Chapter Thirty-One – Tristan
The next morning, I find Wolf in his office. I don’t know how he got home, but I didn’t see any extra cars out there. When I stroll into his office, I see him sitting at his desk, with a new pair of glasses resting on his nose as he intently types something up on his laptop. I don’t say a word right away, I wait until he’s done typing, until he closes the laptop and looks up at me with the same emotionless, icy expression he always wears when he looks at me.
“Tristan,” Wolf remarks. “I trust Mabel is faring well after last night’s events?” Just the way he asks, as if he’s referring to a long night and not a night that could’ve resulted in her death, pisses me off.
“She’s fine, no thanks to you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
I glance over my shoulder, just to be sure Mabel isn’t nearby. I know she’s not, but better safe than sorry. “How ironic it is that he found Mabel last night, the very same night we happened to run a little late.”
All Wolf does is stare at me, not denying any of it.
“You put trackers in her shoes because you wanted me to find her.” At my sides, my hands curl into fists. “You put her in danger to test me.”
Wolf’s jaw grinds, and he lifts a finger. “Shut the door.” It’s only after the door is closed and I am seated on the opposite side of his desk that he says, “I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t know what would happen last night. Did Robert Hayes find Mabel only because someone sent some information his way?” He shrugs. “Perhaps.”
I shake my head once and mutter, “You son of a bitch.”
“I did want to see what you would do. I’ll admit, I am a bit shocked you didn’t kill him. Let me guess: Mabel stopped you. She didn’t want you to kill him.” When I only glare at him, Wolf snickers. “I underestimated her—and you, by extension. When Atticus told me about everything you did in Cypress and the reason why, I thought you were a lost cause.”
I imagine myself launching over his desk and strangling him—not for his doubt in me, but because he put Mabel’s life on the line just to test me.
“When I was contacted by Mabel’s father, I was struck by how similar your cases were. Perfect timing it turned out to be. I hoped to use Mabel, to see if you truly did change at all, or if you simply moved your obsession from your sister to your current fascination. The mere fact that Robert Hayes was not shot immediately tells me all I need to know. Congratulations, Tristan, you’ve managed to surprise even me.”
Hard as it is, I push the thoughts of murder out of my mind as I ask him one simple question: “Why? It isn’t like I can ever leave this house by myself. I’m stuck here, so why does it matter to you if I changed or not?”
Wolf leans back in his leather chair. “You and Mabel were my first patients in a while. Mabel was your test, but you were mine.”
“What?” It’s the only word I can say. I wasn’t expecting that.
“I am a man who needs to fix things. I like order. People like you and me, we go against the natural order. We push boundaries. Sometimes we step across them and, in doing so, break them. You’re not the only killer in the room… but you knew that from the beginning, didn’t you? From the very first moment you saw me, you knew we were alike in that way.”
I try to piece it together. “So, what? I was your test to see if people like us can change? If you could fix me, you could fix yourself or some shit?”
My question earns me a chuckle from Wolf. “Not quite, but close.” He stands and wanders over to the nearest window. The sun peeks through the clouds outside, and the angle it shines down allows some of the rays to shine through the glass and onto Wolf.
For some strange reason, the sun doesn’t make him look any less ominous.
“What is it, then?” I ask.
“I always had a goal for this house,” he says. “Rehabilitation for the morally sick, twisted, and corrupt. Seek to fix those who cannot fix themselves. I understand better than most how minds like yours work, and so I am uniquely suited for the task.” Wolf turns away from the window, those green eyes of his meeting my stare as he holds his hands behind his back. “You are its first triumph.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means I have some thinking to do. If I were you, I would leave me to it. Mabel will come to me when she’s ready, and I will tell her that I sent Robert Hayes home with a warning that if he ever tries to come here again, he might not be so lucky to escape with his life a second time. She will have other questions for me, and I will do my best to answer them.” Wolf cocks his head at me. “She is a sweet girl. A part of me thought, perhaps, she’d be too sweet for you. For what it’s worth, even though you may not believe me, I am glad it worked out.”
I highly doubt Wolf is the type of person to ever be glad about anything, but whatever. At least he admitted this was all a fucking test—and it wasn’t even for me. It was so he could see that he could fix someone as fucked up as me.
I stand and turn to leave; we are done with this conversation. My hand is on the doorknob when Wolf calls my name: “And Tristan?”
With my back to him, with just the way he says my name, I hear it. The hidden psychopath simmering beneath the surface, waiting patiently to be released. I’m measured in glancing over my shoulder at him.
“If you raise a hand to me again, I’ll cut it off.” Spoken so simply, as if he’s just remarking on the weather and not telling me he’ll cut off body parts should I hit him again.
Please. His threats don’t strike fear inside me.
I give him a grin and say, “Don’t put Mabel in danger again, and I won’t have to.”
I leave that office in a much better mood than I entered it in, and I think it’s due to the fact that I finally got a glimpse of the real Wolf. From the beginning, I knew we were alike, and for the longest time I resented him for it. I’m still pretty pissed he put Mabel’s life on the line, but she survived and isn’t worse for wear; the only reason a good mood for me is even possible.
Mabel is in the kitchen, waiting on a bagel in the toaster. She wears baggy pajamas, the clothes hanging off her thin frame making it look like she’s being swallowed by the fabric. Her yellow hair is messy and un-brushed, pulled up in an uneven bun. The very second she sees me, she smiles and says, “Do you want a bagel?”
As messy and unkempt as she looks… she’s never been more beautiful to me.
I reach her and wrap my arms around her. “If by a bagel you mean a kiss, then yes.” I bend my tall frame down and press my mouth upon hers, tasting those sweet lips again this morning. It’s a quota of kisses I could never fill.
When the kiss is done, I add, “But I will also take a real bagel.” The added comment makes her giggle, and my insides heat up at the sound.
This is what life is supposed to be. I wouldn’t have it any other way.