1. Brian

Ilike to have a schedule. A solid morning routine. There are two types of people in this world who have a solid routine… social media influencers… and serial killers. I don't really think of myself as a serial killer though. Serial killers aren't ambitious enough. I mean, why not monetize your passion? Why live in a trailer out in the sticks surrounded by far too much taxidermy, when you can live well and make solid money from your natural blood lust?

I get it… sometimes we have a "type" and an OCD-level ritual about it, but get some cognitive behavioral therapy guys... and evolve. You make more money that way. If I only killed women who looked like or somehow reminded me of Linda, I wouldn't have the nice life I have today.

Maybe I don't obsess about the latest designer whatever, but the truth is, I do like nice things no matter how much I may deny it to myself and others. Maybe I can't bring myself to spend that much money to buy a Patek Phillippe. Maybe I try to convince myself the Longines watch on my wrist was specifically for a job, and I wear it only as a trophy. Or maybe I'm trying to slowly acclimate myself to nicer things, which is probably closer to the real truth.

Congratulate me on my growing self-awareness.

I want to give Mina nice things. And god knows I have plenty of money sitting in banks and investments all over the world—especially since I've been able to take higher and higher contracts, and my reputation has grown among the evil and unsavory. So why not use some of it? Why not have nice things? In the endless mental scrolling of the list of things I fear Mina will get tired of eventually, her figuring out that my "lack of materialism" is really just down to laziness is now on that list. And maybe I think if I start driving a sexier car and wear nicer clothes, I'll look and feel less like a wild animal. Then maybe I'll feel worthy of her, and the bone deep fear that I'll lose her someday will go away.

Every morning I get up at six a.m. Mina is usually still sleeping at this time—at least before I granted her wish and set the alarm. And I guarantee she went right back to sleep as soon as I left.

I actually kind of like that she sleeps late. It lets me get more things done and have some Me Time. I like having a partner in crime, but sometimes I like to plan alone. I like to run on the treadmill alone. I like to think alone. I'm not exactly the most social guy.

So I get up at six, do a quick run on the treadmill, slip back downstairs to take a shower and get dressed, and then by seven-thirty every morning I'm across the street from Uncle Martin's house with a large black coffee to spy on this kid for fifteen minutes until he goes to school like a fucking weirdo. I'm the weirdo, not him.

I don't know why Aidan's safety has become my primary life concern all of a sudden. It's unnatural. I saw a video online once about a male tiger whose mate died and then he actually raised the cubs successfully to adulthood by himself. He hunted for them and left the meat. He protected them. He fucking parented. Male tigers are not monogamous, nor are they paternal. And yet, here he was, like a pathetic lovesick schmuck dragging these cubs around like it was normal.

I am that male tiger right now. This kid isn't even mine—or Mina's. But her wanting me to spare his life somehow translated in my brain into "Watch over him until he reaches adulthood and make sure no harm ever befalls him. Promise me, Brian!"

So this is my life now. Fucking great.

I am torn between the civilizing acts of nicer watches and stalker babysitting and just being the wild animal I was meant to be.

I perk up as I hear Aidan's excited six-year-old voice coming through the listening devices I planted in the kitchen. I'm bothered that Uncle Martin never sweeps for listening devices. I want to take him aside and explain that you can't be a kingpin of a criminal enterprise unless you sweep. But, if he swept I wouldn't be able to engage in my questionably sane morning routine. So, I keep this deeper wisdom to myself.

"I'm making a special Valentine for Madison Prescott," Aidan announces. "She is the most beautiful girl in the world!"

This is the happiest I think I've ever seen the kid.

"Eat your cereal," Uncle Martin says, and I hear the snap of the newspaper.

Martin is a relic of a world that still reads physical newspapers. He likes to snap the pages and get black ink on his hands. He's a man who needs that physical ritual with his bacon and eggs and coffee in the morning.

"I'm gonna marry that girl," Aidan says dreamily around bites of whatever sugary cereal is in his bowl. "She has golden wavy hair, and she looks like a fairy princess."

Uncle Martin makes what I can only describe as a skeptical sound.

"Oh, and for the party, I drew cupcakes from the bowl."

"Huh?" Uncle Martin sounds as confused as I am right now.

"The bowl. The empty fish bowl!" He says this as if understanding what an empty fish bowl has to do with this is an obvious thing everyone should know.

There is a drawn out pause where Uncle Martin's brain might be collapsing in on itself.

"Here," Aidan says, sounding exasperated. "It's all written out here."

I can only imagine the kid shoving some papers at his uncle since I don't get any actual visuals from inside the house. A bug is one thing, installing cameras is a whole other level of logistics.

Aidan continues, "So, anyway… there were folded up pink pieces of paper in this fish bowl, and we each got to draw one to see what we're bringing to the party besides our valentines. I drew cupcakes. So I have to bring cupcakes. And I need them to be chocolate with pink frosting because everybody likes chocolate, and I don't want to be the loser who brings vanilla. And also Madison likes pink. Oh and there needs to be sprinkles. And we have to get them from the good bakery. If you make them, they'll be bad, and the grocery store ones aren't good either."

I'm amazed this kid is such a cupcake connoisseur, but it's clear he's thought all this out. He must really like this girl.

"You need to bring all this on Valentine's Day?" Uncle Martin asks.

"No, the party is on the eleventh. On Friday. Read!"

"Why not Valentine's Day? That's a school day, too."

"Mrs. Schroder said kids might forget on Monday, and also that we'll be too excitable the rest of the week. She wants to do it on Friday so we can get the wiggles out over the weekend."

I nearly spit out my coffee as he quotes her reasoning.

"Her friends call her Maddie. I think that is so cool. She is so cool," Aidan says, going back to waxing poetic about all the virtues of Madison.

Martin sighs. "I wouldn't get too attached to the girls. They'll break your heart. And they're a liability."

"What's a lie-bility?" he asks, and I can almost see his nose scrunch up in confusion.

"It means they're no good. They'll cause trouble and pain. Stay free. Be a bachelor like your smart uncle."

I'm pretty sure he's referencing himself. Uncle Martin never married, so he has a housekeeper who also cooks for them. I guess he ran the numbers and figured just hiring a woman was cheaper than marrying one for free domestic servitude. And really, the math checks out.

"Well, I'm marrying her. And we'll just see about all this," Aidan says. And that's the end of that conversation.

"Hurry up, you'll miss your bus," Martin says.

And as if by magic, I see the school bus turning the corner and coming down the street. A moment later there's some shuffling and clattering, and a happy Aidan pops out the front door with his school bag. Baxter follows him outside, tail wagging.

Both I and the golden retriever watch as he gets on the school bus, sits down with another kid, and the bus starts to move again. Since he's been with Uncle Martin, he's been at a different school. Martin's house is in a better school district. He seems to be making friends, which is an improvement from the last setup.

Oh my god, just shoot me now. I do not need to know all of these facts about this kid. But of course I'll find a way to lurk and learn what goes down at this Valentine's party. I need to check out this Madison kid.

When the school bus has gone past, I start up my car and stop at a local diner to have a proper breakfast: a medium rare T-bone steak, hash browns, eggs sunny-side up, and more coffee. While I wait for my food, I read an old-fashioned print newspaper. Martin isn't the only one with this fetish. A TV suspended above the counter plays the news report from Punxsutawney. I missed the official livestream, but they're replaying it, allowing me to learn my wintry fate. From a groundhog. Maybe I am superstitious.

Once I've seen the groundhog and have finished breakfast, I return to the house to find Mina still asleep. No surprise there. I leave her a note and go back upstairs.