needed to hear both sides, but Matthew, who’d despised that cocky, insignificant shit even when he’d had him in freshman American history, knew that Dustin was guilty. And he knew that, one day, he would mete out justice. Time was on his side—it always was—and after Dustin had graduated from Boston College, he’d conveniently posted on his Facebook page the actual address of the apartment in Cambridge that his parents, no doubt, were renting for him.
All through late winter and into early spring, Matthew spent time in Huron Village, watching Dustin. He did this only when Mira was away on business. He grew a beard, something he often did in the winter months, and wore a scally cap, and he never let Dustin get a good look at him. The closest call came one night at the Village Inn, the only bar in that part of Cambridge and a place that Dustin sometimes showed up at on Thursday nights. Matthew was in one of the back booths, drinking a ginger ale, when Dustin came in, clearly looking for someone, scanning all the customers. But Matthew felt Dustin’s eyes pass right over him. He was looking for a female, either a particular one or just an available one. He settled at the bar, where he ordered a pint of beer and watched the hockey game on the television mounted in the corner.
The close call gave Matthew an idea of how he could kill his former student. Two weeks later—Mira was in Kansas City—Matthew returned to the Village Inn on a Thursday night. He didn’t go in, but sat in his car across the street doing the Boston Globe crossword and keeping an eye on the entrance to the bar. Just before ten Dustin, walking a little unsteadily, made his way down the street and pushed his way through the doorway into the Village Inn.
What happened next was a series of extraordinarily lucky events. Recounting them to himself made Matthew’s skin tighten and his breathing quicken. It was like watching a suspenseful film for the second time and still feeling excitement even though you knew the outcome. Matthew, skirting through backyards, made it, unnoticed, to the rear of the condo-ized Victorian that Dustin lived in. He was on the second floor and there was a rear balcony. It wasn’t easy, but Matthew stood on the railing of the first-floor deck and hoisted himself onto Dustin’s balcony. He had hoped the back entrance was unlocked and it was. Matthew, wearing gloves and a balaclava, entered Dustin’s apartment. He took a quick look around so that he knew the layout, then looked for a hiding place. He had hoped for a closet with an alcove, but the two closets in the apartment were both packed with junk—Dustin was one of those phonies with a tidy apartment that was only tidy because he’d shoved all his belongings out of sight. Matthew hid underneath Dustin’s platform bed. And he waited, hoping that Dustin, when he returned, would be alone.
Not only did he return alone, but he also returned drunk. Matthew, under the bed, could hear the slam of the front door, the heavy footsteps, and then Dustin was in the bathroom just next to the bedroom taking a long, forceful piss. He was talking to himself—Matthew picked up, among other things, a protracted “Jesus Christ” as he emptied his bladder—and then Dustin went into the living room. Matthew expected to hear the television turn on, but there was nothing. Just silence.
He made himself wait for an hour, at least, then Matthew slid out from under the bed and stepped quietly into the living room, carrying his backpack with him.
Dustin was passed out on a reclining chair, still dressed, one hand holding the remote as though he had meant to turn on the television. It was a perfect situation. In Matthew’s bag was a roll of duct tape, a stun gun, several plastic bags, even a jackknife, although the last thing Matthew wanted to do was cause any blood to spill.
Holding his stun gun in his left hand, just in case, Matthew duct-taped Dustin’s legs to the footrest of the recliner, all while Dustin continued to sleep. He stirred awake only after a piece of tape had been wrapped around his chest and upper arms. “What the fuck?” he said, and Matthew hit him with a volt from the stun gun that doubled as a flashlight. While Dustin recovered, Matthew duct-taped over his mouth, then secured his