“How kind.”
“I think so, considering the nightmare you’ve put me through. But you are industrious, I’ll give you that.”
“Let’s get this over with.” Emilio takes his phone from his pocket. “The files are all digital. I’ll let you watch me deleting them.”
“How do I know you don’t have a copy?”
Emilio sighs. “You don’t. You’ll have to trust me.”
Dean Wotherspoon hesitates. I can see the indecision. He glances at me, frowns a bit, probably wonders what the hell I’m doing here, but seems to shake it off. He stares at Emilio again.
“You come to me,” he says, gesturing impatiently. “I want you to delete it from everywhere. Local copies, cloud copies, email copies. Wherever it is.”
Emilio says nothing and walks to him.
I can’t see what they’re doing. I inch closer so I can hear, but a look from Emilio makes me stop still firmly on the path. Emilio takes out of his phone, taps it, and the pair of them stare as Emilio scrolls, taps, and swipes.
Slowly, a grin spreads across Dean Wotherspoon’s face.
“Dropbox,” Emilio says, “email, local, and a backup I keep on a server back in my family’s house. That’s everything.” When he’s done, he nods and looks Dean Wotherspoon in the eye. “Are you satisfied? Can we be done with this?”
“You’re really going to become a regular student, aren’t you?” He glances at me again. “It’s for her, isn’t it? You’re giving all of this up for her.”
Emilio hesitates then turns back to me. The look in his eyes nearly breaks my heart—it’s painful, like he’s struggling, and I’m not sure what’s happening inside of him but I want to make everything okay for him. If this is what he wants, I can learn to live with it. If Calico has to die so we can begin to heal, I can accept that.
Sometimes, pain is a good thing. Sometimes, pain can feel good.
And right now, I hurt so bad it’s like I’m breaking down the middle.
“All of this is for her,” Emilio says and holds out a hand. “Shake on it.”
Dean Wotherspoon laughs and takes the offered palm. Emilio squeezes, holds tight, and the handshake goes on for a beat too long before the dean’s face twists.
“What are you doing? Let me—”
Emilio steps forward and slams a knee into the dean’s guts.
The dean doubles over, groaning, but Emilio doesn’t release his hand. He moves forward, driving the dean back and back and back—toward the edge of the cliffs.
“What are you doing?” the dean gasps. “Are you playing some fucking game? Let me go, Emilio. Release me right now.”
“Sorry, Walt,” Emilio says and his voice is loud and strong. I watch in excited terror, stuck to the spot, not sure what the hell is going on right now. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do about you. I could’ve released that recording, but I’m not sure it would’ve ruined you the way you imagined it would. There are too many ways you can weasel yourself from a nasty situation, and there’s really only one solution. I knew it the second I saw my house burning.”
“Let me go.” The dean struggles and tries to fight but Emilio is bigger and stronger and younger. Emilio punches the dean in the face once, twice, and the dean sags, moaning.
“Right now, Nathan’s in your office. He’s planting a bunch of half-drunk alcohol bottles all over. Dom’s in your car, doing the same thing. Paola’s doing some very interesting computer work and leaving a nice, long digital trail. And Lesley’s in your house, creating our masterpiece.”
“What is this?” Dean Wotherspoon gasps as Emilio shoves him back. They’re inches from the edge and the dean nearly slips, but Emilio holds him tight. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“No, Walt. You fucked up. Burning my boat was bad enough, but I could’ve forgiven that. I would’ve made your life hell, but nothing too bad would’ve happened. No, you went too far when you burned down my home. It was like you stabbed me in the heart and spit on the ashes, and I can’t abide that disrespect, Walt.”
“You’ve gone insane. Emilio, stop this, stop right now. You’re not like this. You’re not—”
“That’s where you’re fucking wrong.” Emilio snarls in his face and my hands fly to my mouth. “I am like this. This is who I was born to be. I tried to save Lucy that night because I liked her. But I don’t like you.”
“You can’t. You can’t do this. It’s murder!”
“I can and I will.” Emilio’s grin is blazing hot and massive. “Lesley’s writing your suicide note right now on one of your precious little vintage typewriters. Even though it’s not in your handwriting, everyone will believe it’s from you. A tragic suicide. A secret alcoholic. The weight of Lucy’s death, too heavy on his shoulders.” He laughs sharply, bitterly. “Don’t worry, the details about that night are in the note, and I’ll make sure to confirm them.”