Consequences (10 page)

“I casually walked in before anyone realized
that the crack in the glass wall meant someone was shooting …
before they knew two men were dead. Walking over to the elevator
and pressing the up button, I glanced over to the second
bodyguard’s hiding place. There he sat, palms face up, and body
completely limp … the shot was perfect, execution style, and I
didn't want to inspect the damage too closely. I heard the first
scream as I slid into the elevator.”

Never breaking eye contact, continuing to
hold his emotionless stare, I watch as the tears keep flowing. He
is in shock; these men would have killed him in a heartbeat … but
he mourns them, all the same. “I had pulled the elevator’s
penthouse code from so many different people that I punched it in
with mechanical certainty. V kept me in my icy rage, nothing was
able to pass by the wall he’d built … just finish the task at hand,
deal with the nightmares later.” The bitterness of his memories
seeps back into his tone tainting his act of indifference.

I have to interrupt at that point, asking,
“When V was influencing you like that … where was your conscience?
You’re obviously bothered deeply by the violence … where was your
freewill to not take part in it?”

I am desperately trying to keep the horror
from my voice … the last thing the kid needs is to think I see him
as some sort of monster. Frantically searching for something to do
to keep my hands busy, I notice I’ve not only cleaned up breakfast,
but done all the dishes and made a fresh carafe of coffee.
Absentmindedly pouring more into our mugs, I return to the kitchen,
and not knowing what else to do, I start cleaning the bird that
Lune brought in last night.

“I don’t know how to answer that. I guess the
part that kills me the most is, just like that sniper doing what he
was always prepared to do, amoral or not … some part of me was
prepared to let rage control … some part of me was willing to
forget my conscience, and take life.” He drops his eyes; turning
back to the table, he begins staring at his mug.

I don’t need to worry about him thinking I
see him as a monster … he has already convinced himself that is
exactly what he is. “Please continue.” I speak with the clear
thought in my head; you can’t force me to see you as monstrous.

Christopher nods, never lifting his face away
from the table. “When I entered the penthouse, James’s father was
sitting on the couch with his back to me. Not turning, he told me
he should have known I would make it past his men. I expected him
to show me the gun that I knew was in his hand … the small voice in
the back of my head wished he had turned around and pointed that
gun at me.

"From the chair seated directly in front of
the old man, came James’s voice, "Hello Christopher." To my
surprise, James was trying to force compassion and mercy into my
head. As a stranger to those noble emotions, he failed miserably. V
was much stronger, and now he was angry that James was interfering.
This was the first time I’d ever noticed the strength of V’s anger
… it was insane, and I might have pitied James, if I’d cared
anymore.

"Looking right where I imagined James
sitting, I pried in to his father’s head. By the time I had reached
the point of digging up the old man's deepest secrets, I could hear
him sobbing, hunched over as if he’d aged fifty years. James was
begging now, begging for me to stop torturing the man that had
taken him in, when no one else would.

"I faltered, but not because of James. I
hesitated, because of what this great crime boss’s grand secret
was. Surprise overtook me for a second; his secret was he loved
James’s mother, a prostitute. Digging deeper, I found what he was
afraid to admit even to himself. Looking at James, I told him …
everything. "He killed your mother, so he could take you and mold
you into his special soldier … and then he killed you, when he
found he wasn’t able to control you. You were nothing more than a
tool … one important enough to kill his only love for, but a tool
nonetheless. When he lost control, and found out you were working
outside the family, he decided you were as important as a broken
toy. He had you followed to the meth house, then set a bomb to
cremate you. A small incendiary device, mixed with all the
chemicals from the drugs … who would know the difference."

Extracting the last bit of juicy information
broke the old man … and James. I walked over to a beautifully
ornate, Japanese, jade cigar box. Opening it, I found exactly what
I was looking for … a lock of glossy, black hair, tied with a silk
ribbon. On the ribbon was a tag that identified the hair as
belonging to James’s mother. And then, I lifted out the most
damning evidence of all: inside a silk handkerchief were the
charred remains of a finger with a ring burned into the last
remaining bits of flesh. "He had his man at the meth house bring
this back as proof that you were dead." I held up the package,
making sure to display it so that James could see.

"James said nothing all throughout the
revelations about his mother; he had barely a flicker of emotion …
but when I mentioned his own demise … he lost his mind. Finally
giving him proof of his father's conspiracy, he began screaming so
loud that his voice echoed around my skull. The pain was
unbearable, and V lost his connection, only for a second … but it
was long enough for me to realize I had signed the old man’s death
certificate. James turned his rage with such force on his father; I
could actually see the man physically breaking.

“He lifted the gun and placed it gingerly in
his mouth. I could hear it clacking painfully on his teeth as he
positioned the barrel upward. V was so entranced by James’s rage,
and what James was forcing on his father, that he forgot about me …
my job was done for the time being.

"Racing over to the couch, and tripping in my
haste, I landed to the side, almost tackling the old man … but
missing. I recovered in just enough time to catch him, after the
gun fired. My ears were ringing, and I started to panic … the
adrenalin was pumping hard enough that I hadn’t felt the side
effects of V releasing me, not yet.

"That was when James tried to turn his rage
on me, but I blocked him easily. My mind was busy; I had taken a
look back into the sniper’s head, and could hear the police sirens
wailing … see the flashing lights. Trying to suppress my panic, I
went in to the bathroom … the carnage wasn’t too bad; until, I
turned around. There was blood spatter all over the back of my
shirt … most of it hit me when I was on the floor. I stripped off
my shirt, and used the front to clean up, then grabbed a fresh one
out of the old man's closet. Semi-clean, I looked around, retracing
my steps. I wiped down the only things I touched; the jade box and
the door handles.

"Like the elevator code to take me up to the
penthouse, I also knew the code to take me to the private parking
lot in the lowest level of the building. I locked the door on my
way out and punched in the right order of keys, wiping everything
down as I left. I knew there would be a blood void from where I was
kneeling, telling the forensic team someone else was in the room,
but there should be no other material evidence for them to find. I
was still panicky, running everything through my head, but the fact
remained: I hadn’t pulled the trigger, nor was I in the position
for them to think I forced him into pulling the trigger.

As the elevator doors slid open, I was
relieved to see no one was in this parking lot. Lifting the heavy
sliding doors that led to the alleyway behind the building, I could
hear the sirens and radio chatter, but no one was waiting. I
decided to go in the opposite direction from the flashing lights,
traveling up the alley for several blocks, beyond where I was sure
I was safe. Ducking back out onto the strip, I realized that in my
anxiety-induced haze, I’d actually passed my own apartment.
Uncomfortable about heading back in the direction to the old man’s
hotel, I walked as casual as possible until I was safe at
home."

Christopher pauses only momentarily before he
starts speaking again, "Lune greeted me at the door with a bow; and
then smelling, I don’t know, maybe the fear or blood … he ran from
me and hid behind my bed. I should have known then that things were
only going to get worse from there.

“Finally losing my composure, I headed for
the bathroom and threw up. Only then, did I finish a total clean-up
job on myself. I stripped off all my clothes. Naked, I picked
everything up off the floor, including the blood-stained shirt I'd
removed at the penthouse, and tossed it all into the fireplace.
While that roared to life, I climbed into the hottest shower I
think I’ve ever taken. I was hoping to scald away the memories of
the night.”

I take advantage of the pause this time by
saying, “Wait a minute though … you didn’t actually pull the
trigger on anyone. What you did do, was controlled by V, through
some kind of irrationality. How can you still think you’re
responsible?” I listen patiently, and I try to look at what he went
through unbiased … try to look at it from a law-enforcement
perspective.

Continuing to try and ease the intensity of
the atmosphere, I tell him, “First of all, like you said, you
didn’t make that sniper do anything he was already prepared to do.
The man was a killer for hire; he did just what he wanted to do …
kill for a paycheck. Forensically, on a scientific basis … even if
you turned yourself in, and confessed your involvement, they would
laugh you right out of the precinct. I know what you saw was
terrible, and what your influences led to was disturbing … but
ultimately you weren’t the one actually taking a life.” I care
about the kid, that is a fact, but I am not predisposed to let my
feelings interfere with rational thoughts. The kid didn’t actually
kill anyone.

“I hold myself responsible. How could I not?
I understood exactly what my involvement would lead to … and
instead of saving life, I pushed the situation right in to a
bonfire. Influenced by V or not, I was the one who changed the
sniper’s orders, and I was the one who pushed James into his
tantrum. The worst part of that night, came after I stepped out of
the shower."

"You have to understand … there are side
effects to functioning with endorphins running for that long:
primarily the exhaustion, when they wear off. While in the shower,
I started to calm down … reasoning through the events. Would anyone
identify me from the lobby? No, the few people standing around were
distracted by the sound and looking at the holes in the glass, not
even noticing me. Security cameras were shut off by the gunmen, a
momentary malfunction while they killed me.

"By the time I climbed out of the shower, I
wasn’t able to stand any longer. I managed to make it to the bed,
where I collapsed. Lune climbed up next to me, obviously happy I no
longer smelled scary, and curled up against my side.

"Have you ever thought you had woken from a
dream, but you were still trapped in sleep … paralyzed, unable to
move, panic smothering you? My muscles refused to answer; I
couldn’t even roll over from the uncomfortable position I’d folded
into when I fell on the bed. Within ten minutes, I could feel my
hips and back starting to ache, and then I couldn’t feel anything,
as I slipped into unconsciousness.

"I’m not sure how long I lay there, not
moving. When the screaming started echoing in my head, at first, I
thought I was having a nightmare … reliving James’s tantrum that
led to his father’s death. Then the stabbing pain in my back made
itself known, and my head started to pound. I was able to open my
eyes and finally roll over into a better position, easing the knots
in my back and side … but that was all I could do.

"Laying on my back staring at the ceiling, I
cringed listening to James screaming incoherent insults at V. I
realized V had no power over me, for now … emotionally, I was
completely numb, indifferent, broken. When V’s question came at me
through his hollow gasp of a voice, I barely had the strength to
answer … what did I want to do about James? James had turned
against me, and then put me in danger because he couldn’t control
his temper, now he was determined to force me to injure myself.
Even if that meant screaming and forcing his poisonous emotions on
me forever, until I took my own life in order to stop the noise.
Without even trying to sit up, I told V to kill him.

“Either trying to hide, or seek out mutual
comfort, Lune wedged his head under my neck as the guttural
screaming started. This wasn’t anger, or a whining tantrum … I lay
there paralyzed and listened to James’s death wails, as V destroyed
him. Like a cat playing with his catch, V was in no hurry to give
James an easy escape.

“I didn’t want to touch either of their minds
intentionally, or accidentally, so I tried to focus on Lune’s
breathing and the hot air he was blowing on my neck. After, what I
assume to be, about twenty minutes, I couldn’t keep the bile
flowing up the back of my throat. I didn’t know when I ate or drank
anything last … it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because I would
have thrown it all up when I came back from the hotel slaughter.
With nothing to dilute the stomach acids now entering my mouth, all
I could do was turn my head to the side and gag. Slowly turning the
rest of my body to the side and pulling my knees up into a fetal
position, I covered both Lune’s and my head with a pillow.
Listening to my own muted sobs, I slipped back into
unconsciousness.”

Christopher’s expression changed into a mask:
slack, pale, and tired … sweat speckled his forehead. I didn't
press for any more answers; I know none will come. I walk over to
the pen and place the bird in Ursa’s bowl, hoping to tempt her into
eating it … she has to keep up her strength for Artemis now. As I
turn back to the table, Christopher has left. Curious, I walk back
and pick up our mugs, placing them in the kitchen sink, while
watching him slowly slide into his room, and close the door with a
soft click.