He’s telling me that Victor Rue was a mercy killing, but it’s not as if Victor is his only victim.
He’s a murderer. A murderer.
“What about you, angel?” He cocks his chin at me as if batting this question over to my side of the table.
“Whataboutme?” My voice wobbles despite the strength I’m trying to uphold.
“Do you think you would be able to get your hands dirty?”
The room spins, and I’m about to topple from my chair when the guard announces that there are only a few minutes left.
“Should I be worried about Jupiter?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I will speak to him,” Valdemar replies.
“How?”
“I’m allowed phone calls.”
“What do I say if he comes looking for me?” I’m not sure why I’m looking to this man for advice, but the question is out before I can stop it.
“He won’t.” There’s a sharpness to his words, like they’re his only weapon in here.
“But if he does?”
“Then he’s a bigger fool than I took him for.” The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s almost smiling.
Chairs scrape on the floor as the other inmates rise and are shackled, then led to the rear door. Just like on my previous visit, Valdemar is last. The guard hovers as Valdemar offers him his wrists.
“But if, for some reason, you find yourself in his company again, don’t let him touch you,” Valdemar warns.
“Why?”
He stands, and I want to stand with him, but I have to remain seated until all inmates have been removed.
“Because no one is allowed to touch you.” He delivers this with such sincerity, such passion, that I shiver.
It’s not what he said but the way he said it, what he’s insinuated about the type of touch he’s referring to. No one has touched me, in that way or any other, in a very long time. I’ve been grieving for so long that there hasn’t been room for anyone else in my life. Last year I decided to go on a date with a guy I’d met in the deli. He was nice, but after our second date, when he’d learned that my twin brother had been shot by Valdemar Montresor, his interest in me waned. It was as if he didn’t want to get involved in what my world might look like or didn’t want to be tainted by my grief, let alone by any involvement with the Raven Hands. And I knew from then on that if I was going to date, I would have to hide the death of my brother, which is something I simply can’t do. He was part of me. Still is.
“What will happen if Jupiter touches me?” I ask.
Valdemar glares at me, anger flirting around the corners of his eyes.
“If I’m in some sort of danger, then I think I need to know. I know you don’t care, but?—”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” he cuts in.
Before I can respond, the prison guard urges Valdemar to move. “Come on, Montresor. Visiting is over.”
Just before they exit, Valdemar turns and shouts over his shoulder, “I hope you sleep better tonight.” He smirks and then vanishes through the door.
The Maelstrom ischoppy on the return journey to the mainland, but I know it’s not the rhythmic churning of the water that’s stirring the contents of my stomach. It was supposed to be one visit for closure. But now I’m a regular visitor of Valdemar’s, and Jupiter Prospero—who, for some unknown reason, I can’t allow to touch me—has started sniffing around.
This state of affairs couldn’t be further from what I hoped facing Valdemar Montresor would achieve. I could back out, tell him I’m not coming to visit him anymore, and hopefully put a stop to Jupiter poking around, but I can’t deny the curiosity box Valdemar has presented me with.
And just like Pandora, I feel I’ve opened the lid on the curses of mankind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
