Arend has to give it to her, the calm — the determination to die? fucking millenials — is truly impressive, in either case. Driving someone preemptively suicidal into the middle of the woods feels… just a tad like a waste of time, and takes just about half the intended effect out of it. But it’s okay.
Keys taken out of ignition, Arend steps outside, a little hurry up gesture with the end of his gun as he walks by the passenger door and slides it open for Chen — Arend Fehler is nothing, if he is not a gentleman — before going for the trunk of the black BMW. “Lynn,” and it’s sweet and wistful, very we had such a good thing going, and now look what you’ve done. None of this is his usual modus operandi. None of it is what he wants it to be. He expects people to come to him, with problems that could endanger the family, problems that he could take care of instead of resorting to all this barbaric nonsense.
If instead they lie and choose to just hope he won’t find out — well, they have made their own bed. ( The air is fresh and brisk, wonderful this time of the night, as he walks just several steps away from the car and sticks the shovel into a patch of earth. )
Have dug their own grave, if you will.
“I’ll let you contemplate whether it’s some fucked up drill over a bit of manual labour,” with a cheerful tap on the handle, Arend moves to lean on the side of the car, letting Lynn take the reign over this one. After all, he would never. “Clears the mind.”
Without really taking his eyes off Chen, wondering just how long a proper confession will take — hoping, for her sake, that it will come at all — Arend sighs, prompting and making it clear… vaguely, that there’s hardly much to hide at this point. He really just needs her to out with the whole thing, first. “I’ll help. Xian Hu, seventeenth of September. Rings any bells?”
The silence outside of the car was deafening. There was nothing around them but darkness and miles and miles of thick woods. One thing Lynn knew with certainty was that her body would never be found; or maybe one lone hitchhiker would get his day ruined, a lack of luck coming into play. The familiar rustling click of a gun didn’t scare her. Seeing the gun in Arend’s hand didn’t make her any more anxious than she already was --- was she truly anxious or just impatient to get everything over with?
Without thinking about it, Lynn did what Arend ---- and the gun ---- had silently told her to do. She stepped out and closed the car door behind her. Lynn’s eyes followed the Consigliere, watching every step as he headed for the trunk of the car. You’ve gotta be kidding me. Reality had hit her, yet again, without seeing anything else. The dots weren’t hard to connect. The way Arend said her name had been clear enough, she just wished he would get it over with instead of wrapping everything in theatrics. Nothing about Lynn’s life was like that, so why should her death be any different?
Lynn had to wonder if what she was feeling at the moment was what death row prisoners felt.
The sight of the shovel made her chest deal with a sharp, small pain in the middle of it as it rose and fell with shallow breaths; it was as if breathing had become secondary to all of her thoughts. The rest of her kept itself together, or so she hoped. Lynn didn’t move as he walked by her and stopped a few feet away.
Digging her own grave. How fitting. His words were poisonous and yet Lynn obliged, like the good soldier she was. Lynn scoffed, finally taking the steps to close the distance between them; her death row walk. “Wouldn’t want to die with a messy mind,” the Capo spoke, looking at Arend in the eye before snatching the shovel from his hand.
One, two, three --- dig after dig, Lynn was more annoyed than anything. It was too much to ask for a quick death these days.
Her digging stopped when she heard him speak again. Lynn never thought she would hear that name again nor did she think she would think about that date again. Her grip on the handle tightened, anger long buried inside of her bubbling to the surface. The man that changed her mind forever and the date she had wore black for the worse reason there is.
Everything around her had frozen and there was a rising tightening sensation in her forehead. Was that ringing in her ears? Lynn gulped, thinking of what she should say. It seemed like everything she did and said were of the utmost importance at that moment. She began digging again, shrugging her shoulders and trying to not let show that he had struck something. “I’m not good with names or dates,” neither denying or confirming his words.
Lynn didn’t know how he knew but it made her uncomfortable. Her past was supposed to remain just where it was: the past. Of all the things she thought she’d be killed for, that was the worst reason.
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