and filling the space with a dim, eerie glow.
He unlocks the boot and raises the lid. "Get out."
Celeborn climbs out, then falls flat on his face. In any other circumstance it would be something to laugh at, but of course his legs had fallen asleep after being confined in such a small space for so long.
Halbrand doesn't help him up, though. He waits for feeling to return to Celeborn's legs, then forces him into a wooden chair. Celeborn remains silent and placid as each of his limbs are securely zip tied.
It's only now Halbrand notices the injuries to Celeborn's face—the dark mottled bruise on the left side of his jaw, the scratch marks, pink and raised, trailing from brow to cheek on the right. He looks like he got into a fight with an angry cat.
Halbrand allows for a long silence. Stretching it out until its breaking point, savoring it—uncomfortable and terrifying as he stands over his victim. "Do you know who I am?"
Celeborn shakes his head.
"No?" Halbrand asks, brows raised.
"No. I swear. You have the wrong guy."
"I most certainly do not."
Celeborn starts in on his frantic pleas and swears that this is some misunderstanding. But Halbrand's next question strikes him silent.
"Where were you December 20, 2012?"
Celeborn's eyes widen. He might not remember the exact date, but he sure as hell remembers winter of that year.
"I don't understand," he says, sounding confused and panicked. "I don't know you. Never met you."
Halbrand forces a smile. He walks over to a small shelf. Empty but for a single item.
He picks up the axe.
Halbrand can see it in Celeborn's terrified eyes. He suddenly understands everything.
"Wait, wait, wait!"
Halbrand gently prods Celeborn's cheek with the blunt end of the axe, making him flinch away. "Oh, now you remember."
"I didn't know!" Celeborn insists. "I didn't know it was you!"
"Would it have made any kind of difference? The outcome would've been the same whether I was a high profile killer or not. Since you squealed, my life has been hell," Halbrand growls, prodding him again, harder this time.
"Nonono! You can't blame me for that!"
"I can, actually."
"What was I supposed to do? Not tell police I found a pile of bodies?"
"How about not breaking into my self storage, for starters?" Halbrand says, pushing closer. "But you just had to get your rocks off, didn't you? You and that slag violating my space. Forcing me into hiding for the last six years like some sewer rat, in a constant state, just waiting for the filth to knock down my door."
Not anymore.
"But—but why me? Why not the police involved, or the guys that work in the lab? Why come after me? I don't have anything against you! I don't even know you!"
Halbrand rolls his eyes. "I can't kill everyone involved with the case. That's ridiculous, Celeborn. You're the one who started it. Of course you didn't have to say anything. You could've easily just left, you git."
He feels like he's starting to sound a bit mad. Halbrand understands that it's not really Celeborn's fault, and that it is mad to think that he wouldn't call the police. But Halbrand despises him. He doesn't care how irrational it is—if his mind worked properly, he wouldn't have killed eight people for the fun of it.
"What are you going to do to me?" Celeborn shudders, sweat soaked hair curling against his forehead.
Halbrand gives him a flat look. "I'm going to bash your face in with this axe, Celeborn."
Celeborn drops his head with a muffled cry. "Oh, God."
"Eventually I'll break through your skull into your brain. But I'm going to start on the lower half of your face first, then keep hitting until you don't have a jaw left. If I had some kind of injection to keep you conscious through the whole process, I'd use it. But fortunately for you, I don't. So you may get lucky and pass out some time before you die."
Celeborn vomits all over his chest. He coughs and sputters, and for a moment Halbrand thinks he's actually choking on it and he's going to have to do something, but then finally Celeborn speaks. "Why now?"
There's no reason not to tell him since he'll be dead within minutes. But Halbrand doesn't want to. Celeborn doesn't need to know about the accident and how Halbrand had nearly died—did die before he was miraculously revived. Lying in that hospital bed for weeks with the relentless beeps, and revolving door of nurses and doctors explaining just how fortunate he'd been to survive. And how the drunk driver who'd hit him hadn't been quite so lucky, the fucker.
It had been as terrifying an experience as it was eye opening. Time on this earth could be snatched away at any moment, for any reason—or none at all. He was no different.
But all of that makes him sound weak. Celeborn will think a lot of things about Halbrand in the moments before he dies, and none of them will be that he's weak.
He raises the axe and takes a slow motion practice swing to make sure the axehead hits Celeborn directly in the chin. It has to be a downward angle. He doesn't want bone fragments shooting up and ending his revenge too soon.
As Celeborn blubbers nonsense, Halbrand thinks that there's plenty of villainous things he can say right now, such as "Any last words" or "I'll see you in hell" but they all sound a bit corny.
And anyways, there's no need to say anything, this is going to be the most satisfying experience he's had in six years. He may even get emotional afterward, but that's okay, there's no shame in that. Years of therapy has taught him keeping those kinds of emotions bottled up can be harmful to yourself.
He can't wait to hear—
Somebody knocks.
Halbrand freezes.
They both turn their heads to the metal door of the storage unit, as if looking at the door would provide any clue about who was knocking on the other side. Halbrand glances back at Celeborn, and he can tell he's trying to decide whether he should shout or not.
He shouldn't. He really, truly should not.
"Don't make a sound," Halbrand whispers. "If they leave, I'll let you go."
It's a completely inept lie. No way will Celeborn believe that. Still, if he thinks he can extend his life just a little bit longer—
"Help me!"
Halbrand curses and slams the axe into Celeborn's head.
Not only is the trajectory wrong, so that he strikes him right in the temple, but the axe is turned the wrong way, so that the blade sinks several inches into his skull.
An immense sinking feeling splits Halbrand's chest wide open, as if he's the one with a bloody axe embedded inside him. He tugs the axe out of Celeborn's head, and with the effort of it, the axe falls to the cement floor with a loud clatter.
Whoever is outside knocks again, more vigorously this time.
He wants to drop to the floor, curl into the fetal position and cry for a while. But that would be worthless. Though he's been screwed out of a worthy revenge, he's not going to give up and go to prison over this.
There's too much dead weight to get Celeborn into the boot of the car quick enough. Instead, Halbrand shoves the chair, knocking it onto it's side and throws a drop cloth over him. Someone who is specifically looking for a dead body will immediately figure out where Celeborn's corpse is hiding. But hopefully this is just a nosy security guard.
Halbrand wedges the gun into the back of his pants—not a safe place for it. He hopes he can talk his way out of this.
He opens the door.
A woman is standing there. Her silver car is parked in front of the storage unit. She's blonde, and tiny, and cute, and much too good for a repulsive cretin like Celeborn.
Halbrand's only seen Galadriel a handful of times from across the street of her home while stalking her husband. Her eyes are red, cheeks puffy. She's been crying and she looks scared. When she turns her face towards the light he can see a shiner darkens her right eye.
As far as Halbrand can tell, she doesn't have mace or a knife—though anything could be in her handbag.
"Where is he?" she asks.
He decides to respect her intelligence and not pretend he doesn't know who she's talking about. But first he has to make sure he doesn't get stabbed. "Put down the handbag."
She drops it without hesitation. Obviously there wasn't a weapon in there. She didn't come here expecting to do battle with an axe wielding maniac.
No way does she know who he is.
"Where is he?" she repeats.
Her eyes dart to the drop cloth, then back to Halbrand.
How much does she know? Did she see Celeborn driving at gunpoint? Did she see Halbrand force him into the boot? She was pounding on the door when Celeborn shouted—is it possible she didn't hear him?
It's no great tragedy if he has to kill her. She looks like a perfectly acceptable victim, despite her gender. But he really dislikes the idea of murdering someone just to compensate for his own carelessness. Back when he was actively slaying there was never any collateral damage. He only ever killed his intended prey.
"He's not here," Halbrand says.
"I heard him."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She huffs with frustration. "I heard him shout 'Help me!' I know he's in there."
When she wipes a tear from her eye her hand is shaking. Though she appears more angry than upset. But some instinct tells him that if he underestimates her and lets his guard down, he could end up with an axe in his skull.
"You heard wrong." Obviously, he's attempting to buy some time while he figures out a way to get out of this that doesn't involve a second bloody corpse.
She looks directly in his eyes. "I won't say anything."
The tone of her voice and her pleading expression surprise him, because he believes her. She's not just trying to save her life.
"Really?" he asks, a sardonic smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. "You think I've got your husband in here with me, and you're not going to say anything?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She frowns. "What do you mean, why? Did you think I just happened to drive by this place? I was following him. I know what's going on. I know what Celeborn was doing." She leans back a bit, looking almost ashamed. "It was only a matter of time before he slept with the wrong man's wife."
Halbrand likes that. As far as incorrect assumptions go, it's one of the best ones she could've come up with. Of course, he's not wearing a wedding ring, so...
"Girlfriend," he corrects.
She swallows thickly, jaw set. "Can I see him?"
"You don't want to," he says after a heavy breath. "Trust me."
She points to the drop cloth, no hesitation, no question. "He's under there."
"Yes," he reluctantly admits. "He's not waking up. You don't need to know more than that."
Galadriel walks into the storage unit—brushes right past him. The axe is under the drop cloth with her husband's body, so he should probably tackle her or something. Instead, he just watches carefully. If she lifts the cloth, he can count on at least a few seconds of shock, and he'll tackle her then.
She walks up to the drop cloth and kicks it. Hard.
She kicks it again and again, and he starts to worry that she's going to kick the axe and break her foot. He can see a couple of red splotches beginning to form.
She finally lets out a sob and steps away. She stumbles over to the side of the storage unit and leans against the wall.
Halbrand isn't really sure how to respond. Should he comfort her? Should he kill her?
"How did you do it," she asks.
"Axe to the head."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Wow." She wipes her eyes and chuckles. "I assumed you shot him or something."
It feels strange, unsettling to be talking about this so openly—and to her of all people. But there's also a sense of...excitement. "You would've heard a gunshot."
"They don't make silencers anymore?"
He frowns. "I'm not a professional assassin. Just an angry boyfriend."
She glances at the drop cloth again. "I guess. You must be truly angry to whack someone in the head with an axe. Saved me the trouble of killing him myself. Though I couldn't have used an axe."
He cocks his head, feeling much too curious for his own good. "What would you have used?"
"I don't know?" she says with a shrug. "Poison, maybe."
"So, what? You would've followed him and thrown poison on him?" He's trying to be funny, a little smile and everything, but it doesn't really come off as a joke.
"I wasn't going to kill him tonight. All I wanted to do was catch him in the act. When I saw you in the car with him, I knew exactly what was happening."
"You're pretty good at following cars." It's true. He'd only caught onto her once. And after his suspicions had been raised, he hadn't seen her again.
"You wouldn't say that if you'd been riding with me. It was pure luck, I promise you." She lets out a sudden hysterical giggle and quickly slaps her hand over her mouth. She takes a few quick panicked breaths through her nose, then lowers her hand again. "God, I can't believe he's dead."
"Do you feel bad about it?" he asks, hesitantly.
"I feel like I should feel bad about it."
Her answer eases some kind of tension in him. Though why it should, he doesn't really know. "Well, don't waste any tears. He deserved what he got."
But she shakes her head and the tension tightens in him again. "Not really. He was a cheating, abusive bastard, but he didn't deserve to have his head chopped in half."
He shrugs. "It wasn't in half."
"What did you do to your girlfriend?"
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"Did you kill her?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell her what you did?"
"Absolutely not."
"What's going to happen now?"
"Why are you asking so many questions?"
"Why wouldn't I ask questions?" She puts her hand on her belly and he understands without her having to tell him. "You just murdered my husband."
"Oh." He should probably say something more profound than that, but suddenly his vocabulary has dropped to almost nothing. "I didn't know."
Galadriel shrugs, looking sad—regretful. "Neither did he."
When he opened the sliding door, he knew things were going to be tense. He hadn't imagined they would also be socially awkward.
"Would you have...done things differently if you had known?"
He worries that this is some kind of test question, but he's not sure what it is he's being tested on. "Maybe."
"Then it's good you didn't know."
Halbrand swallows thickly, not expecting that.
He'd like her to leave now. He's the axe murderer, but she's starting to creep him out. Not to mention, it's not very intelligent for them to stand there with the door open and a dead body lying on the floor, even if it is covered. He's usually much more careful—but he also doesn't usually have murderous wives asking details about the deaths of their husbands.
"I have to shut the door now," he says in that awkward way you tell someone to leave without actually telling them. "I've got to get him in the boot and bury the body."
"Where?"
He takes a beat, his eyes narrowing on her. "You don't need to know that."
"Fair enough. But we should get our story straight."
"You're not my accomplice," he says, a little sharper than intended. "We're not here providing alibis for each other. Just pretend you didn't go out tonight, and don't say anything to anyone."
Halbrand starts walking towards the drop cloth in hopes that will be the end of it and she'll do what's good for her, and go.
"But I want to help."
He whirls around on her. "Are you kidding me?"
"I need more closure. I can't leave it like this."
"Like what? He's dead! I killed him, and you probably shattered half his bones. How much more closure could you possibly need. He's out of your life. Go home."
Her stormy eyes are blue—striking. Beautiful. She doesn't move. He should kill her.
He should've killed her when he opened the door. Only a complete idiot would let her leave. The second he'd discovered that she wasn't a heavily armored cop, he should've bashed her skull in.
He definitely should've done it before he knew she was pregnant.
That shouldn't factor into his decision. Halbrand doesn't care about things like that. He wouldn't do any of the vile things that other killers might do in that situation, but if the fetus dies with her that's just the way it goes.
But she still isn't leaving.
"I want to help you get rid of the body."
Christ. "You see, most people try to distance themselves from crimes," he says, as if she's an idiot child. "Not further incriminate themselves. Because generally, that could lead to prison. Just pretend you never saw me, and go home."
"I'm not good at pretending."
He gives her a tight smile. Painful. Okay. She has to die. There's no other option here. He tried not killing her, but now she's just being a pain in the arse. Now the only question is if he should shoot her, or do something more fulfilling?
He was screwed out of his proper revenge against Celeborn, so he's leaning towards the latter. However, it's risky to keep stretching this out. He should be long gone from here by now.
She's still staring at him. She thinks he's trying to decide if he should let her help, and not if he should kill her quickly or slowly.
"Why won't you let me help?"
"Because," he says petulantly.
She rolls her eyes at him. "Unless you're five, that's not a reason."
"I don't need your help."
"Maybe you don't need my help, but couldn't you use it." She pushes off the wall, takes a few tentative steps closer. "Isn't it easier to get a body into the boot if two people are carrying it? Isn't it faster to dig a grave if two people dig?"
He blinks at her. He doesn't even understand what's happening any longer. "But you're pregnant."
Galadriel looks at her flat stomach than back up at him. "And?"
He shrugs, at a loss. "Pregnant women shouldn't be lifting dead bodies."
"It's not like I'm about to drop a baby right this moment. I'm not even showing."
He thinks he might've offended her, and he feels bad suggesting she's too delicate for this. "I'm sorry." But then he feels like the biggest kind of idiot, remembering what this is. Christ, he wishes she'd just leave him alone.
"It's okay. Let me help."
If this continues much longer, he's going to bash himself in the head with the axe. So he either has to kill her, or let her be his cleanup assistant.
Fine. She can come. But if she thinks they're going on some sort of cross-country killing spree together, she's sorely mistaken.
"Okay," he concedes. "You can help me get him into the boot." He's expecting her to let out a 'woo!' and high-five him, but she looks appropriately serious and simply nods her head.
"We need to wrap him tighter in the drop cloth. I'll do it unless you want to roll around with him in there, or something."
She frowns. "Why would you say that?"
"What?"
"What do you mean 'what'?"
"It was a joke."
"It didn't sound like a joke," Galadriel says, crossing her arms, and he's already beginning to rethink this whole thing. "Are you suggesting I'm some sort of deviant? That I'd like rolling around with my dead husband's corpse?"
He considers pointing out that 'dead husband's corpse' is redundant. And just to be a pain in her arse, he decides he might as well. "You don't need to say 'dead husband's corpse'. You could say 'dead husband' or 'husband's corpse' and get across the same meaning."
Halbrand's not anal retentive about grammar issues, he just doesn't like that she thinks she can be offended by his joke. She doesn't have to laugh, but they're not equal partners here, and she can keep her moral outrage to herself.
"Let it go," he sighs, crouching down beside the drop cloth.
"I just want to know what you meant?"
"I meant to add a bit of humor to an ugly situation," he snaps peering up at her. "I'm sorry that it upset your delicate sensibilities. If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to leave."
"Okay," she says after a moment of watching him work with the drop cloth and her dead husband's corpse. "I apologize. No, I do not wish to roll around in the drop cloth with my late husband. But I would be glad to assist you in wrapping the cloth more tightly so that his bodily fluids do not leak out."
Her sarcasm is somewhat more bitter than his, but that's okay.
"Then let's do this."
He doesn't want to haul around a dead body with a gun wedged down his pants. Galadriel looks scared but not surprised when Halbrand takes it out. He walks to the far end of the storage unit and sets in the corner. If she's stupid enough to make a run for it, he's confident he can take her down in plenty of time.
It's a high quality, absorbent drop cloth. But Halbrand knows they're going to get some blood on themselves. Even if Galadriel hadn't kicked the hell out of Celeborn. Fortunately, they're able to get him tightly wrapped without too much of a mess—a few smears on Halbrand's shirt, a bit on Galadriel's pants. And though he hates to admit it, it is much easier getting the body in the boot with another person helping.
She spits on the body. "Arsehole."
"You realized you just spit DNA in there, right?"
She freezes, then uses the bottom of her shirt to wipe away the saliva. "We're going to burn this, aren't we?"
"Well, we are now." He picks up the shovel and a torch and tosses them into the boot with the corpse and closes the lid.
Galadriel walks around Celeborn's car and gets in the passenger seat. Halbrand gets into the driver's seat and stares at the wheel for a moment, trying to decide if he wants to get into yet another argument or whether he should just drive out of here.
"Do you really want to leave your car here?"
"I'd rather not, but I also don't want you to leave me."
"You can follow."
"How do I know you won't try to lose me?"
"I didn't lose you on the way here."
"You didn't know I was there."
He puts on his seatbelt. "You know what? I don't really care if you ride along or not. If you're not worried about your safety, I'm sure as hell not going to be."
She fastens her own seatbelt. "Good. Thanks."
Halbrand turns over the engine and checks the rearview mirror. "Except that your car is blocking me."
"Oh. Sorry. I'll move it."
Galadriel quickly gets out of the car and into her own vehicle. It's hard to believe that things went so smoothly back when he was a thrill-killer. Now he feels like the kind of buffoon who deserves to get caught.
She moves her car, just enough to let him out.
He backs up, and she hurriedly shuts off her engine and gets out, clearly believing that he's going to drive off and leave her. Halbrand almost thinks she'll jump in front of his car—well, Celeborn's car technically—before she lets that happen.
But he wasn't going to leave her. He applies the breaks and she gets in.
They drive off.
And...he realizes he left his gun behind. He neither needs it or even wants it, but that's another blunder to add to tonight's tally. This woman is really messing with his head.
*****
She gives him exactly thirty seconds of peace—he counts them—before the next question. "What are you going to do to your girlfriend?"
He contemplates ignoring her, but Halbrand thinks that might just make her even more like a rabid dog. "You already asked that."
"You didn't answer."
"Yes, I did."
"You didn't answer truthfully."
A brick stone building is coming up and he imagines conversing with it would be less infuriating. Certainly if he plows right into it.
"I'm not going to do anything to her."
"Bullshit. You expect me to believe you caught her cheating with Celeborn, and you're so angry you murdered him, but you're not going to say a peep to her?"
Galadriel's utter disappointment with him over the fact that he, a man who's just murdered her husband, isn't being one hundred percent forthright when it comes to his personal life, versus, say, outrage for murdering her husband, leaves him feeling as if he's in some sort of twilight zone.
"That's precisely what I'm saying."
"What are going to do when she asks about him?"
The brick stone passes them by. He sighs. "There would be absolutely no reason for her to ask me about him. I didn't know him. She's not likely to say 'Hey, this bloke I was fucking has gone missing; got any details?' And I didn't kill him out of anger. Or revenge. I killed him because I didn't want to lose her. So, yes, I'm going to pretend everything is fine, and hope that it was a one time thing."
His chest heaves, releasing in one giant gust of air. And it's blessedly quiet for a few minutes.
"I can respect that," she says, breaking the silence.
"Thank you."
"But let's say you did want to teach her a lesson."
He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, pours everything he has into not violently tearing out the wheel and bailing from the car. This is possible because, if he's honest with himself, her behavior, though strange and nonsensical, is incredibly intriguing. Obviously, there's a screw loose, but who is he to judge considering he's missing a few bolts himself.
"I don't."
"I know you don't, but hypothetically. What if you came home from burying Celeborn and caught her in bed with another man? No, lets say two men. What if you came home and she was in bed with two other men?"
He raises his brows. "Are these your own fantasies we're talking about?"
She drops back into her seat. "Maybe that's taking it too far. Okay, you come home and see a strange car parked in your drive. You think that's kind of weird since it's so late, but you're not too concerned."
"You're going to be putting a lot of effort into this hypothetical, aren't you?"
She continues as if he hadn't spoken at all.
"Then as you put your hand on the doorknob you get this strange feeling, like something is going on in there you're not supposed to know about, and you can't explain why, but you turn the doorknob very slowly, trying not to make a sound, trying to sneak into your own house."
"I'm on the edge of my seat with suspense," Halbrand says, "but I also don't live with her."
Again, she ignores him.
"As soon as you step inside, you can hear noises coming from upstairs."
"Sex noises? Or is this taking the route of a scary movie?"
"Bedsprings creaking. Moans. You know exactly what you're hearing, but you don't want to believe it, so you very quietly make your way up the stairs. You walk down the hallway and the noises are getting louder, and you see that she's left the bedroom door open."
"Even if I did live with her, you've got floorplan completely wrong."
"You look into the bedroom, and there they are. She's on top, riding him almost as if she's trying to give you the best possible view of what's happening. You just stand there in shock. You can't believe what you're seeing. And then she notices you."
"Oh dear," he says flatly.
"Your eyes lock...and she doesn't even stop."
Halbrand smirks. "Keeping it credible, huh?"
"What would you do?" she asks with a shrug.
He releases a long, drawn out sigh. Sure, he'll play. "So, were dealing with some sort of alternate reality in which I could walk in on her cheating on me, and she wouldn't even be polite enough to pause for a moment?"
Galadriel looks around for a moment, as if that's indeed the way this should go. "Yes."
"Then I suppose I'd ask her to stop."
"Okay, let's dial it back a bit."
"Yes, let's." Though what could possibly be considered dialing it down to her has him more curious than where her actual story is headed. She's a nutter, and he's beginning to grow more and more entertained by her every second.
"You come home and catch them in the act. You wait for him to leave—"
"Oh no," he interrupts, "I wouldn't be waiting for him to leave."
"In this scenario you do."
"Well, there's no scenario in which I would. You do remember I just killed your cheating husband with an axe to the head, yeah?"
She scoffs. "Will you stop taking this so literally. I'm not asking you to sign off on a plan of action. I'm just curious. So, let's say you're so shocked you can't react, and then when the guy leaves you're alone with your girlfriend. What do you do?"
"Nothing," he says as if it were obvious. "I love her. Anything I did would be to him. Despite what you might think of me, I don't hurt women. That's not how I was raised."
It's the truth, up to a point. Women were never his victims, though that would never mean he wouldn't kill one if the situation called for it. Case in point, the absolute nutter sitting beside him.
"Okay." She's silent for a very brief, merciful moment. "Do you want to know what I would do?"
"If you had a lesbian girlfriend who cheated on you?"
"Yes."
"I'm sure you'll tell me."
"All I would do, is let her know that I know."
He glances between her and the road, a small smile of pride on her face. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"And you felt the need to share that pathetic plan with me?"
She shrugs. "I wouldn't come out and say anything. I'd be subtle."
"Somehow I doubt it," Halbrand says with a shake of his head.
"I'd say that one of the neighbors complained about a strange car in our drive was blocking the sidewalk. And I'd pretend that I believed whatever excuse she came up with. And maybe every few days or so, just as the guilt starts to fade, I'd figure out some other little subtle way to remind her. Just enough so that she suspected I knew, but couldn't be sure."
She's really terrible at this. He doesn't want to debate her because that would encourage her to continue speaking, but what she's saying is ridiculous and he cannot let it lie.
"Really? Having murdered her lover you'd throw around hints that you were involved."
"We didn't murder her lover. You're not paying attention."
"So he's still around? She's still sleeping with him?"
"Yes. Or she was, until the guilt started eating her alive, and she became so paranoid that she had to break it off."
He huffs to show his disappointment, but enough of a laugh to keep it light. "Then let me explain the big difference between us. You, apparently, would enjoy a relationship where you torment someone, getting your thrills from a long term revenge. That's perfectly fine if you want a sour, unpleasant romance. I'm not going to judge you."
He absolutely makes sure his tone is judgemental.
"Me, I prefer to remove the element that's causing the problems, so that the relationship can be fixed."
Galadriel frowns at him from across the car and it's stupidly adorable. "Do you really think that Celeborn was the problem in your relationship?"
He shrugs. "His penis was, at least."
"That's pretty naive of you," she says, and now it's her turn to sound judgemental. "Have you thought that perhaps there might be something you could do differently, besides axe-murder her boy toy? When was the last time you brought her flowers?"
For half a second, he's offended that she would suggest that he's the one responsible for the problems in his relationship with his fabricated girlfriend.
He needs to stop talking to her about this. If this conversation goes on, at some point there will be some sort of continuity error on his part. Not that it matters. At this point, he can't even remember why he lied to her. What difference does it make if she knows that he's some famed serial killer.
Maybe he's already given it away. It's not like this was a planned out story. She might know that he's not who he says he is. She might just be toying with him. Crazy, she might be, but he can tell she's not stupid.
Galadriel needs to die. He's not petty enough to murder someone for being annoying—Celeborn not withstanding—but if she's one step ahead of him in this little game then he needs to get rid of her.
He doesn't care that she's pregnant.
She might not even be pregnant.
No, she's probably really pregnant. He'd know if she were lying.
Killing a pregnant woman is basically the same as killing two people, and Halbrand has no moral issues with killing two people. Killing two people at once is kind of impressive, actually—if you take it out of context and don't tell anyone the second person was an unborn child.
If she keeps being annoying, he'll kill her.
No, if she stays at the same level of annoyance, he'll spare her, but if she grows more annoying, she dies.
But that's petty.
He grips the wheel tighter. He doesn't know why he's even worrying about this. What difference does it make why he kills someone?
He decides he'll let her do half the body disposal work, and then he will bash her over the head with a shovel. If she's proud of being a cruel person, why not give her a cruel death?
*****
She actually lapses into silence as they continue driving. It lasts until they pull off into a dirt road.
When fantasizing about his revenge, Halbrand often thought about just leaving Celeborn in the storage unit, just like he did with his other victims. He'd almost convinced himself it was a good idea—afterall, what did it matter where his corpse is found, since Halbrand would return back into hiding.
But he couldn't justify it. He'd become suicidal if his crimes were discovered the same way as before. So into the ground Celeborn must go.
Galadriel looks nervous. Good. He hopes she's scared. He hopes she terrified. He hopes she's envisioning the terrible things he might do to her.
"Are we really just going to bury him?"
"Yes."
She looks unsure. "Is that safe?"
"For him?"
She growls, actually growls, and a stupid part of himself thinks he'd like to hear it again. "You know what I mean. Won't he be found?"
He shrugs. "Eventually, I guess."
"Isn't that a bad thing?" she asks like he's an idiot. Granted, she doesn't know that he's a seasoned professional when it comes to murder and all the things that it entails.
"If I were planning to hang out here and resume a normal life, I guess it would be a bad thing if someone dug up his body."
"What about me?"
"Hey, you wanted to come along. If you were worried about being connected to his murder, perhaps you should've stayed behind. I didn't force you into that car."
"Take me out of the equation. Won't animals dig up a body pretty quickly? Even if you're planning to skip town, you don't want something digging up the grave before you're even on a plane, do you? Why not dismember the body and get rid of the pieces separately?"
He gives her a fixed stare. "Do you know how much work that is? Do you want to dismember his body?"
"No," she answers grudgingly.
"If we bury him he's gone and done with. I don't want to spend the next three months getting rid of him a finger at a time."
Galadriel looks unconvinced that his plan of action is the right one. He grins.
"Don't worry. We're going to bury him deep. No animals are going to dig down six feet for him. Nobody will find him. As long as you don't phone in a confession to the police, you'll be fine."
She seems to trust him, and smiles with relief. "Thanks."
It makes him feel good—warm and fuzzy, which is beyond stupid. He's not even sure why he cares. He's killing her, right?