Remedial Action

The police sirens were distant wails in the night.

They were back at the Victorian house. Adrian refused to go to the hospital. "I know a vet who owes me a favor. But first, whiskey."

He sat in the armchair in the study, his shirt off, Clara pressing a towel to his shoulder. The bullet had passed through.

"You should leave," Adrian said quietly. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him looking tired and old. "Pack a bag. Take the Volvo. The Romanos won't stop now. I'll draw them off."

Clara looked at the wound. She looked at the blood on her hands.

She thought about the "Grade Book."

She thought about the fear she had lived with her whole life. The feeling that the floor could drop out at any moment.

And then she looked at Adrian. He had taken a bullet for her. He had killed for her.

"No," Clara said.

"Clara, I'm a monster. You saw the book. I kill people."

"You kill threats," Clara corrected.

She walked to the desk. She opened the drawer and pulled out the black ledger. She grabbed a red grading pen.

She walked back to Adrian. She opened the book to a fresh page.

She wrote: *Subject: The Romano Crime Family.*

"What are you doing?" Adrian asked, watching her.

"Grading," Clara said.

Under *Action*, she wrote: *Systematic Dismantling.*

She drew a large, angry *F* in red ink. Then she wrote: *See me after class.*

She held the book up to him.

"I don't want to go back to being afraid, Adrian. I don't want a normal husband. I want the gardener."

Adrian stared at the page. Slowly, a smile spread across his face—not the charming professor's smile, but the wolfish grin of the cleaner.

"The gardener," he repeated. He reached out with his good hand and pulled her down into his lap, mindful of the blood. "It's going to be a messy semester, Mrs. Vance."

"I have tenure," Clara whispered, leaning her forehead against his. "I'm not going anywhere."

Adrian kissed her. It tasted of copper and whiskey and a promise kept.

Outside, the fog rolled in, hiding the house from the world. Inside, the fire crackled, and Clara Vance picked up a cloth to clean the gun, finally feeling safe in the arms of the only monster who mattered.