Page 103 of Martyr
There’s also the ankle injury.
I wrinkle my nose. “Your lesson is messy.”
I come around the bar with his hand in my grasp.
“Lyssa is a curious threat,” I tell him. “You know I carry her with me? That I have for a decade?”
He keeps trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but every shift of his weight, every squirm, dislodges his arm and opens it right up again.
You cannot go, he said to me.
I listened.
It doesn’t matter. His end is coming.
His end is now.
I crouch in front of him and show him his hand. When he doesn’t stop with the noises, I grab a rag and come back. He moves to take it, but I shake my head sharply. I shove the rag into his mouth, andfinally, there’s a little quiet.
Back to the hand. I focus on his manicured nails. He doesn’t even have calluses. How out of touch is that?
I fold his fingers down until only the middle one remains, although it’s not really staying. It takes me a minute of finagling to get it into the right shape, but I can’t let go.
“You’re flipping yourself off,” I tell him. “That’s fun, isn’t it?”
When he doesn’t react—well, he doesn’t laugh, but he keeps moaning—I slap him with the hand. It makes a wet clap when it connects. He doesn’t even spit out the rag.
I tap my chin with his extended finger. “Lyssa was named after a fury. I imagine you probably didn’t know that, right? You could’ve looked into that, but why go any deeper than her name? Lyssa. The goddess of mad rage. I took that and I intertwined it with what they did to her—they made hersleep. Not sweet Artemis, of course. Just for the record, I forgive her.It’s the people who were running Terror who were responsible. The doctors who examined us, the ones who came up with those foul drugs. The ones who decided heroin would be a good way to placate the unruly.”
Lyssa and Hypnos. Fury and Sleep. Of course, we’re sort of crossing mythologies here. I have no idea if they interacted, and Lyssa isn’t technically the Greek spelling.
Whatever.
“Anywho!” I rise. “This is goodbye, Marcus Graves. I wish we could’ve played a little longer, but… I’ve got places to be. And I’m bored, to be honest. You haven’t been the epitome of exciting. You haven’t even beenslightlyentertaining. The screaming and moaning. The hitting. You followed that playbook to a T. I’ll give you that.
“What I won’t give you is your hand. That’ll be my evidence. I’d take your head, but there’s something about what comes next that just gets me all jazzed. Are you ready?”
He stares at me. His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything else. I’m sure he’ll spit out the rag as soon as I leave, and he’ll call for help, andblah, blah, blah.
It’s too late.
I leave him on the floor and exit through the front door, the hand still in my grasp. May as well take it, right? I stuff it in my back pocket, the fingers bending unhelpfully. The two Cyclopes who dragged me in are still there, leaning against the front and smoking. They take a look at me, then double take, but I’m already moving away.
They don’t really give a shit about me. They’ll probably take their time finishing the butt before returning to their boss, and by then it’ll be too late. He’s losing so much blood…
The street is empty. It’s broad fucking daylight and it’sempty. That’s gotta be some sort of sin in Sterling Falls, even if it’s winter. We’re in the middle of a heat wave, I think.
Or, we’re about to be.
I cross to the far sidewalk and slow my steps. I pull out the flip phone and hold down the 1 button, triggering my saved speed dial. Just like the old days.
Theboomof the bomb, which is tucked in the final box of bombs I madeagesago, is probably not quite “like the old days.”
The sound hits first.
A split second later, a hot blast rushes through me. The back of my neck burns for a moment, and I imagine—without turning around—that the flames are reaching for me.
But, no. I’m far enough away. Out of the radius. The Cyclopes Ouranos had hanging around the front of the building, though…
