Page 16 of Retrograde

“Maybe. But I also really like the Angels.”

Recollections flash through my mind, fragments of images; exposed flesh, the skin flayed in two large patches, still attached at the back and spread to the sides like wings, held together with wire. Arranged in a circle of horror.

“Good pick.” I hesitate for a heartbeat, then give in; this is the most conversation I’ve ever had with anyone about what I do. “I’ve got to give it to you. The way you took photos of them ... I think they looked even more impressive than in real life.”

“I was lucky with the light.” She shrugs off the praise. “Sunset, blue summer skies ... always does the trick. What is your favourite?”

“The Alleyway.” My reply is instant, like I’ve been waiting for years to say it, and in a way I have, since no one has ever asked me before. “But I think you would’ve had to have been there when they were still alive to appreciate it.”

“I thought it was impressive as it was.” She shudders. “One of the more haunting ones for sure. The stakes ...”

“The most brutal one, probably. I first heard about this method at school. In a history class about ancient ... whatever it was. It made my stomach turn. Back then, I couldn’t imagine hating anyone enough to want to do that to them. These days, it’s hard to resist the temptation and save it only for a select few.” I shake my head. “The thing that made the Alleyway my favourite was the screams. Now remember, I’d heard a lot of screaming before. But not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This was an orchestra of pure agony.”

Chills run through me at the memory, and a smile carves its way onto my face, lips stretching over my teeth.

“You did great with those.” I make the compliment sound just sarcastic enough to hide that I’m serious. “Your photos? Those shots of their faces from below? The shadows hit just right. It will never be the same as walking underneath them while they were still alive. But your photos are the next best thing. When I saw them, it was almost like I could hear them again.”

She only hums in response, swallowing her last bite of food and washing it down with the rest of the tea. Something has shifted in her expression, her gaze more distant, her lips quivering. I can tell she’s withdrawn from the conversation, losing herself in her own thoughts. I guess that talking about my tableaus in this detached sort of way is only possible for so long when she knows she’s to become one.

Now she’s scared, and I’m waiting for her to start pleading with me. To argue that she’s not in the league with those men, that she never hurt anyone. I almost want her to. I want to have a go at her, yell at her, scare her. I want to make her think I’m about to hit her—even if I’m not. I want to see that fear again in her eyes.

She deserves that and more. But she doesn’t give me the satisfaction.

“I need to use the loo,” she says instead. “I’m guessing a shower would be too much to hope for?”

“Not at all!” I suppress the urge to laugh in anticipation. “You’re in luck. This cave is equipped with an ensuite.”

I jump to my feet. She gets up more reluctantly, tripping over the blanket with the first step. Instinctively, my hands shoot forward to steady her, and once again, my fingertips tingle as they touch her skin. This is getting old fast.

“Follow me.”

I let go of her and lead her through the cell’s metal door and around the corner, deeper into the cave and into a stinky cavern strewn with sand and gravel, its furthest corner littered with months of human waste. I point out the shower-like cascade of water to her as well as a niche in the wall containing soap and sodden rolls of toilet paper.

“Come back when you’re done. Don’t keep me waiting for long, though. I wouldn’t like that, and you know what happens⁠—”

“Why the fuck would I want to take long in here?” she cuts me off, a little green in the face, her anger flaring. “It’s disgusting!”

“In other words, perfect for the likes of you.” With that, I turn around and walk away.

“Three more patrols observed here, here, and here.” Attila jabs the frayed paper map, cigar between his ringed fingers, thin trails of smoke rising towards the already hazy ceiling of the room we use as our headquarters.

It’s wide, but I’m barely able to stand straight without scraping the top of my head against the stone. The four small, uneven windows are barred, and there’s not enough light. A grim place to match the mostly grim discussions we have here.

“Something’s up,” I say, taking a long drag on my own cigar. “Something big.”

Attila refills both our glasses with whiskey. I toss almost all of it back in one go, letting it sear the back of my throat. It’s not great whiskey, but it beats the usual home-brewed liquor that smells and tastes like vomit.

“What do you want to do?”

“Capture, question, carve,” I murmur, and he nods, familiar with my methods. “Then we’ll know what they’re planning.”

“Where and when do you want to start?”

“You could scope Luka’s out tonight. See if any of them stop by there.”