It was easier than I’d expected.
I’d looked down at him, as he baited me to his last breath, and it hadn’t been so difficult to pull the trigger after all. A momentary decision. A feeling that this was the right choice.
Max would have done it. I know he would have–but I couldn’t let him. All this time, he’s carried the weight of the other lives, the blood that he never stops seeing. I couldn’t let him add more to his nightmare.
I can carry some of that weight for him, so I chose to.
It was almost too easy.
I look down at Art’s body for a long moment, the gun starting to tremble in my hand, watching the blood seep into the grass. I vaguely feel someone taking the gun out of my hand, feel Max’s arm around me, moving me away from the body. I see Levin’s face in front of me as I look up, and through the faint ringing in my ears, I hear him speaking to Max.
“I’ll take care of the body,” he says. “I’ll burn it in the remains of the house, make it look like he died that way. I’ll handle it.”
“I know you will.” Max’s voice, very close to me. “I need to get Giana and Tommas to safety, back to their house.”
“Not the cabin.” Giana’s voice is still full of lingering fear, but stronger than I would have expected. “He destroyed it. Our house in town should be safe–I don’t know who else would come after us.”
I feel like I’m in a daze as Max guides me back towards the car, Giana and Tommas slowly following, and I realize dimly that I must be in some kind of shock. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected to make it this far alive. If Art hadn’t been goaded into killing me, I’d expected Levin to follow through on his promise.
As I slide into the car, Giana next to me, I try to focus on what I can to bring me back to earth, trying to recall things my therapist once told me to do, what feels like a lifetime ago. The cool leather under my hands, the smell of it, the sound of the engine. The sound of Max’s voice. The knowledge that I’m alive.
Art is dead.
I should feel bad. A person issupposedto feel bad when they kill someone, I think.
But I don’t. I’m glad he’s dead.
I’m glad that Max and I are one step closer to being safe.
When the car stops again, I vaguely hear Giana saying something about us staying and Max thanking her, but telling her that it’s too dangerous still and that he and Levin need to make sure there are no more threats. I sit there, wobbling slightly in the backseat, as I hear him say something about leaving a guard for them.
The world feels slow around me, sticky, sleepy. I sit there in a daze all the way to the hotel, through Max’s strong arms lifting me up, carrying me, and laying me down in a bed softer than the one from earlier.
I hear his voice murmuring that he loves me. That he’s sorry. That he never would have asked me to do it.
I try to say I love him, too. That there’s no need to be sorry. That I wanted to.
But it will all have to wait for later. I can feel darkness clawing at me, exhaustion rising up to claim me, and my last thought before I pass out is that at least now, we know there will be a later, after all.
—
I don’t know how long I sleep for. When I finally wake up, bleary-eyed with my head heavy on my shoulders and push myself up on an elbow, I see Max sitting on the other side of the bed next to me. In the one across from ours, Levin is asleep, too, snoring softly in the dimly lit darkness.
“Max?” I say his name softly, almost afraid this is a dream, that it’s not real.
He turns towards me instantly, face lined with moonlight, his expression softening as he sees me. “You’re awake,” he murmurs. “You slept for two days, Sasha. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Levin said this is normal, sometimes. That you just needed rest.” He smiles lopsidedly. “I guess he was right.”
“Ifeellike I slept for two days.” I rub a hand over my face, slowly pushing myself up. “We’re in a hotel?”
Max nods. “A safe one–although we need to get out of Italy as soon as possible. If anyone is looking for us in connection with Obelensky, this would be a place they would look. We decided to wait until you were awake to leave.” He pauses, a faint sound of concern in his voice. “Do you remember what happened–”
“That I killed Art?” My voice is drier than I meant for it to be. “I remember.”
“I would never have asked you to do that.” There’s a faint sadness in Max’s voice. “It’s something that stays with you, Sasha.”
“I know,” I say quietly, turning to look at him. “That’s why I did it.”
“What do you mean?”