Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
He has flesh, yes, breathes oxygen, and talks and thinks just like a human, but looking into his icy eyes, knowing he murdered his way to power, reminds me of the man he truly is.
The enchanter is gone.
The devil remains.
“You think I’m a monster,” Valdemar says, placing his elbows on the table and interlocking his fingers.
“I know you’re a monster,” I reply.
“The world needs monsters.” His voice is so cold, I can almost feel it in the air.
“How do you work that one out?”
“Because sometimes things need to be done. Horrible things that most people don’t have the guts for. They won’t get their hands dirty, so someone else has to.” He unclasps his hands at this, as if showing me just how sullied they are.
“That’s how you justify killing someone to gain power?” I lean forwards, my hackles raised.
“I don’t kill to gain power.” His words slice through the air as if he’s brandishing a knife.
“You just said you killed Victor Rue to become head Raven Hand.”
“Ever the journalist.” He smirks. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I never said I killed him for that reason.”
“It was just a bonus, then?”
Valdemar places a hand flat on the table. “Consider this. You have a dog who’s been loyal and faithful to you his whole life. He stayed by your side and listened to all your problems without judging you, without betraying you, until one day your dog doesn’t remember who you are anymore and starts shitting in his bed and pissing on the floor. And your dog looks at everyone who visits with large begging eyes and a low whimper to be put out of his misery, but they don’t listen, don’t act; they don’t want to get blood on their hands, murder on their conscience. So, your dog turns to you, his loyal friend, his faithful servant. And he asks you to do this one last thing for him. Is it easier to say yes or to say no?”
“You’re saying Victor Rue was ill?” I probe.
“His body was strong and able. His mind was not.”
“You think that justifies killing him?” I can’t keep my voice neutral, something else I know as a journalist. Keep your own views under wraps; don’t let them know what you think about what they’re telling you, even if you think it’s the most heinous thing you’ve ever heard.
“These decisions don’t come easily. To kill someone you don’t care about is easy, but to kill someone you admire and respect is impossible.”
“And barbaric,” I add.
“You’re telling me you wouldn’t put your dog out of his misery? Wouldn’t save him from sitting in his own shit and wandering out into the road in the middle of the night because he has no idea where he is?” Valdemar asks.
“There are places that will care for people,” I argue, but he sneers at this.
“All they do is mop up the shit and lock them up for their own safety. Is that really how you would want to spend the last of your days?”
“It doesn’t matter how you justify it, it’s still murder. You still have blood on your hands.” I motion with my eyes towards his hands.
He’s telling me that Victor Rue was a mercy killing, but it’s not as if Victor is his only victim.
He’s a murderer. A murderer.
“What about you, angel?” He cocks his chin at me as if batting this question over to my side of the table.
“What about me?” My voice wobbles despite the strength I’m trying to uphold.
“Do you think you would be able to get your hands dirty?”
The room spins, and I’m about to topple from my chair when the guard announces that there are only a few minutes left.
“Should I be worried about Jupiter?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I will speak to him,” Valdemar replies.
“How?”
“I’m allowed phone calls.”
“What do I say if he comes looking for me?” I’m not sure why I’m looking to this man for advice, but the question is out before I can stop it.
“He won’t.” There’s a sharpness to his words, like they’re his only weapon in here.
“But if he does?”
“Then he’s a bigger fool than I took him for.” The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s almost smiling.
Chairs scrape on the floor as the other inmates rise and are shackled, then led to the rear door. Just like on my previous visit, Valdemar is last. The guard hovers as Valdemar offers him his wrists.
“But if, for some reason, you find yourself in his company again, don’t let him touch you,” Valdemar warns.
“Why?”
He stands, and I want to stand with him, but I have to remain seated until all inmates have been removed.
“Because no one is allowed to touch you.” He delivers this with such sincerity, such passion, that I shiver.
It’s not what he said but the way he said it, what he’s insinuated about the type of touch he’s referring to. No one has touched me, in that way or any other, in a very long time. I’ve been grieving for so long that there hasn’t been room for anyone else in my life. Last year I decided to go on a date with a guy I’d met in the deli. He was nice, but after our second date, when he’d learned that my twin brother had been shot by Valdemar Montresor, his interest in me waned. It was as if he didn’t want to get involved in what my world might look like or didn’t want to be tainted by my grief, let alone by any involvement with the Raven Hands. And I knew from then on that if I was going to date, I would have to hide the death of my brother, which is something I simply can’t do. He was part of me. Still is.
“What will happen if Jupiter touches me?” I ask.
Valdemar glares at me, anger flirting around the corners of his eyes.
“If I’m in some sort of danger, then I think I need to know. I know you don’t care, but?—”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” he cuts in.
Before I can respond, the prison guard urges Valdemar to move. “Come on, Montresor. Visiting is over.”
Just before they exit, Valdemar turns and shouts over his shoulder, “I hope you sleep better tonight.” He smirks and then vanishes through the door.
The Maelstrom is choppy on the return journey to the mainland, but I know it’s not the rhythmic churning of the water that’s stirring the contents of my stomach. It was supposed to be one visit for closure. But now I’m a regular visitor of Valdemar’s, and Jupiter Prospero—who, for some unknown reason, I can’t allow to touch me—has started sniffing around.
This state of affairs couldn’t be further from what I hoped facing Valdemar Montresor would achieve. I could back out, tell him I’m not coming to visit him anymore, and hopefully put a stop to Jupiter poking around, but I can’t deny the curiosity box Valdemar has presented me with.
And just like Pandora, I feel I’ve opened the lid on the curses of mankind.