He Watches Me Murder

Those men who supposedly fell at my wife's feet? She put them in the ground. One at a time. Quiet about it. And me.

I'm the thing that ate her last husband and walked back through the front door wearing his face.

The whole world agrees she's a scheming little liar who climbed over better people to get where she is. Only I know the truth. The comments start on the drive home.

They scroll across the air in front of me when I'm not expecting them, a thin bright river of them, like a livestream chat nobody else can see.

They talk about my wife like she's the villainess of some trashy serial they've all been binging. They know the plot. They think they know how it ends.

Before she married me, they say, she left a trail of ruined benefactors behind her. A stepfather. A class president. A professor.

They say she faked her way through one of the best schools in the country and got thrown out for it.

They say any day now she'll get her claws into my boss, too. [God, this husband is precious. He has NO idea.] [New reader here.

Wait, she's actually going to work the boss next? lmao] [It's a villainess serial, hon. Gorgeous, coldblooded, leaves a body count of wrecked men.

That's the whole appeal.] My job, in their version of the story, is simple. I'm the sap. The clueless husband who makes the whole con look respectable. The furniture.

Right now, in their version and mine, I'm driving that boss home for dinner.

Chapter 1 "Tell you what, kid," Roy said, warming to it. "Have that wife of yours grab a case of wine tonight.

We'll have a couple drinks, and we'll talk about whether you get that promotion." He let it sit. "Or whether that little problem of yours comes back up.

Depends how reasonable she wants to be." I put my foot through the brake. Momentum did the rest.

Roy's head, heavy as a balloon full of water, hit the roof with a solid thunk. "The hell—" He grabbed his skull. "Kid, what is wrong with you?

You even know how to drive?" The manual for being human, rule five: when you injure a human by accident, you apologize. If necessary, you may dress it up with a lie.

So I told him, sincerely, "Sorry.

A cat ran across the road." "Yeah?" He squinted at me, cradling the red welt on his forehead. "Didn't see any cat." "It's in the bushes now." He was not satisfied. "Next time just drive over the thing.

It's a cat. You want to give me a concussion?" I said yes, of course, and then, with concern, "Do you want me to take you to a hospital?" [This husband is too pure for this world.

You think the boss is going to a hospital? He's got tonight all planned. Get her alone, lean on her, watch her work him like she worked all the rest.] [Hold on, I just got here.

She's going to run a con on this guy? He looks like a pig in a golf shirt. Even trash has standards.] [You're new. Doesn't matter if he's a pig.

The lead's hot and she ruins men for sport. Everything else is set dressing.] Sure enough, Roy waved it off. "It's a scratch.

When we get to your place, your wife can patch me up." Then something occurred to him and he chuckled to himself. "Not gonna lie, kid. That wife of yours.

She's got capable hands on her." "Wren does have good hands," I agreed. The next second, my foot came down again.

Another sound, bigger this time, as the top of Roy's head kissed the roof. Much worse than before. Blood came down his forehead in a slow line.

It made him look like a little cream cake with raspberry sauce poured over the top. Pretty. And, I thought, delicious. I swallowed, and stayed polite. "Roy.

Do you want to go to the hospital now?" He didn't answer. I obeyed the traffic laws, pulled clean onto the shoulder, and reached over to poke him. Passed out.

That explained the rudeness. Which left a problem. Even Wren's good hands couldn't fix a wound like this one.

Chapter 2 So I drove him to the hospital instead, and said my goodbyes with real regret. "Sorry about this, Roy.

Guess dinner's another time." I paused, and added, helpfully, "Buckle up next time." He was still out. He didn't answer that either. Rude.

Wren had a full spread waiting when I got home, more dishes than the two of us could finish.

She heard the door and came to take my coat, set my slippers down by the rack, asked me softly why I was so late.

I rolled the stiffness out of my shoulders. "Traffic." Her eyes went past me, to the empty hallway. "Where's your boss?

I thought he was coming for dinner." "He felt sick on the way," I said. "Rain check." Something in her let go. You could watch it happen. The comments came back. [Wait, WHAT.

Tonight was supposed to be her big move on the boss. Why's he not here?] [I had my popcorn out and everything. This is it?] [Relax. A man like that doesn't let go.

He set his sights on her at the company retreat. No tonight just means there's a next time.] [Aw, look at her though, she seems let down.

Was she looking forward to working him tonight?] Let down? I studied my wife's face. It looked more like relief to me.

Then again, I hadn't been a person very long, and human faces were not yet my strong subject.

So, in the interest of being thorough, I asked her, "Are you disappointed?" She blinked. "What?" I repeated it, patiently. "Roy didn't come tonight.

Are you disappointed?" The color went out of her face.

Her dark eyes came up to mine. "Do you want the honest answer?" "Of course." Wren pulled the corner of her mouth sideways. "I'm not disappointed.

I'm glad." She said it evenly. "I hate your boss. I hate the way he looks at me.

Like I'm a chip he's already holding, and he's just deciding when to cash me in." [There she goes, playing innocent again.] [Right?

Okay, at the start you could argue the boss was leaning on her husband's job to force her hand. But come on. She's into the game now.] [She's the villainess in a trashy serial.

Why's she doing the woundedsaint act?] It was aggravating. Why did the comments always say the opposite of what Wren said?

The manual for being human, rule seventeen: if you are lucky enough to be given a human partner, you have two options. Believe them completely.

Or eat them whole and leave nothing behind. I didn't want to eat Wren yet. So I chose to believe my beautiful wife.

I nodded, and told her, "Then I'll quit." Her face locked. "...What?" "You don't like my boss," I said, reasonable about it. "So I'll quit." "You don't have to." She gave me a long, complicated look, and drew me down into the chair beside her. "Just don't invite him over again." What an understanding wife.

Chapter 3 Her cooking only deepened it. First time being a person, and I'd landed a wife this kind, this careful. It almost made me jealous of the poor bastard I ate to get here.

What was his name again. Grady. Grady Boyd. Mine now. After dinner we went to the bedroom. I don't tire. That surprised her the first time, and it kept surprising her.

We were both satisfied. Whatever the comments think, I am not some useless husband. Afterward the flush still hadn't left her face.

I tucked a sweatdamp strand of hair behind her ear with the tip of one finger, careful about it.

She turned into me and laid a cool palm flat on my chest. "Your heart's so slow." Her voice was almost sleep, her black eyes fixed on mine. "A human heart isn't supposed to be this slow." It was a little slow.

I'd gotten caught up and forgotten to keep it going. I fixed it. "Better?" "Much." She took her hand back and turned over to sleep. I felt a small letdown.

I reached over anyway and pulled her in against me from behind. Thanks to my wife, I got a little more human today. The next morning I went to work like normal.

I'd barely put one foot through the door before Roy called me into his office. I really had hit him too soft. He was up and back at work already?

He watched me, dark and flat, thick hands folded on his chest, and told me in a hoarse voice to drive out to the next city that afternoon on business.

I frowned. "This sudden?" He gave a short, cold laugh and pointed at the gauze taped to his head. "Business trip, or a cell. Your call." I knew this part.

In human society, to keep a family fed, a man swallows a little humiliation at work. So I agreed to the trip, wronged about it.

There was only time to call my wife before I was on the road. The comments came back, familiar now. [Thought the boss arc was dead. Never underestimate a determined creep.

He shipped the husband out of town.] [He's driving to her place RIGHT NOW while hubby's gone. Go on.

Corner her.] [This is the part I stay for.] My boss was a textbook middleaged manager.

Balding a little, darkfaced, heavy through the shoulders, walking like a grown bear that had learned to wear a golf shirt.

What kind of person looked at a bear like that and hoped, on behalf of my beautiful wife? How were any of them more of a monster than me, and I'm an actual monster.

Turning that over, I woke the tendril I'd left in her. The view snapped back to the house. I watched Roy talk his way in through our door, some story about an urgent file.

Wren poured him a glass of water, polite, and went to the study to look for the thing that didn't exist.

Chapter 4 She was halfway through looking when two big hands came at her from behind and locked around her. Hot breath at her ear. Cigarettes under it. "Mrs. Boyd.

You've made this so much harder than it had to be." "That husband of yours. Smalltime. No vision. Nothing. He was never in your league." "You know he's first on the layoff list?

Do this one thing for me and I cross his name off. Just the one signature.

Easy." Roy was shaking with how good it felt to him, one hand clamped on her, the other flattening a document on the desk in front of her, pushing a pen at her fingers.

I steered the tendril to his temple and lined up the killing stroke. The next second I stopped. My prey was dead. Half of it, anyway.

Wren drew a knife from a hidden slot in the side of the desk and put it into Roy's fat belly. Her hand was steady. Her eyes were cold.

She fed the blade in slow, and asked him, gently: "Mr. Bragg. What did you just say?" Why was there a knife in there