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One of the four produced a thick length of rope. “Let’s do this.”
Not a rope, I realized. A noose.
Hands gripped my arms, hauling me onto numb legs.Wait…
“Get a stool,” another said. “Make it look as though he ended it himself.”
They flung the rope over my cell’s overhead bars and pulled it tight. The noose hung down. One of them placed a stool beneath it.
No.
Life was too precious a thing to throw away. And Iwasalive. I had to be, didn’t I? I did not have real flesh or living blood, I did not have a beating heart, but I had to be alive to feel so deeply. The betrayal over Val’s leaving the first time, the sorrow and regret that I’d never been a real son for Jacapo, and the hatred when I’d peeked through a window and seen Valentine’s parents as they’d thrown him inside the cupboard under the stairs, then taped up the gaps, trapping him in the dark until he no longer heard the voices. Voices I knew to be real…
Val was with Adair. For me.
Val loved me.
Adair would kill him.
“Get him up there!”
Firm hands muscled me toward the stool.
The noose swung in place.
“You’ve been a curse on this town for too long,” Russo said. “Minerva will be a better place without your stain—”
I tore from their grip and spun, grabbing the first man by the shirt. Shock rendered him weak. I slammed him against the bars so hard they rang. He gasped a silent cry, his eyes rolled, and he dropped to the ground like a broken toy.
I ducked the second man’s right hook, plowed into his middle, and drove him backward. The chamber pot shattered under his flailing boots. He toppled onto the bed, scrabbling wildly. I slammed a hand down onto his chest and knew, if I pulled, I’d steal his next heartbeat, and the one after that, adding them to my own. I could give life, as I’d done with Valentine that night he’d fled to my store. But I could also take it. And so I did. He bucked, his mouth gaped in a silent scream, and he stopped writhing.
So simple, taking a life. But that wasn’t me. I couldn’t do such a thing. I jerked back, and a pistol shot barked loudly in my ear. The bullet slammed into my shoulder, twisting me around. Fiery heat surged down my back. I reeled but clambered to my feet.
Russo was by the door, pistol out, barrel smoking. The third man had run.
“Is he dead?” Russo asked.
Clutching my bleeding shoulder, I looked at the motionless man on the bed. “Perhaps.”
“Damn you!” Russo pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. Nothing happened. He swore and lowered the weapon, fussing with its mechanism. “Come on, dammit!” He shook the gun. While no expert on guns, I doubted that would solve his problem. Reloading might help, but in his panic, he’d forgotten.
“Stay away!” He stumbled backward from the cell.
I raised my hands and stepped through the cell doorway. “I do not wish to hurt you, despite having many justifiable reasons.”
“What… what are you? What did you do to Grant?”
Then he’d seen something in me, something his mind couldn’t explain. Or perhaps it was the fact I was upright and walking when I should have been writhing in a bloody mess on the floor.
“I’m merely one man’s whim and another’s desire.” I smiled. Strange, how the cuts and bruises they’d dealt me barely hurt.
He pointed the gun, still not loaded. “This isn’t right. You’re not real. You’re a monster.”
“Probably.” I lunged, batted the useless pistol away, and grabbed him by the throat.
He buckled, so weak, so easily broken and tossed aside like a broken doll.
A purple beetle scurried up Russo’s neck.
