Chapter 30 #3
“I’ll be back in a moment, is that alright?
” His skin itched, and the monster inside of him twisted and turned, despite how hollow he felt.
Tadeo’s grandmother looked at him, then seemed to understand.
She nodded, and Tadeo instantly leaned over to kiss her cheek before stepping away, heading toward the gate once more and the people there, waiting on their savior.
Their anti-Christ. Without thinking, Tadeo lifted his hat back over his hair, and he grit his teeth and told himself to stay on his feet.
To not fall — onto his knees — in grief and screams and cries despite a wobble on his bottom lip.
But there was no helping the bombardment of images in his mind of his uncle’s face, of his voice, his touch, his laugh.
He’d never hear it again. He was still waiting to hear his father’s voice again.
He was still waiting to hear his mother talk too.
We spend so much time waiting for the long lost.
Tadeo reached the gate, opened it to climb onto the sidewalk, and a breath fell out of his mouth.
He shut the exit blindly behind him, then caught Dante finally climbing off the mare.
Swallowing, Tadeo turned away, began walking away from him, from the house.
The crowd, shockingly, didn’t follow — at least not closely.
They shuffled their feet from a distance, like stray dogs trailing a stranger.
Among the noise of all their steps, Tadeo almost missed the sound of Dante jogging up to him, saying, “Where are you going? My God, they hit your fucking house. And I’m sure they knew where it was all this time.
They were just waiting for a fucking excuse— Needed the right moment to let them get away with this—”
“My uncle is dead,” interjected Tadeo softly, hollow.
“And I almost lost the rest of my family. I just learned that my only friend was just using me, knowing I would die.” He continued walking, but he turned his face toward his own shoulder, not looking back at the soldier either.
“What do you want, Dante?” ‘What did the resurrection mean if I was born again to die? What did any of this mean?’
Dante hesitated, then he said, tightly, “I’m sorry.” ‘The strike didn’t come from me; I sent the text less than an hour ago.’ But fear churned his stomach. And so when Tadeo didn’t reply, the soldier cursed, took him by the arm to force him to stop.
This time, however, Tadeo felt a whip of anger and terror shock his body, and he snarled, for the third time, “Don’t fucking touch me!
” He tore his arm away, spun around, and eyes tore open across his face, mouth crowded with the jaws of a Beast. “You can leave!” But his voice cracked. “Leave and go back to your mother—”
“I will,” Dante said, quick, a tinge of anger and terror in his words. “I will, idiot. I’m not going to stay in this shithole.”
“Then why are you still following me!?”
“I wanted to apologize,” Dante snapped. “Because I—” ‘Do I say it? Do I tell him he made a mistake not killing me that day?’ “I followed you into Hell,” he said carefully, “wanting to find out how to kill you so that I could tell my commanders. But, fuck, I didn’t know what to do.
I can’t just go back, Tadeo. If I did, they’d kill me for knowing too much.
They’d kill my mother.” ‘They’re already holding her.
’ “I already lost my sister. I don’t know— I didn’t know what else to do.
” Oddly, a visible tension fell from Tadeo’s face, and the eyes he’d just sprouted began to shut, his sharpened teeth began to dull.
Maybe he’d wanted to hear this, perhaps have his suspicions of Dante confirmed.
“So, I’m asking you to forgive me.” ‘For what you think I wanted to do, for what I’ve already done. ’ “You can understand, can’t you?”
Tadeo flinched; he could understand; he could understand Joana too.
“I,” Dante continued, “understand why you did what you did to me, too. I hate you for it, but I understand. We’re all just trying to survive.” He laughed then, bitterly. “Maybe you don’t have to forgive me—”
“But I do,” said Tadeo, his lips trembling, fighting either a smile or a frown — he didn’t know. “I forgive you, Dante.” ‘I forgive Joana too.’ Maybe he shouldn’t have walked away without telling her that.
The soldier was quiet for a moment, staring at him with his brows furrowed, a crease forming between them; his mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Why?” The word had such an edge that it may as well have been a, ‘What is wrong with you?’
Tadeo swallowed, then shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do.
” The words hurt him, though he insisted to himself that he meant it, that he was good enough to believe in the right thing.
If it was true that he was the anti-Christ, he began to wonder if God would forgive him for suicide, if He would allow it just this once.
He’d tried to be good. He’d thought he’d been good all this time.
His throat closed and itched, and his body was beginning to slump in exhaustion.
Then, he lowered his gaze, down to that bandaged stump where the soldier’s arm ended; Tadeo’s sin.
He reached, slow, to ensure that Dante had every chance to pull away, but the soldier didn’t.
Brushing his fingers on the wrist, Tadeo felt Dante’ muscles tense beneath his skin. He remembered healing that woman, without meaning to, with Dina. And, with no water, no more than touch, Tadeo healed Dante’s hand, then squeezed it.