(Henry's POV)
You have ever seen a crane? Everyone should, I suppose.
Seen the cement blocks all the way up? They are there as a counterweight.
Ever seen 'Final Destination'?
Ever seen an accident so horrific, so absurd, that it is just unbelievable?
Ever seen your parents being crushed like insects?
I have.
Henrietta and I didn't have the dumbest of luck for our parents to be stuck by the cement blocks of the mentioned crane.
No, the cement blocks of the crane fell on the newly built skyscraper construct, for which the crane was there in the first place. And the debris from the construction—that it was that killed our parents in front of our eyes.
Unluckily enough, I would say.
That was the first part of how I lost my family. A dumb accident like in a movie that made people cringe with mirth.
Who should I hate? The guy inside the crane that died as well? The guys that rented the crane to the construction site? The country for building the skyscraper in a useless new district that nobody wanted anyway—a district that would now be left bare until this tragedy was forgotten?
Who was it even that built this crane? Were they inspected regularly? Had anyone ever thought that shit like this could happen?
The insurance money was huge, and the compensation was even greater. We moved into a big villa and had subordinates. Our guardian was paid off by us and scrammed with the money. Only came if we needed them to sign something.
Every evening, we would eat sweets and ice cream until we vomited.
We bought us everything we wanted—we were still children. The hollowness of our parents' deaths was filled with every material thing you could think of.
See? We didn't need our parents. We had money.
No need to hate anyone. We don't miss them. We could stay up late and watch TV whenever we wanted; nobody told us not to. Finally free.
We had a terrific time. We are alright. It is better like this. It was good like this. We are alright.
The older we got, the more excessive we became. It ended with endless parties, the mansion being left in chaos every weekend.
Music echoed through the empty rooms of this vast space, and we partied with people we had never seen before.
Then we started to get interested in the opposite sex.
Our old names had long been discarded. Emilia and Hannibal had died with our parents. I never liked my first name anyway.
So not only could you go and get free drinks and later drugs with Henry and Henrietta, if you were a good-looking man, you could get it on with Henrietta. You are a good-looking, busty girl? Henry is the man for you.
This went on for some time. We went overboard. Drugs were damn costly. The parties were as well. A garage full of cars nobody could drive was not cheap either. Our wardrobes full of designer shit had also eaten a hole in our finances.
Every few nights I heard Henrietta cry. I hated to hear her cry because we were alright. Everything was fine. No reason to cry.
Then the money was gone. We sold the mansion and moved back to our old apartment, the one we had lived with our parents in.
Henrietta and I had never been really close; we didn't know who was the older sibling because our parents had demanded to put neither of us in the spot. I think they didn't even know themselves.
I think that because we didn't know who was older, neither of us gathered the strength to be there for the other one. We both wanted to be saved by the other, so neither was saved.
At the end, it was me, the man, that finally got a grip. When we moved, I put Henrietta in a rehab clinic. I went on a withdrawal myself as well.
The money from the mansion was put in two college funds, and we started our 'normal' life. All these years were blurry when I thought of them.
But I remember clearly losing what was left of my family. When I was called to the morgue. Someone who could be my sister had been found dead.
They didn't want to tell me more.
Drugs? Had she killed herself? Why? We were good; we were alright.
I identified her body, and finally, for the first time, I felt the pain that I had not wanted to face all these years.
Breaking down, I wanted nothing more than to turn back to the life I used to have, back to the excess that let me forget.
But I couldn't. Besides this soul-shattering pain, there was also a fury I had never felt before.
And my sister had left me a trail that was easy to follow.
Should I kill him, then follow my family?
No. Too short, too easy. How about first-degree murderer imprisonment—a life more difficult than hell? I still had plenty of money left; college had already been canceled.
When her murderer came into prison, then the real fun would begin. From wardens to prisoners, I would bribe them handsomely to make his life a living hell.
Kennith Howard.
From the first real love of my sister to the one she feared the most.
Kennith Howard.
We are good; we are alright.
No.
I am good, I am alright.
Kennith Howard. I am watching you. I see how you laugh with your friends, how you drink, and how you use your ability. The reason you used to get close to Henrietta; baiting her, charming her, beating her, enticing her, and killing her.
I am good; I am alright.
Your apartment is crap, Kenny, but still, I bet your cell will be even smaller. I'll get you a nice cellmate.
Kenny, why are you going to a villa? Are you rich? Hmm, but it appears that you have been forsaken, only coming there once since I had started to follow you.
Poor Kenny.
I walked to the police, getting sent away. They don't do anything.
I am good; I am alright.
I have to get closer to him; I want to look into his eyes, and watch him fall from grace. Would he not immediately recognize me? So let's play the rouge and let go of a bit of steam. Then, Kenny, come on, won't you play with me?
Convince me, show me how innocent you are, and let me get closer to you. Maybe we could even be friends after you convinced me. Possibly, you could try to kill me as well.
Ah, I can't wait to play with you.
Kenny. You are my first-ever goal, my first-ever purpose.
I can't wait to see you suffer.