Page 60 of Possession

I think it might be that I need the violence.

I love the peace I’ve had here with Lucas. I want more and more and more of it. But there’s something awful and destructive in me. I feel it building up inside me. I don’t want it coming out with Lucas.

I stand from the couch and grab my jacket. I prefer being naked, but I’m getting used to my old clothes again, even though I need a belt now. I’m pretty sure I was never fat, so I’m a little confused by that, but everything fits well enough.

I walk to the door without looking at Lucas. There’s a shift happening in my mind. I’m tightening up, getting sharp.

“Be careful,” Lucas calls after me as I grab the doorhandle.

I pause. I look back at him. His eyes are unhappy, and I don’t like that, but I do like seeing him in a clean t-shirt and comfortable joggers. I like that the bruise has faded from his cheekbone.

I take the image into my mind and seal it there. I open the door and leave, glad that I can carry that with me, glad that I know Lucas will be here, safe and secure, until I return.

***

I’m shaky from the drive when I get out of the car. I’m dealing better with sights and sounds, but I’m still getting overloaded. I feel like I need to catch every bit of environmental information, and it’s coming too fast.

I catch myself hiding the struggle. It’s unpleasant to feel that habit returning. I had gotten used to being completely unfiltered. Even with Lucas, I’ve felt that freedom because that’s how he met me. He accepted me that way before knowing any other version of me.

But Vitali …

He makes me aware of myself in a way I haven’t been for a long time. He knew me before. He sees the difference, so I feel the difference when I’m around him.

We follow Sasha into the old boxing gym. The ring and punching bags look like they’re still in use, but that’s mostly for appearances. This place is for killing.

We head to the locker room. A man standing guard at the door pushes away from the wall.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters. “I didn’t believe it.”

“Joe,” Vitali warns like they’ve already discussed something. Me, I assume, based on the way Joe is staring.

I think I recognize him, but I’m not sure. I deleted too much of the past. Some of it’s coming back. Some of it isn’t.

We enter the locker room to the sounds of running water and begging. As we walk to the shower bay, I experience a confused sort of déjà vu. Memories of this place—working here with Vitali, with our father, with our uncle—mix together with memories of the shower bay in Crowley’s warehouse. I push them all away.

At our approach, another man I kind of recognize turns off the water that’s raining down on the guy zip tied to a metal chair. Liam Crowley’s hair is plastered to his head and his soaked white dress shirt clings to his paunchy belly. His shivering, along with the whimpering, suggests the water was ice cold.

“I told you I didn’t know!” he blurts, eyes darting between Vitali and me. “I was never involved until the hockey stadium match!”

Vitali moves so damn fast that I’m almost as surprised as Crowley when my brother is suddenly at his side with a knife at his throat.

“Listen, you piece of shit. You’re here to answer questions. You will speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?”

Crowley’s head is tilted back to avoid the razor-sharp edge, but he manages a shallow nod.

“Good.”

Vitali drags the knife down Crowley’s neck and chest, leaving behind a trail of blood that has him crying. The knife settles on the visible peak of his nipple.

“First question: when did your cousin Oscar acquire my brother?”

“Last summer. I don’t know when exactly.”

“And where did Oscar get him?”

“I don’t know—ahhh!” Crowley shrieks when the knife digs in. “Somewhere in Eastern Europe. A prison! Please don’t! Stop!”

“Where in Eastern Europe?” Vitali demands.

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