LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 1

      It’s time. Long past it, really. She won’t be able to ignore me this time. Will she rant or cower? The Great Lady. The Star. The fake. I’ll bring her low, make her crawl for help that won’t be there. But for now, let her rant . . . please. Only later will it need to be fear; only then will she have to quiver and beg and recognize. I’d kill to see that. Have killed. I tingle when I think of her taking her last breath. Anticipation courses through my veins like a drug, warming me in tender places. Her last breath. Her end. Me standing there. Watching.

      Soon she’ll hold my letter; my words will be in her head. This time her hands will surely tremble as the full weight of my loathing floods out. On an endless loop, the moment plays. Her hands. My hate. Every frame, every image, a feast to savor one morsel at a time, slow and easy, as I digest each bite in infinite stages, stretching a lifetime between first taste and last.

      Now.

      Stark white paper, bright red pens lined up like bloody soldiers. What a presentation it makes. The paper feels cool under the reverent sweep of my hand. It’s almost a shame to write on it . . . almost.

      Just the right words.

      A monstrous debt is owed; payment is now due.

      Where to begin . . . ?

      Ah, yes . . .

      Dear Bitch . . .

      * * *

      “You know that bike cost more than my first car, right?” Ben said as I coasted up to him on the bike path at Promontory Point.

      I’d

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