That’s why you murdered him in the way that you did. Only King Edward, you believed, would choose that precise way of committing murder. It was your way of proving to me that you, King Edward, exist independently of Damon Blundy. You sacrificed his life to show me how much I mean to you. I get that. But I can’t love, or forgive, Damon Blundy’s killer. I loved him, even though I didn’t know him. And part of what I loved about him was the real him. I read nearly as many of his words as yours, remember.

He wasn’t a bad person. As Gavin, you were wrong about him. Damon was the best kind of good: the kind that’s willing to sacrifice its own appearance of goodness in the eyes of the world, and the ego-boost that goes with that, in order to make a real difference. Damon Blundy wasn’t a good man, no—he was a great man. He stuck up for people. He forced hypocrites and mediocrities to face unwelcome truths so that they had the opportunity to become their best possible selves. Hardly anyone understood this about him.

You probably waited for the details of how you murdered him to appear in the papers, and when they never did, you placed your “Looking for a Woman with a Secret” ad—to make sure I found out how he’d been killed. What did you hope would happen then? Did you expect me to take a brutal murder as definitive evidence of your love for me, and give you another chance? Or did you simply want me to know that you, King Edward, are a person in your own right?

Which person, though? Who are you, King Edward? I’m waiting here, in “our” hotel, only because I need to know the answer to that question.

Please don’t let me down again. I’ve emailed your King Edward account and the Gavin one to say I’m in room 419, the Chancery Hotel, Bloomsbury—same as last time. I’ll wait as long as I have to. Please come.

Nicki

Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone

CHAPTER 13

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

KING EDWARD IS LATE. Nearly an hour late. I’ve had nothing from him in the last hour apart from a text message saying, “Wait. Don’t move. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Turn your phone off, prepare the room and wait.”

I am prepared. In bed, blindfold on. The curtains are drawn; the door is ajar; the “Do not disturb” sign is in position.

My heart ticks in my chest. It’s the only sound I can hear, since I turned off the too-noisy air conditioning. It makes me think of the old clock in Lee and Melissa’s kitchen. Tick, tick, tick . . .