Heaven On Fire

Thirty Six

"Hubert. It's been a while."

"Yeah, well, I've got a job for you, Ed." Hubert's tone was casual, as if they were discussing a routine business transaction rather than the elaborate staging of a woman's death. "I need you to take care of something for me. Make it look like a suicide."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a slow, deliberate exhale. "Details?"

"She's at the hospital. Got hit by a car," Hubert explained, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. "I need it to look like she threw herself in front of it. You know, distraught mother, overwhelmed with grief after everything that's happened."

There was a rustling noise as Ed shifted, probably scribbling notes or just processing the request. Hubert could almost see him, sitting at his cluttered desk, surrounded by the tools of his grim trade.

"Hospital security?" Ed asked, his voice all business now.

"Already taken care of," Hubert replied smoothly. He had bribed a guard earlier that day, a small insurance policy in case things went sideways. "But you'll need to get to the scene soon. Clean it up. Make it look convincing."

Ed let out a dry chuckle. "Convincing, huh? You know this won't be cheap, right?"

"Money isn't an issue," Hubert snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Just get it done. I want everything wrapped up by the morning."

There was a beat of silence before Ed spoke again, his voice almost cheerful. "Consider it done. I'll send you the details once everything's in place."

Hubert ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He took a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air. Everything was falling into place. Ed was the best in the business-discreet, efficient, and utterly ruthless. There would be no loose ends, no suspicious threads for anyone to tug at.

He imagined the headlines:

Grieving Mother Commits Suicide
After Tragic Family Events

People would eat it up. Lorie would be painted as the fragile, broken woman who couldn't cope with the loss of her son and the trauma surrounding Loren's situation.

As he walked, he mentally ran through the plan, each step as meticulous and calculated as a chess move. The coroner would be easy to manipulate; a few well-placed bribes, and the autopsy report would reflect whatever story Hubert needed it to tell. The media could be managed with a few carefully timed leaks and sympathetic interviews. By the time Loren was awake and coherent, the narrative would be set in stone.

Hubert's phone buzzed again-a text from Ed, a single word: Done. Hubert's smile returned. He could picture it now: Lorie's body found in some tragic, staged tableau, the perfect tragic mother overcome with grief. The pieces were all falling into place. He had the power, the influence, and the connections to shape the story however he wanted.

This was just the beginning. With Lorie out of the way, Loren was his to control, to manipulate. He'd swoop in like the savior, the knight in shining armor, and she'd never know what really happened.

The engine roared to life, and he pulled away from the curb, his mind racing with possibilities. He had to be careful, patient. One wrong move, and everything could unravel. But he was confident, almost exhilarated. He was playing a dangerous game, but the stakes were worth it.

As he drove through the quiet, deserted streets, his thoughts drifted back to Lorie. Her pleading eyes, the panic in her voice as she realized what was happening. He felt no remorse, only a cold satisfaction. She'd been an obstacle, a nuisance. Now she was gone, and he was free to do whatever he wanted.