best way to fuck her up.” He went to the bar before Corbin could answer.
They concocted a plan. Henry knew a disused graveyard north of Hampstead Heath called Boddington Cemetery. He’d discovered it in his first week in London on a Sunday afternoon walk. The gravestones were mostly vandalized, and it was completely overgrown with trees and shrubs. Henry had already mentioned it to Claire, telling her that he wanted her to come back there with him before he returned to America, that he wanted to bring his camera and take pictures. She agreed, and they settled on a Wednesday afternoon. Henry hadn’t seen anyone there on a sunny Sunday and didn’t expect anyone there during the middle of the week. Except for Corbin, who would be waiting in the center of the cemetery, where they’d scare her enough to make her never want to get involved with two men at the same time again. Or one man, for that matter.
Henry gave Corbin a detailed sketch of the park. Near the center, the terrain dipped into a shallow valley. On one of the graves was a moss-covered statue of an angel, the head missing. Henry had written decapitated angel on the sketch, and had designated it as the perfect place.
“What if someone else is there?” Corbin had asked.
“No one will be there. And so what if they are? We’re just scaring her.”
Wednesday turned out to be typical London weather, the sky filled with low, fast-moving clouds, the cool air peppered with occasional rain. Corbin found the entrance to the cemetery and slid past the broken gate. There was still a discernible path, littered with rotting leaves, and he followed it into the heart of the cemetery. Henry had been right. There wasn’t going to be anyone here today. Maybe on a sunny weekend a photographer might turn up, but not on a rainy weekday. He felt confident that he was alone.
Following Henry’s sketch, Corbin found the split in the path and turned left, having to push his way past damp branches to reach the hidden clearing. He spotted the decapitated angel right away. She was robed and holding a garland of leaves. The stone was entirely covered in lichen, and she wasn’t just missing her head, but both tips of her wings, as though they’d been clipped. A shudder of apprehension passed through Corbin. Were they going too far? But then he pictured Claire going back and forth between his bed and Henry’s, and the anger flared up again. Maybe they weren’t going far enough.
He took off his backpack, placed the retractable shovel on the damp ground next to the statue, then took out the water bottle that was now filled with the fake blood that Henry had mixed up. “It’s awfully brown, isn’t it?” Corbin had asked when he’d first seen it.
“Yeah, it’s perfect. Blood turns brown after it’s been exposed to the air. We don’t want you to look like you’ve just been offed twenty minutes ago.”
“I guess not.”
Corbin checked his watch. He had half an hour until Henry was supposed to show up with Claire. He sat on the ground in front of the angel, leaning against its base, and smeared the fake blood across his neck and down his T-shirt, pooling the blood in the shirt’s folds. He took the knife from the backpack and smeared that with the blood as well; it was Henry’s knife, a folding buck, and it was incredibly sharp. He ran its edge along the pad of his finger and it sliced through a single, translucent layer of skin, not drawing any blood. He dropped the knife onto his lap.
He put the water bottle back into the backpack, nestled among the change of clothes he’d brought, then he tucked the backpack behind his lower back and out of sight. When Claire arrived, she’d see his dead body, laid out in front of the statue like a ritual killing. He began to giggle at the thought, couldn’t stop himself from giggling, and he was soon laughing out loud, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Jesus, get a grip, he thought, then decided to let it out of his system. He let out a yelp of laughter that sounded strangely animalistic in his own ears. He stopped laughing, worried that someone might hear him. What if some stranger did come along, wanting to photograph the statue? He laughed some more, nervously, then told himself that no, it would be Henry arriving with Claire, promising that