Chapter 3

The next morning, Sophie dug out the designer watch she'd given me at the wedding.

She strapped it around the mastiff's foreleg and posed the dog in front of the mirror, snapping selfies like it was the best fun she'd had all week.

When I passed, she tossed a comment my way.

"What do you think? Good taste, right?"

"This watch is gorgeous. The longer I look, the prettier it gets."

I let out a cold laugh. The longer I looked, the more it grated on me.

"Suits the dog better than it ever suited me."

"Almost like you bought it for him on purpose."

Sophie ignored that, turned, and walked the mastiff out the door, leaving only one parting line.

"Iron Fist caught a bit of a cold yesterday. You must've forgotten to shut the window before bed."

"I'm taking him to the vet to get checked."

I lit a cigarette and pressed my lips tight.

The memories of my last life drifted up with the smoke.

I bought her a house, a car, gave her everything she asked for, everything I had to give.

And still, in Sophie's heart, I never once measured up to that dog.

When the mastiff deliberately tripped me and I lost two front teeth on the way down, she said:

"Don't you watch where you're going? You stepped on Iron Fist's paw and hurt it."

When I was allergic to dog hair and my eyes swelled shut, she said:

"A grown man this delicate. Aren't you embarrassed?"

When I ran a fever of a hundred and two, she moved next door with the dog, scared she'd catch it.

But the dog sneezes once, and she's rushing it to the hospital.

By the time I came back to myself, the footsteps outside had faded down the hall.

I stared at the phone charger still plugged in by the bed.

Sparks burst around the socket, and a sharp, burnt stink followed fast.

I left it. I got up, gathered my valuables, and walked out.

Last life, Sophie's charger blew too.

I caught it in time back then, before it became a fire.

But now, I wanted this one to burn as hot as it could.

To burn away the thing that had no business being in that room.

I set my things in the car, then went out to have breakfast.

By the time I came back, the bedroom was pouring smoke.

I called the fire department, in no hurry at all.

I'd picked the renovation materials in that room myself. Flame-resistant.

At most, the bedroom furniture would be lost.

Ten minutes later, Sophie arrived with the fire truck.

She'd run into the complex on foot.

Ran so fast she'd lost her shoes, both feet cut open in a few places.

The mastiff had come back with her too.

It clawed at the fire truck's door, its barking shrill and frantic.

Every time it tried to charge into the fire, the firefighters dragged it back.

The comatose body was still under the bed.

Sophie and that dog were both out of their minds.

They feared losing the vessel of that body, and feared even more that I'd find the secret beneath the bed.

I played the caring husband and comforted her.

"It's fine. We've got insurance. We won't lose much money."

"Just money for peace of mind, that's all."

Sophie was crying now, shoulders trembling, but she didn't dare say anything to me.

She could only hold herself together.

"Honey, you go on to work. I've got things here."

"Your allergies, you can't handle all this smoke. I'll deal with it."

I laughed to myself.

Now she remembered my allergies?

But I didn't call her out.

I even transferred her ten thousand dollars, told her not to get herself worked up.

After a few more empty, tender words, I drove the car out past the complex, then turned and came back.

Watched with my own eyes as the firefighters dug the blackened man out from under the bed.

Pity.

The body wasn't dead. But ninety percent of the skin was burned, huge stretches of it gone.

Even if he woke, he'd be a monster for the rest of his days, unable to do a thing for himself.

Sophie had a statement from Garry's family, so the whole thing was quietly dropped.