Steve | Bucky
Ward said he was sick. He's almost certainly taking something. All I would have to do is get a look at his pills. Make a substitution. No one is suspicious when a sick man dies. A shot of epinephrine between his toes. In his hairline. Enough and he'll have a heart attack. I'll unplug his landline. With no one there to find him, he won't last the night. Dose him with succinylcholine and smother him in his sleep. There will be no defensive wounds, he won't even thrash. We're in Kansas, any veterinary office would have it. They use it to put down horses. I could make it look like a suicide. I could make it look like an act of self defense. And when he's gone, I can wait in the graveyard for him. I can wait until he returns. And I can put him down again.
There is no "starting over" for him There is no "redemption." There are things, once done, that cannot be undone.
I will wait. I will wait for the right moment. If I have to, I will wait until he fucks up again. But I am not going to let him have the chance at an ordinary life that he took from me.