Page 66 of Spiders in the Grove

“What are you saying, Victor?” I walk toward him; my heart is pummeling my ears. I want to force him to look at me. And finally, he does.

“As you are becoming stronger, Izabel,” he says with a heavy heart, “I am becoming weaker. I have stepped so far out of the only life I have ever known, that I do not know myself anymore. My mind is no longer as sharp as it used to be; I stumble when I walk; I have become blinded to the obvious dangers around me, and that is a fatal mistake for a man like me. I cannot continue to live this way. No matter how much I wanted it, that kind of life with you, I can no longer pretend that it will ever be mine to have.”

I look at the floor again, only this time it’s to hide the pain in my face, the tears forming in my eyes. Not because I know what’s going to happen next, but because…I know he’s right. If I continue to allow Victor to love me, it would be selfish of me. I can’t fight him on this, as much as I want to, because if I don’t let him go; if I don’t let him find himself again before it’s too late, he’s going to die because of me. He will die because of me…

“Isent Iosif Veselov to Mexico,” he admits. “I sent him to watch you.”

I’m shocked, but I can’t be mad about it like I was with Fredrik and Dante. I’m shocked by the information, but not surprised.

Now I know why Iosif was familiar—I must’ve seen a file on him among Victor’s contacts.

“I did it because, like I said, I have become weak. Because Kessler was right. About everything. Because I needed to send him—because I love you. And everything I do—everything I’ve done since the day I met you—is a mistake.”

I swallow; my eyes begin to sting and water, but I hold back the emotion. I’m angry and moved by him at the same time, and the opposite emotions are too much for me to bear.

I’m tired too…I’m tired of being the ‘girl’; I’m tired of being the ‘girlfriend’; I’m tired of men looking at me with a protective brother’s eyes; I’m tired of asking permission to be who I am, who I’ve become. Only problem is, I could never be tired of Victor, and loving him apparently goes hand-in-hand with everything else I want to rid myself of.

“It ends today,” he says one last time.

And then he turns and walks out of the room.

Frozen in this spot, for a torturous moment my legs won’t carry me forward. I imagine myself running out after him, grabbing his arm to stop him, even jumping on him from behind and beating my fists against his back—I imagine myself begging him, like I told myself I’d never do. But I do nothing. I stare at the open door he just left through, and let my heart continue to sink into the depths of the earth.

When I finally manage to get my head together, and I start for the door to run after him, Mozart steps into the room in front of me. There’s a sheet of paper dangling from his hand. He holds it out for me.

“He wanted me to give this to you,” Mozart says as I take it into my fingers.

Just before he leaves me alone with the letter, Mozart says, “My advice: don’t go looking for him. I know you love him, and that he loves you, but a man like him wasn’t built for love. Don’t go looking for him,” and then I hear his footsteps as he rounds the corner.

It takes several moments before I gather the courage to open the letter, my hands trembling as I read:

Izabel,

I am confident that my solo mission to find Vonnegut will be the end of me. I am confident that you will never see me again. But I cannot die without letting you know how deeply my feelings run for you, and always have.

You have been the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. I love you, yet I cannot love you the way I want to. I cannot live with or without you. I cannot let you go, yet to free myself of you, I have never been able to bring myself to kill you, either. I never imagined or believed that I could be compromised the way my love for you has compromised me. I was conditioned in every scenario—especially this scenario—yet love still found a way. I have realized that love always finds a way, and that no amount of training in the world can ever prepare one for it; no one can avoid it; it truly is the most powerful force in life; the Great Destroyer. If my training taught me anything, it was that love is not our friend; it is dangerous, it makes us feel things that never last, things that will one day be torn away from us, because nothing lasts forever. You will die. I will die. Everyone and everything you will ever love will die.

Do not look for me, Izabel. I need to do this alone, without you, of all people. No one, not even my brother will know where to find me. Yesterday I would have told you I am seeking Vonnegut for the same reasons I have sought him these past couple years. But today I only seek him so that I can destroy the man who made me the way I am, the one who destroyed me when I was just a boy. But I would be a fool to think I will be able to do this without getting killed in the process. So, do not look for me. I am no longer yours to seek. Today it ends. Vonnegut. Me. Us. The illusion that was us. Today it ends.

Do what I could not do: stop loving me; put me out of your mind; go on with your life and live in happiness and peace without me.

Do what I could not do…

Victor

When I look up from the letter, I find myself sitting on the chair by the window, but I don’t know how I got here. Looking down at the letter again as it dangles between my thumb and index finger, I’ve never felt weaker than I do in this moment; I’ve never wanted to cry so hard into my hands. He left me. Victor Faust pulled the thread that held me together, and he left me. For a long time, I still don’t believe it.

I—

No. I do believe it. And I accept it. How? Why? Because I’m not weak; because I don’t want to cry.

And because I don’t want him to die.

I walk out of the room, past Mozart, and I stop in the doorway before exiting.

“If you hear from Victor again—”

“I won’t—”

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