Behind the Hands That Kill

“It’s usually unimaginable pain and hardship,” I go on, “that ultimately makes us see who we really are, who we were meant to be, who we’ve always been deep inside…” My hand falls away from his chest. I want to tell him more, about the person awake inside of me, but I can’t. I take a step back and say instead, “Artemis can’t kill me, Victor. I’m convinced of this fact. If I was supposed to die by her hands, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“Sarai?” I hear Dina call from her bedroom down the hall.

I look toward the hall briefly, and then back at Victor, who seems anxious underneath that quiet exterior—he knows our conversation is going to end long before it’s finished.

And that’s how I want it.

“I need to help Dina,” I say.

He nods, though with disappointment.

“How has she been?” he asks.

“Not well. She’s getting worse. I think the diagnosis, just knowing what’s going to happen to her, is accelerating the disease.”

He nods again.

“It always happens like that,” I add. “You’re fine, maybe a few minor symptoms, but nothing debilitating, and then six months after the diagnosis, you’re dead.” I tap the side of my head with my finger. “Most of it is in the head—maybe all of it—I just wish I could convince Dina of that.”

Yet again, Victor simply nods. It’s something else I think he needs to work on: developing his casual side, so maybe one day he and I can have a meaningful conversation about the many flavors of ice cream, or why music moves souls, or how nothing can escape a black hole. We’ve talked about many things in the short time we’ve been together, but never, that I can recall, about the seemingly insignificant things in life, things that have no bearing on his profession—things that, to me, are anything but insignificant, and matter a great deal.

“I’ll be right there,” I call out to my mother.

Then I push up on my toes again, and kiss Victor on the mouth.

“I love you, Victor.”

“And I love you…”

I sense that he wants to say so much more, but he forces it down.

“Sarai, honey…” Dina calls.

“I have to go,” I tell Victor.

Reluctantly, he steps outside; the light from the porch touches his shoulder, leaving one side of his face in shadow.

“Victor,” I say, before he moves down the last step.

He stops, turns to look at me.

“There’s something that I’d like to know,” I say.

“Anything,” he tells me.

I pause. “How did you get me out of that cage? How did you save me? I don’t remember much after—”

“I did not save you,” he admits, regretfully. “I spared you, but I did not save you. It was out of my hands.”

That surprises me; I stare at him, blank-faced, trying to remember that night, any details at all, but I can’t.

“Then who did?”

Victor’s gaze strays, and he glances at the steps momentarily.

“Someone from The Order,” he says.

My breath catches. “Ours?” I ask, hesitantly. “Or Vonnegut’s?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment; he doesn’t even seem fully there.

“Victor?” I turn my head at an angle, looking down at him from the top step in a sidelong manner. “Ours or Vonnegut’s?” I repeat. In my heart, I already know the answer—I just need to understand it—and if it’s true, then there is a shit-storm of new problems that lay ahead.

Still, he doesn’t answer, and I know now that he doesn’t need to.

“Are you safe?” I ask him. “Don’t lie to me, Victor—do they know where you are?”

“They have always known, Izabel.” His voice is calm, his words feel almost…apocalyptic in nature. “It is only a matter of time that all of this”—he waves a hand in the air—“all of this freedom, this life, will come to an end. I have told you, since the beginning, that until Vonnegut is dead and I am in control of his Order, none of us are free; we are but a breath away from the end of everything. And no walls or secrets or disguises can hide us forever. Vonnegut must be identified, and eliminated, before he eliminates us.”

“That’s the real reason you’re worried about me being here, isn’t it?” I go down two steps toward him. “Artemis has nothing to do with it, does she?”

He nods.

“I am confident in you where Artemis is concerned, yes.” He steps up to meet me. “But you should know something.”

“Tell me,” I urge him.

He pauses, and then says with a hint of disbelief in his voice, “The price on your head is even greater than mine.”

I feel my eyes and forehead creasing with lines of confusion; my head rears back.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

After a moment, Victor admits, “Neither do I.”

We stand together in silence, though the thoughts in my head are loud. How can this be true? Why? Why would The Order want me more than Victor Faust? For a moment I can’t find my own voice, and when I finally do, I can’t bring myself to use it.

Cradling the back of my head in the palm of his big hand, Victor leans forward and touches his lips to my forehead. My cheekbones. My chin. My mouth. I fight the urge—the need—to grab him and give him every reason to take me right where we stand. His kiss leaves me breathless, but I don’t show it. His touch, and his closeness, does things to me that I know I’ll never be able to fully control, but this time I’m able to tame it.