There’s no other word for it. But after all, that’s what an antagonist is supposed to be. The one in my new novel certainly lives up to his label. Naturally, by the end of the book, he is to be found out and get his comeuppance. But so far, he isn’t cooperating. Taking him down isn’t supposed to be easy, but he’s making it next to impossible.
Almost since the day this character was born, he’s had everything his own way. Most of what he wanted came easily and those things that didn’t…well he took them – heedless of the irrevocable damage he caused. Today, he stands by the large bay window in his study, hands resting easily in the pockets of his morning trousers, certain that he is above incrimination. Blocking every bit of information, each sliver of an opening, anything that has the slightest chance of provoking his downfall; he regards me disdainfully and says, “You have nothing.”
Whenever I start to close in on the fatal flaw that can expose him, he morphs into a subtlely different persona, hiding his weakness under yet another layer. Almost feels as though I’m writing a paranormal story. But I’m not. Scary.
Above all, I can’t allow him to get married – not to her. I have to end his travesty and expose the monster that lives behind that smooth, urbane façade. Wish me luck. Better yet – has anyone got a silver dagger?
