Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Panic floods my bloodstream.
There are three prison guards in the room, and I suspect another on the other side of the door. Valdemar won’t have a weapon. What could he do to me in the confines of this small space?
Well, for starters, he’ll have the full use of his hands, which would be enough.
Breathe . Calm . Stop this nonsense.
He has six weeks before he’s released. Surely he wouldn’t jeopardise that for a pre-emptive strike at a scrawny journalist?
The inmates rub their wrists, a crew of motley men all weathering the telltale signs of incarceration: pale skin, dull hair, and hopeless eyes.
Valdemar is the last to enter the room. I’m disappointed that the ghost of my brother doesn’t follow him. Instead, alarm taps at my subconscious, and I’m convinced there’s a hint of a smile as his cuffs are removed and he’s brought over to the table.
He’d been sitting when I last visited, so now I see him at his full height, all six feet of him. His tattoos appear animated as he walks, the ravens looking ready to take flight, the white T-shirt he’s wearing rubbing against his skin, his sweatpants hugging his hips.
The air feels thick, danger surrounding him like lethal smog.
“You came.” His voice is deep, rich, and flavoursome, as if he’s been saving it for me.
“You asked me to,” I reply, my words feeling like they’re caught in the back of my throat.
I’ve spent the past ten years researching this man. I’ve read all manner of things about him, like how, fifteen years ago at the age of twenty-five, he became the youngest man ever to lead the Raven Hands, which on the outside appears to be a men’s club, their signature raven tattoos on their left hands a marker of their allegiance, yet underneath, it operates as a suspected prolific criminal gang, dishing out violence, threats, and God knows what else to those who they deem deserve it. The Raven Hands once ruled Amontillado with iron fists and brutal force, and it’s no secret that during their reign, the crime rate in the city was at its lowest.
Most reports speak of how calm Valdemar Montresor is, how controlled, and how all of it’s a facade concealing the ruthless killer underneath it all. But here and now, as he towers over me in the flesh with no restraints, I realise just how dangerous this man is. The charisma, the piercing eyes, the lull of his intoxicating words. He doesn’t need to hold a gun to your head to make you do his bidding; he simply needs to look at you.
As he lowers himself into the chair opposite, I exhale slowly through my nose.
“You look tense, angel.” Valdemar settles his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers as he stares at me until I’m forced to look away. “Is something the matter?”
Caught out by his perception, I scramble for an answer other than the fact that I’m shit scared of him, and then I remember Jacinta.
“Just a little confusion on the way in.” Irritation pricks my skin as I recall her harsh words and the way she’d looked me up and down.
“Confusion?” His eyes haven’t left my face, and I almost feel as if he’s reading me like a book, searching for something that isn’t written in words.
“Jacinta was here,” I say, trying not to squirm under his gaze.
“I’ve had a lucky escape, then.” His top lip curls.
“She wasn’t very pleased to see me,” I tell him.
“I bet she wasn’t.” This feels like it should be accompanied by a smirk or a smile, something to show he’s joking or finds this funny, but his face remains stoic, the serious air that surrounds him never seeming to lift.
“Who is she?” I ask, but do I want to know? If she’s going to jump me on the way out, I do. “Your girlfriend?”
His laugh takes me by surprise, his cool, sober expression gone for a fleeting second. “No, she isn’t my girlfriend.” He delivers each word slowly and purposefully, so there can be no doubt about his answer. “She’s Jupiter Prospero’s.”
I wouldn’t be able to call myself a journalist if I didn’t know who Jupiter Prospero is—Valdemar’s right-hand man and the guy who’s been babysitting the Raven Hands for the last ten years.
“Why does she come and visit you? Is she a Raven Hand?”
I seem to have lost my head, my journalist training forgotten. I know to only ask one question at a time; otherwise, the previous questions remain unanswered. But Jacinta has annoyed me, and I need to know who I’m up against. Valdemar is caged—for the time being at least—but Jacinta is out there on the other side. She knows what I look like and that Valdemar has replaced her visits with mine, and she was pretty pissed off about it.
“There’s no such thing as a female Raven Hand.” He’s serious now, the previous bout of laughter having dissolved.
I furrow my brow. “Really?”
“Why are you so shocked by this? It’s common knowledge that all Raven Hands are men.” This is true, yet still, I can’t quite grasp this “no women allowed” rule.
“I know that. It just seems a little archaic.”
“The Raven Hands were established centuries ago.”
I wait a beat, wondering if I’m in for a history lesson, but he doesn’t elaborate, so I push on.
“Times change, people change, things move on. You’re telling me the Raven Hands haven’t moved into the twenty-first century?”
“I’ve tried, over the years, to make changes. I allow women into our meetings and to attend all social events, something that would never have happened fifteen years ago, but it’s not as simple as you think.”
“Why not?” I try not to scoff at this. It feels like it should be simple.
“It just isn’t.” He emphasises the s , almost making it sound like a z between his teeth, and once again I sense his reluctance to elaborate.
“Then explain it to me.”
Lowering his arms, he glances to his right before answering. “The Raven Hands were established hundreds of years ago by a man named General Vankirk who was fed up with the lawlessness ravaging Amontillado, so he took it upon himself to clean the city up by whatever means he felt necessary. But it was no easy feat, and he soon realised he couldn’t do the job alone, so he enlisted the help of like-minded men. Vankirk was well-known for the large raven tattooed on the back of his left hand, and his recruits became known as Raven Hands.”
“I thought it was a men’s club,” I say.
“On the surface.” Valdemar squints as if he’s testing me.
“You’re telling me the Raven Hands aren’t a men’s club and are, in fact, a vigilante group?”
“Something like that.” There’s a wryness to Valdemar’s voice that I pick up on but ignore for now.
“So, this Vankirk guy gets a bunch of his mates together and decides to fight the bad guys? Not the most original of origin stories.” I can’t hide my smirk. This is kid stuff. Men playing at being boys.
“Not just anyone.” He’s so severe, his face lacking any emotion other than complete concentration on what he’s saying, and I wonder if this is because he’s been locked away for ten years and has only had the scum of the earth to converse with.
“Who, then? Are people chosen?” I hate that he’s got me squirming on the hook in his fathomless waters, wondering when the beast will bite.
“You don’t choose to be a Raven Hand. You become one.”
An eerie silence settles on my shoulders, making me shiver.
“You’ve lost me.” I’m floating now in open water, nothing to grab onto.
“Raven Hands are different from other people. We possess things others do not.” His eyes sharpen as if he’s trying to tell me something without saying the words.
“You’re saying you’re special?” I hate this guessing game, but I’m used to it, being a journalist.
“Gifted is the term I prefer to use.” His voice has a silky quality now, as if he’s spinning this tale for me with the finest yarn.
The room swirls, the other visitors and inmates merging into a morbid mass of body parts.
I press on, trying to settle the voice niggling inside my brain. “What kind of gifts are we talking about? Ambidexterity? The ability to roll your tongue? Holding your breath for longer than three minutes?”
“Those things are not gifts. This is not a talent show, angel. Gifts are something extraordinary that are bestowed upon someone for a purpose.” His eyes narrow, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Well, now you do sound like a bunch of tattooed antiheroes who have special powers.” I sit back in my chair and try not to roll my eyes. “Next you’ll be telling me you wear masks and capes and find the nearest phone box when there’s a crisis.”
Ignoring my joke, Valdemar says, “You surprise me, angel. I thought you of all people would understand what I’m talking about.” He clasps his hands together, interlocking his fingers.
A draft of cold air rushes over the back of my neck.
Trying to rein the conversation back in, I sit up.
“You’re a Raven Hand. You must have a gift. So, what is it?”
“That, my angel, would be telling.”
This time, there’s no holding back the roll of my eyes. But I’m rattled now. As if this guy isn’t dangerous enough. What can he do? What power does he possess?
I try a different approach. “So, how did you know you were a Raven Hand?”
“Deep down, I’ve always known. It’s not like a revelation, a Before and After. You grow up knowing you’re different, that you don’t fit in.”
His words are like a cold shower, the water running over my skin and giving me goose bumps.
“And then what? You get a calling?” There’s a mocking to my voice, but I can’t help it. This is like something from a movie.
“Fate has a lot to do with it. Being in the right place at the right time.”
“And what about my brother? You can’t tell me he was in the right place at the right time.” Tears choke me, anger stifling my nerves. How can he sit there and be so calm?
“No one can predict the actions of others; we are at their mercy.” His voice is as cold as his stare, and it does nothing to abate the goose bumps that are still erupting on my arms.
“What about your actions? How do you sleep at night?” I ask.
Valdemar stares at me, and I wrap my arms around myself, the bite of his glare enough to stoke the chill I’m feeling.
“Who said I do?”
“You deserve to rot in hell for what you’ve done,” I spit.
“I don’t dispute that.”
“So, what’s your purpose here? You think you’re going to tell me what happened to my brother, and I might see a different side to things, that maybe you’re not the monster everyone thinks you are and you deserve forgiveness? Are you trying to redeem yourself in my eyes? Because I can tell you now, that will never happen. I will never see you as anything other than a murderer, and if your story were to ever be written, it would portray you as what you are—a monster.” The chill in my body has gone now, thawed out by the mounting rage that heats my skin.
“I’m not here to change your opinion of me.”
“Then why am I here?” I clench my fists under the table, feel the nip of my nails as they dig into my palms.
“You tell me,” he asks, leaning in slightly.
He’s in my head again. How does he do it? Is this his gift?
Why am I here? Ed. That’s why I’m here. Because my brother is here, and even though I can’t see him now, I can feel him as if he’s lurking in the shadows. I haven’t felt his presence these past ten years, yet here, I can.
“I’m here for my brother,” I tell him.
“You and me both.” He delivers this with such authenticity that I can’t help but believe him, yet hisanswer puzzles me. But I don’t have time to ponder it, as the prison guard shouts unnecessarily loudly that our time is up.
The visitors look blearily around the room as if they’re relieved it’s over, yet I find myself annoyed at the time having gone so quickly.
“You look tired, angel,” Valdemar says, examining my face. “Are you sleeping?”
“I haven’t slept in ten years,” I snap.
My answer pins him to his chair.
“Do I need to worry about Jacinta?” I ask, breaking the awkwardness as a prison guard moves to the rear door and starts to usher the inmates out one at a time. “Am I going to get my eyes scratched out as soon as I leave this building?”
“You don’t need to worry; I will deal with her.” He’s so sincere that I have no doubt he will deal with her, even though I can’t see how when he’s locked up in here.
A prison guard arrives behind Valdemar, though he doesn’t touch him like he did the other inmates, merely waiting for Valdemar to rise.
“Until next week, angel.”
“Next week,” I reply, wondering what will happen between now and then as I watch him being led from the room.