When someone reports him as missing, they’ll make him out to be a saint. A god among men. They’ll sing his praises and speak about what an amazing man he was, what a monster someone would have to be to take him away from the ones who loved him. It’s what always happens. The price I pay for ridding the world of men like him. I’ll spend the rest of my life hearing about how amazing they were. In death, everyone becomes a hero. Otherworldly. The dead become something of myths and legends, even when everyone knows the truth.
