Page 70 of Victorious

Victor knew that the man sitting across from him wasn’t there.

That at best, he was just a way for Victor’s mind to play point-counterpoint, and at worst, he was the latest in a series of increasingly believable hallucinations.

Either way, the figment wasn’t real.

Still, he couldn’t help but think how much it would amuse the real Eli, if he were still alive, to know he’d been cast in the role of angel on Victor’s shoulder.

“You remember me, and I’ll remember you, and that way, we won’t be forgotten.”

There was a mocking edge in Eli’s voice as he recited Victor’s words. His hands slid from the back of the sofa as he sat forward, scanning the options on the table. The inhaler. The gun. “Honestly, Vic, what happened to forever?”

Victor tried to ignore him, but the truth was, he’d never been good at ignoring Eli. Not when he was his best friend. Not when he was his mortal enemy. And not now, when he was a ghost.

“You’re dead,” he said bluntly.

“You’re not,” countered Eli, eyes lit with wry amusement. “You got what you wanted, Vic. You won.” He raised an imaginary glass. “Victor Vale. Victorious.”

“And yet.”

It was supposed to be the two of them, against the world.

Victor downed the rest of his whisky and said the words he’d never say if Eli—or anyone—were really there to hear them. “It doesn’t feel like winning.”

Eli shrugged. “Nature abhors a vacuum.” He sat back. “Did you ever think about the nature of our powers? Not what they were, but what they were in conversation with each other. Invulnerability, and vulnerability. Strength, and suffering. Two extremes, set in opposition, as if by some cosmic hand. A grand design.”

Victor rolled his eyes. Eli and his higher powers.

“Which is it, then?” he asked. “Were we part of God’s plan, or an affront to it?”

The humor bled from Eli’s face. “You upset the balance. And now you are broken in ways no hand can ever fix.”

Victor was about to say something when his chest tightened, and his heart gave a warning lurch.

“Uh-oh,” said Eli. “Here we go again.”

Pain shot through Victor’s ribs, and with it, Eli flickered, a signal, briefly interrupted by his own discomfort. But then the wave passed, and he was back. Smiling.

Victor reached for the inhaler. Or, was about to, when Eli laid a hand on top of it.

“Don’t,” he said, almost gently, and even though the hand wasn’t real, Victor found himself hesitating. Meeting the other man’s gaze.

“Accept it, Vic. This isn’t a life.” Eli was only repeating his own thoughts, but hearing them parroted back in the other man’s voice was disconcerting. It made them more compelling. “You are a corpse, masquerading as a man. But you know where you belong.” There it was, the self-righteous flare.

“And where’s that?” asked Victor. Eli smiled beatifically.

“In the ground. With me.”

Victor shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

Eli’s mouth twitched. “There’s no point lying to me, Vic. You’re only lying to yourself.”

Just then, another bolt of pain shot through his chest, and Eli Ever disappeared. When the wave passed, and he returned, he was no longer sitting on the couch across from Victor, but standing right behind him, hands resting against his shoulders. Featherlight, and yet, Victor felt sure that if he tried to rise, he would find himself held down beneath their weight.

“Enough,” murmured Eli in his ear. “Lean back and close your eyes. And let it be enough.”

It was tempting.

Victor closed his eyes as Eli’s voice played in his head.