J. Redmerski - Behind The Hands That Kill

“My family ,” he defends, spitting out the word, “may be known for some heinous crimes; my mom and dad may have been the biggest bastard and bitch this side of the hemisphere”—he grits his stark white teeth and snarls at me—“but my brothers and my sisters, when you came in with your lies and your bullets, never did anything to deserve what they got. I never did anything to deserve what I got!” (A tiny droplet of spittle from his mouth hits my cheek.) “The worst I’d done by that time was rob a liquor store! And I didn’t even kill anybody!”

In a calm voice I respond, “This business is not about eliminating criminals, Apollo. I was not commissioned to kill your family because you were a menace to society. I was commissioned to kill your family because your mother and father were the biggest bastard and bitch this side of the hemisphere. They are to blame for the death of your brothers and sisters, not me— Osiris is to blame. Or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten that things would have been much different if your own flesh and blood brother did not betray you, betray your family name?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he comes back, rounding his chin.

My hands slide away from the bars.

“It seems that you have,” I point out. “You are in league with Osiris again, after all these years, after everything he did to you and your family—yet, I am the one in the cage.” I do not know if my theory is correct, if Osiris is in on this, but it is the only ammunition that I have, as unlikely as it feels.

Apollo’s hands knot into fists down at his sides; his eyes churn with animosity. I see now that maybe things between Apollo and Osiris are not as patched-up as I assumed, after all.

“Where is Osiris, anyway?” I ask, hoping to get some truth myself. I would very much like to speak with him.

Apollo turns his back on me, crosses his arms.

“He’s not here,” he says. “I have better things to do than to keep track of my brother.”

A moment of silence passes between us.

I decide to switch gears, careful not to push too far, in hopes he might open up more if I manipulate him gradually. But this is all very hard to do when all I can think about, all I care about, is Izabel.

“Why fifteen years, Apollo?” I inquire. “That is a tremendous amount of time wasted. Why wait fifteen years to put me in this cage?” Other than it probably took you that long to figure out how to successfully pull it off.

He smirks. “Oh, believe me,” he says, his tone laced with bitterness, “I would’ve done this a long time ago—I wanted to, but…well, that’s beside the point.”

“You wanted to,” I echo, “but this whole plan does not only involve you, does it? You are not here— I am not here—simply for your revenge.”

“There isn’t anything simple about this!” he shouts, and it surprises me, furthermore confirming my suspicions: he is not the one in charge.

He steps right up to the bars, well in arm’s reach, at last giving me that opportunity I wanted moments ago. But I do not take it. I fear now more than ever for Izabel’s well-being. Regardless knowing this is the day she and I will die, the last thing I want is to make her final moments more difficult than they already are.

“Where is Izabel?” I ask, my voice relaxed, but my core apprehensive.

He shakes his head. And then he smiles a smile so chilling that it alone elevates my concern.

“With my sister,” he answers.

I blink, stunned, and a wave of anxiety moves through my body, settling in my chest. If there is any one person in this world I would choose not to leave Izabel alone with, it is certainly Hestia Stone, the only Stone sister still alive. She is beautiful like her sister, Artemis, was, but unlike Artemis, Hestia is cruel and dangerous and with a bloodlust that would have given Fredrik’s ex-wife a run for her money.

“Hestia? You left her with Hestia …”

“Ah, there it is,” Apollo taunts me, “that fear I never imagined I’d live to see in the great Victor Faust.” He tosses his head back and laughs, then lowers his eyes on mine once more, and a grin spreads across his lips. “I’d say not to worry, but, well, you know how my sister is.”

I grab the bars and try to shake them, managing only to shake myself. “Apollo, do not do this! If we are to die here today, then just kill us! Just kill Izabel—torture me if that is what you want, but do not—”

“Wow, look at you”—he points at me—“this is fanfuckingtastic , bro”—he pumps his fists—“YEAH!”

But then his smile disappears and he steps up to my cage, places his fingers atop mine around the bars and squeezes; he is so close I can feel his warm breath between us. “Wait until you see her—my sister. I can’t wait to see it myself. There will be fireworks n’ shit. And I’ve got a front row seat.” He visibly shakes his upper body, demonstrating his excitement with dramatics. “It’s even makin’ my dick a little hard.” Then his fingers move from mine and he presses his face even closer, daring me to take advantage of it—I keep my calm, as much as I want to choke him to death where he stands. “And by the way,” he adds, “begging doesn’t suit you, either.” He steps away from the cage slowly.

I cannot find the proper words to say—there are none. Izabel would have been better off if I had killed her myself a long time ago.

Hestia and I have only ever spoken once; we have only been in the same room with one another on one occasion. But one time was all it took to make that woman despise the ground I walk on.

Hestia knew I was not with Artemis simply because I loved her—Hestia knew I was the one killing off her family members; she knew, by gut instinct alone, that I was using her sister to fulfill my contract. But she had no proof. And Artemis would not listen to her:

“Are you really that stupid, Artemis?” Hestia scolded—I was in the restroom listening through the wall. “Ever since he showed up, our family has been dying off one by one. There’s something about him—I can feel it!” Her voice was a whisper, but sharp and strong enough I could hear her almost plainly.

“You always do this,” Artemis snapped. “You just don’t want me to be happy. Hestia, please, just let me live my life—I love Victor! Can’t you see that?” It sounded like she was crying.

“Yeah, I see that,” Hestia came back, “and that’s what makes this whole thing so…fucked up. He’s using you! And you’re letting him!”

“That’s enough! Just stop!” I could hear footsteps stomping heavily across the floor. “I don’t see you for years and you waltz in here one day, out of the blue, and instead of spending time with me, catching up like long-lost sisters are supposed to do, you tell me how stupid I am—you’re just jealous, Hestia. You always do this!”

I heard glass shatter against the floor.

Wanting to prevent Hestia from hurting Artemis, I exited the restroom promptly, and made myself known once again.

Artemis was on her knees on the floor, carefully picking up shards of clear blue glass that was once a dolphin that sat on the coffee table—I never knew which one of them broke it.

“Is everything all right?” I asked, pretending not to have heard anything incriminating.

“Everything’s fine,” Artemis said, despondently.

I went right over and crouched in front of Artemis, proceeded to pick up the glass for her. “No, let me,” I insisted, taking the shards from her palm. “I do not want you to cut your hands.”

“This is ridiculous!” Hestia hissed. “Why don’t you tell my sister the truth? Tell her you have something to do with the deaths of our mother and father and—so far—two brothers. Tell her!”