Fandom: Harper's Island
Word Count: 1,124
Ship(s)/Character(s): Trish Wellington/Henry Dunn
Summary: He had been hoping to put off ending her life.
Notes: Minor sexual content and violence.
He had been hoping to put off ending her life. It wasn’t as though he really wanted to keep her alive (some small part of him did want that, the part that genuinely cared about her but wasn’t strong enough to overshadow the rest of him) but he had hoped to keep her around for a little while longer. He had hoped that she would be around until the very end, that he would be able to let her father have more time with her but now that help is coming he knows that she can’t last long; her time is rapidly approaching. His ‘mother’ (or the woman who pretended to be his mother his whole life) had mentioned to him once something about the Fates, how in Greek mythology the sisters controlled life; one spun the string of life, one decided how long it was and the other cut it when it was someone’s time to die. Well, the Fates are getting ready to cut her string sooner rather than later.
Walking alongside her as they head back to the Candlewick he thinks that it would have been better if she had died when she fell off of that cliff; it would have made this so much easier and he would have had a very, very good excuse to finally get rid of Jimmy. He could have convinced the others that Jimmy had killed Trish, that he was working with Wakefield. Her death would have accomplished that. (True, he might never have been able to convince Abby but with everyone else convinced that would have mattered very little. And in time she would have probably figured that perhaps they were right. In time she could have forgiven him for ending Jimmy’s life.)
In truth he was worried that he would have to be the one to end her life. He had left her alone enough times in hopes that his father would take care of that for him but he hadn’t. Perhaps his father had hoped that he would do it himself, that he would silently admit that she was just a part of their plan and that it wouldn’t bother him to end her life. And while he knows he’ll be able to end her life he wishes he didn’t have to be the one to end it; he wishes his father could take care of that for him. He had already killed his ‘brother’ (who he would never let his father know he truly cared for; who he had wished he could let go but knew he couldn’t) so he didn’t think he should have to kill her to prove that he was truly dedicated to his plan. (His plan, not his father’s. Never his father’s.)
She separates from him, goes to take a shower and clean off; he goes to gather the luggage, keeping that mask in place. He knows no one is going to need their bags in the end. (Except for him and Abby; except for the two of them when they go to the home he had picked out just for them. He had worked so hard to make sure that it was a nice house, the nicest house he could find. She deserved that much. She deserves that much and so much more but he has already done so, so much for her. She can never know just how much though. Not ever.)
He comes back, watched Trish come out of the bedroom in her white dress, her hair still wet, her eyes nearly filling with tears again. She would have made a beautiful bride. If she had loved anyone but him then maybe she would have gotten the chance to actually be one; maybe she would have been lucky and would live to see thirty, forty, fifty. Maybe if she had been smart enough to see the monster that lurked beneath his eyes then the sand in her hourglass wouldn’t be running out so quickly. So many maybes but no chances to change any of it.
He kisses her with his mask still on, that part of him who cares for her begging the rest of him jus to let her go but he can’t do that; he could never do that. But he gives her the comfort that she seems to need, lets her feel loved for a while longer, gives her the only gift he can give her now.
He watches her when they make love on the couch- the very couch she had planted herself on and cried herself hoarse on after her father died- his eyes never leaving hers, watching her in that simple white dress she had chosen out and thinking that it would have been nice to see her get to use it; that it would have been nice to be able to at least give her the wedding she wanted so much. And he think about, with some unimaginable amount of joy, the way it had looked to see her father lying on the church floor with his head split in two and almost lets the monster show, almost lets her see the darkness inside of him. Oh, he had enjoyed ending Thomas Wellington’s life, had enjoyed ending Richard Allen’s life and Malcolm’s and Ben’s. It gives him this sort of sick thrill that runs up his spine and makes him shudder. He plays it off as part of their intimacy and she believes it just like all the times when he imagined how easy it would be to snap her neck or choke her to death as they were entwined like this. He always played it off as a reaction to their bodies being so intimately connected. She always believed it. Always.
Afterwards they lay on the couch together. He lets her think that they’ll be heading home; lets her think that everything will be just fine as soon as help arrives. He plays the part, strokes his hand up and down her arm, lays a kiss to her head, inhales the scent of her shampoo. (The affection he has for her rises up, threatens to choke him where he lay.)
There’s a noise outside. He knows it’s his father.
He keeps the mask in place, sits up to go check out the noise, slides his shoes on, lifts up the gun. He spots his father in the distance, turns to let her know he’ll be right back, that he’s just going to see what that noise was and to stay there. She looks at him with eyes so full of trust and fear for him. (The irony doesn’t escape him.)
He closes the door behind him as he leaves.
He bids her a silent final goodbye.