Chapter 486:

"Don't kill me," he murmured.
"I can destroy you." She wanted to wipe it, and then erase the image before harming him. "I know. I know." He said. "You can kill me easily."
He was crying. She thought, my goodness, the great man is under my feet, crying like a baby. What strength can I learn from this weak performance? She drew tears from his cheeks with more force than needed. Her gaze made his skin red.
"Let me be... I can do nothing. I am useless to you."
Yes, he is absolutely useless. She let go of his hand contemptuously. They fell weakly beside him. "Never try to find me, Titus. Do you understand? Never send my minions to defend your reputation, because I will be more cruel than ever."
He said nothing. Just kneeling there, facing the window, she washed her face, drank their coffee, and then left.
Linden was surprised to find that the door of his office was ajar. Only 73.66 points. No secretary stayed for another hour. Apparently a cleaner was fired and the door was unlocked. He will find out who: fire her.
He opened the door.
Jacqueline was sitting with her back to the door. He recognized the back of her head, it was auburn hair. Swing display; too joking, too wild. His office is an accessory of Mr. Pettyfer, carefully ordered. He glanced: everything seemed to be ready.
"What are you doing here?"
She held her breath and prepared herself.
This was the first time she planned to do this. Before that, people suddenly made a decision. He was approaching his desk, putting down his briefcase and the neatly folded Financial Times. He said: "You have no right to enter here without my permission."
She opened the lazy spin of his chair. The way he needs people to train. "Linden," she said.
He said: "Mrs. Ess, nothing you say or do will change the facts," he saved her the trouble of introducing the topic, "she is a cold-blooded killer. Tell Mr. Petiver about this situation. It is my bounden duty." "You did this for the benefit of Titus?"
"of course."
"There is blackmail, which is good for Titus, right?"
"Leave my office-"
"Really, Linden?"
"You really are a prostitute! Prostitutes know nothing: they are ignorant, sick animals," he spit. "Oh, you are cunning, I agree with you-but so are the who earns a living."
She stood up. He is expecting one. He has nothing; at least not verbally. But his face was tightened with a tight taut bandage: as if someone was compressing it.
"What are you doing?" he said.
"What are you doing?"
His eyes imitated the Orientals like a child, forced into slits, his mouth opened tight and tight, and his smile bright. These words are hard to say-"Stop...it..." She shook her head. "..." He said again, still rebelling against her. She just stared at him. His face was under pressure, and his muscles began to twitch and twitch. Fall into convulsions.
"Police..." He tried to say, "If you put your finger down on me..."
She said: "I won't." Under his clothes, he felt the same tension all over his body, pulling his skin, making him tighter and tighter.
Things are going to be given; he knows. Some parts of him will be weak and will cry under this kind of merciless attack. If he ever started to break free, nothing can stop her from tearing him apart. He solved all these problems calmly, his body twitching, and he swore to her with a forced smile.
","He said. "syphilis."
She thought, he didn't seem to be afraid.
In the extreme, he just released so much hatred against her, and the fear was completely covered up. Now he calls her a prostitute again. Although his face was almost distorted beyond recognition.
Then he began to split.
The tears started from the bridge of his nose, flowed over his forehead, then dropped, cutting his lips and chin, then his neck and chest. In just a few seconds, his shirt was dyed red, the dark suit turned black, and blood was poured on the cuffs and trouser legs. The skin flew away from his hands like a surgeon's glove, and two circles of scarlet tissue slipped onto his skinned face like elephant ears.
His name stopped.
Now he was shocked for ten seconds, even though she was still avenging him, he pulled his skin hard, then threw the crumbs into the room, until he finally stood up, steaming, wearing a red suit and red clothes . The shirt, and his shiny red shoes, looked more like a sensitive man in her eyes. She released him with satisfaction. He lay quietly in a puddle and fell asleep.
She thought, descending from the sky and walking out the stairs, my goodness, that was first-degree murder.
She did not see any report of the death in any newspaper, nor did she see it in the press bulletin. Apparently passed away, died from public view.
But she knew the wheels would move, so insignificant people like her couldn't see their wheels so big. She can only guess what they will do and how they will change her life. However, the murder of Linden was not only intentional, although that was part of it. No, she also wanted to incite them, the enemies of the world, and bring them to her side. Let them show their hands: Let them show their contempt and fear. It seems that she has gone through her life, looking for her own sign, and can only define her nature through the look of others. Now she wants to end that matter. It's time to deal with her followers.
Now it is certain that everyone who has seen her, first Pettyfer, and then Vasi, will follow her, and she will always close her eyes: let them forget her. Only then, when the witness is destroyed, can she be free. Of course not in person. It is easy for him to find agents, they are not weak or sympathetic, but the nose is chasing, which makes the hound feel ashamed.
Although she still can't see its chin, she is still setting a trap for her. There are signs everywhere. Birds flying out from behind a wall, a strange light from a distant window, footsteps, whistles, a man in a dark suit reading the news within her sight. As time passed, they got closer and closer to her, but then they did not leave either. They waited, like cats on a tree, with twitching tails and lazy eyes.
But this pursuit bears Pettyfer's mark. She learned a lot from him, enough to recognize his caution and cunning. They will eventually come for her, not in her time, but in their time. Maybe not even in theirs: in his. Although she had never seen his face, it seemed that Titus had stood up personally.
She thought, my God, my life is in danger, I don't care.
If there is no direction, this power of controlling the body is useless. She uses it for personal minor reasons, to satisfy nervous pleasure and anger. But these displays did not bring her closer to others: they just made her a freak.
Sometimes she thinks of Vathy, wondering where he is and what he is doing. He is not a strong person, but he is a little passionate about his soul. More than, of course, more. Moreover, she remembered fondly that he was the only man named Jacqueline she knew. The rest made her name: Jackie or ., or in a more irritating mood-unpleasant corruption. Only Vathy called her Jacqueline simple and simple, and accepted her integrity and integrity in his formal way. When she thought of him, trying to imagine how he would return to her, she was worried for him.
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