by Lucian Bane
“Wow. You told the truth. Now if you can tell me why you don’t like it, I’ll really be impressed.”
“It’s not that bad.” Ruin was quiet and Isadore glanced at him. “Oh please, stop being such a damn judge.”
“One day you’ll learn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”
“So help me God,” she muttered. “Oh, I meant to ask, how did you enjoy the Bible?”
He glanced at her several times. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because the first three times around, you didn’t understand it.”
He quirked his lip a little. “Well make that four times around. There’s a lot in it that I understand but don’t understand.”
“Some people call those mysteries, others conundrums. And yet others, lies. Take a right here.”
Isadore watched the muscles in his tanned arms flex as he did. He looked edible in blue jeans and white T-shirt. He nodded a little, “I would agree with all three of those assertions at various instances.”
“And are you any closer to understanding what love is?”
“Love?” he regarded her again, a smile hinting at his mouth. “You say that like a test. Did I have a problem with it before?”
“I think you did.”
“Did I think I did?”
“No, you didn’t, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a problem with it.”
“Or that I did.”
She chuckled a little. “No, you did.”
“According to you.” He angled a brief look at her.
“According to the meaning of love.”
“Which is?”
“Which is something I’m not going to tell you because it’s something you need to learn yourself and you haven’t.”
“Ah.”
Anger pricked her and she looked at him. “Ah? What does that mean?”
“It means I see you don’t know the meaning of it either.”
“Yes, I do!”
“Ah.” He chuckled.
“Stop saying ah, it doesn’t even match in this.
“I think it matches perfectly.”
“I see you still think you’re a know-it-all.”
He eyed her several times. “I can’t help what I know.”
“You can’t help what you think you know.”
He shrugged and gestured to a little diner. “What about that place to eat?”
“Fine by me.”
He turned into a little mom and pop looking place and parked. “So are you angry now?”
She opened her door. “No, JD, I’m not angry.”
“JD? What does that mean?”
“It’s the name I gave you when I didn’t know your real one.”
“I don’t like it.” He got out of the truck and she rolled her eyes, locking her door and shutting it.
“I know you don’t like it,” she said while they walked to the entrance.
“You do.” Another observation, one he possibly was surprised at. “So why do you do it if you know I don’t like it?”
“Because you piss me off.”
“Piss you off.”
She pulled the door open and stared at him. “Now we’re back to exactly where we were before you lost your memory.”
He seemed to hold back an annoying grin. “Which is?”
“You needing a slang dictionary because you can’t understand a damn thing I say.”
“So stop talking gibberish until I get one.”
“Well, you’ve come back into your sarcasm quickly didn’t you?”
“Table for two?” A waitress asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Isadore widened her eyes at Ruin’s response.
“What? Am I not supposed to speak in public?”
She shook her head, feeling like something more was off with him. Not sure what, but her OCD would get to the bottom of it likely before breakfast was up.
Chapter Thirteen
Isadore watched in astonishment as Ruin placed an order big enough for three large men with the charm of a . . . stupid . . . prince. “Wow, you’re hungry,” Isadore sipped water.
“Starving, actually.” He sat back, confident as can be in his own skin.
She was sure there was a twinkle in the depths of those two emerald prisms. “What is wrong with you?”
He leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell me? What happened to me, Isadore? But before you do, assuming you’re correct and that I’m different . . . ” he smiled a little. “Do you like it?”
She snorted a little, not expecting that question. “Like it? I didn’t not like you before.”
He leaned back, angling a gaze at her, his brows furrowed. “That has to be the cleverest lie you’ve told yet.” Like he was impressed.
“It wasn’t a lie.”
“No, no, you’re right. It was an aversion to the truth. Classy, Isadore. So, I’m different and you don’t like it.”
“I never said that.”
“So you do like it?”
“I . . . ” she toyed with her wrapped utensils.
“And the truth comes forth in silence.”
“Oh, please, you’re pressing for rapid fire answers, I need time to think.”
“You either like it or you don’t, what’s so hard about that? What’s to think about? You like me or you don’t.”
“I like you! Ok? You happy? I like you a lot in fact.”
He smiled, seeming to like her answer. “That might be the problem then.”
Flustered, she sipped her water. “Not sure what you mean.”
“You like me and you don’t like sharing me.” This came with a childish grin that actually captured her heart and she pffted and rolled her eyes to hide it.
“But you don’t like the changes,” he said.
“It’s that I don’t quite understand it, that’s all.”
“And that bothers you.”
“Yes. Very much. But not in a way that—”
“I know, I know, in a scientific numbers mismatching have to understand everything obsessive way.”
“Wow, aren’t you just full of words?”
“I wasn’t before?” He appeared disappointed.
“Yes, you just didn’t voice so many at once.”
“Was I . . . mentally challenged before?” His disappointment turned to concern.
“No, you weren’t challenged, you were just . . . not as talkative to everybody.” She waved her hand around.
“Everybody? Who have I talked to but . . . ”
Isadore quirked her brow and he stared at her, the wheels in his mind doing no doubt the wrong math.
“So you don’t like me talking to . . . ” he whispered, “other women?”
Isadore huffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course I don’t care if you talk to other women, I don’t own you.”
He glanced around covertly then nailed her with that breath-taking gaze. “And if you did own me, you wouldn’t want me to?”
“What!? Why are you even asking that, of course I don’t care if you talk to women, talk to as many as you want if that’s what you want!” She sipped her water again, hating that she did because she usually never drank local water.
“You seem upset.”
“Oh my God, I’m pissed at you constantly accusing me.”
He slowly sat back, eyeing her. “I . . . have to say that . . . ”
“Right, right, that you haven’t accused me. Are you ready to hear about what happened to you or not?”
His gaze rested on her mouth. “Absolutely. Tell me.”
Isadore took a deep breath and leaned forward without looking at him—because she couldn’t without losing her train of thought—and whispered all the events that happened from the moment the weird Pilot being showed up at the hotel. Ruin listened in rapt attention and by the time she got to the actual assignment, their food arrived.
The woman set everything on the table. “This looks delicious,” Ruin told her.
“Why thank you sug
ar,” the busty young waitress squealed.
Oh please. “Are you the cook, too?” Isadore flashed a smile at her.
“Oh,” she giggled, “no, but I can sure cook.” She said this to Ruin, a hand on his shoulder.
“I bet you can,” Ruin said, smiling back.
Despite being sure it was innocent, it boiled Isadore’s blood but she managed to hold her smile until she left.
“So keep telling me,” Ruin said, digging into his breakfast with gusto, like it was dinner and a show. She shook her head and he paused in the middle of cutting his steak. “What?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m just amazed that you’re not more . . . ” she shrugged, “bothered with all of this.” Isadore unwrapped her utensils and the butter knife clattered to the table.
“You think I should be?” He was back to cutting his meat, all sincere.
She stared at him for a moment. “I mean don’t you find all of this supernatural evil stuff a bit off-putting?”
He stuffed his mouth and chewed, cutting his next piece of meat and Isadore noted how good he was with the whole eating thing. He’d not forgotten a damn thing, had he? No, in fact, he seemed to know more. Isadore wondered only briefly if he’d lied about it all and realized that was out of the question. Whatever Caliber did, certainly didn’t have a negative effect on him.
“I’m not bothered with any of it, and I won’t pretend I am, and I’m sorry if that upsets you.” He eyed her around his orange juice as he guzzled half of it.
“You’re sorry.” She nodded absently, “Well, that’s an improvement.”
He didn’t miss a bite as he nodded. “Good to hear you approve of something.” Again, he was all genuine.
“Well,” she stirred her coffee, then tapped the spoon on the edge of her cup, “you’ll not be surprised to hear, or disturbed even, that you helped a man blow his brains out, then you wrapped his soul up in a ball of fire and threw it like a softball to the man I assumed to be the Grim Reaper in human form, who caught it, tucked it right in his jacket, then” she snapped her fingers, “disappeared along with everybody else. Then Caliber cleansed you.”
Isadore was surprised to see he’d actually quit eating, his face a mask of many things she couldn’t quite name but were all legitimate and appropriate for what she’d just told him.
“I remember him.”
“You remember the man?”
“No, the Negotiator.” He angled his head at Isadore, fury hardening his face.
“He was cruel. He said things to that man to make him want to die.”
“You should never look in his eyes.”
Isadore couldn’t hide her offense that he’d be thinking that. “Look into his eyes...what?”
“They’re red because his soul is full of the blood of humans. And he’d love nothing more than yours. After he takes things you wouldn’t want to give.”
Isadore didn’t appreciate the direction of the conversation. “The point you seem to be missing,” she hissed, “is that poor man, not that . . . Valkrin monster.”
“Do not say his name.” Ruin growled the words lowly. “Ever.”
Alarm filled her and she looked around. “Why? Can he hear me?”
“No, but I can. And I don’t ever want to hear his name come out of your mouth. Surely you didn’t miss the way he looked at you?”
Isadore couldn’t believe he’d just said all of that over jealousy. She gasped on incredulity. “You don’t own me and how can you even think of that instead of the death of that man?”
“This isn’t about owning you, this is about protecting you.” Ruin went back to cutting at his horse-sized steak. “And how exactly did Caliber cleanse me?”
Isadore couldn’t hold her jaw up as she stared at him, fork in hand.
He regarded her a few seconds. “What? Was it bad?” He shoveled steak into his mouth.
She put her elbow on the table, hand on her forehead, and shook it. “I’m sorry, did you miss the part about you helping blow a man’s brains out? Are you even listening to me?”
He shook his head. “Of course not, I heard you.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
He stuffed his mouth again with a forkful of food and mumbled, “If I did that, it was the right thing to do.”
“You sure about that JD?” He paused chewing and Isadore slapped her hand on the table with a single laugh. “So you’re pissed off about me calling you JD and not upset about helping blow a man’s brains out?”
He looked around and Isadore realized she’d said that a tad too loud.
He leaned toward her. “One. Don’t call me that name. Judging by the amount of hate I have when you do that, you must have done it quite a bit after being asked many times not to. And two. I cannot physically do anything wrong.”
She gasped and leaned forward. “Well, one? I did not call you that name many times. And two? How can you say that you can’t do anything wrong, didn’t you hear me say you were made to do bad judgment because you used your powers for bad? Note the word bad here, Ruin.”
His head shook a little, “No,” he swiped his toast in yoke and stuffed his mouth with it, “Note your word bad,” he mumbled around the food.
“No!” She cried quietly, leaning towards him. “That . . . thing that came and gave you the bad assignment said you had used your powers for . . . ”
Ruin had begun to roll his fork in the air with his squinted gaze angled at her as though drawing the words forth. “For?”
“For the dark. Which is bad.” She stabbed the table with her pointer finger.
He angled his gaze to the ceiling as though thinking then conceded with a slight shrug. “I can see how you’d conclude that as bad.” He shoveled food in his mouth.
“The dark is bad.”
He nodded. “Yes. It is.” He downed the rest of his juice and set the empty glass down. “But even though it’s bad, that doesn’t necessarily mean I did something wrong, as in unlawful.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not.” He went back to eating.
“That was slang for I know you’re not kidding.” Isadore slid her plate away from her. “What do you mean wrong isn’t bad and unlawful.”
He aimed his fork at her. “We are getting a slang dictionary the second we leave from here. And bad can be lawful. You agree that it was bad he died? So do I, for the most part. But the death itself was not unlawful. And I did not help. I merely judged and executed and my judgment and execution was lawful even if it didn’t seem nice. He chose to do it. I helped to carry out that choice.
She was dumbfounded. “Like a pusher gives drugs to those who want it.”
“I didn’t push the drugs.”
“No, that . . . Negotiator did.”
“Exactly.”
“So that excuses you?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Technically, you’re full of shit.”
“It’s my job, Isadore,” he said, oh so casual.
She shook her head for many seconds before she found the words to speak. “Where is your mercy?”
He stared at her and put down his fork, finally seeming bothered. Shock of shocks. “My judgment honors what is true. And right. If I’m supposed to be merciful Isadore, then maybe you should talk to the one who made me.”
“Or maybe you have to choose it?”
He shrugged and went back to not being bothered, eating the last bits of his food. “If I do, I’ve not been informed of it.”
“This isn’t being informed?”
He pushed his plates away, finally done, and leaned back, chewing with slow deliberation. “Are you my Creator?”
“You did molecularly attach to me. For a reason.”
He leaned forward with a lowered gaze. “Fair enough, Isadore. I will consider your words.” He raised his eyes to hers. “If you consider mine.”
“What’s that?” She sat back and crossed her arms, fighting not to be drawn into his emerald snare.
“That what you see is a reflection of what you can’t see.”
She quirked a brow. “Obtuse much?”
“I mean that what you see is a reflection of those things you aren’t seeing.”
“Well that cleared it all up.”
“Was everything good,” the waitress sang, rudely leaning her busty self right between them to clear the table. “Oh, my big boy ate all his food.”
“I was starving. And yes, it was extraordinarily good.”
Giggle giggle giggle. “You need you a woman that knows how to feed a man.”
“I sure do.” He winked at Isadore when she nailed him with a glare.
“Well I’m done, too,” Isadore said when the whiney slut left.
“You didn’t even eat.”
“Not hungry, really.” Isadore looked around. “Where are we going, do you know yet? I’m ready for this to be over.”
“Are you?” He stood and held his hand out to her and she ignored it, sliding out of the booth. Ruin put his arm around her shoulders as they walked out and she removed it.
“What is up with you, did you dream yourself up a set of chivalrous traits while knocked out?”
“I think that was a joke?”
“Yes and no. It’s just odd that you’re so . . . physically attentive.”
After paying the tab, Isadore spied a couple in the parking lot, laughing and hugging and kissing. “Oh look,” she pointed to them, a fine example of two people in love.
Ruin paused and looked from them to her several times before whispering, “You want to? Now?’
“Oh my God,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Those two are in love, I was trying to show you but of course you’d only think of sex.”
Ruin followed her to the truck, still watching the couple while he climbed into the driver seat. “Are you sure we’re not in love? Pretty sure we look just like that, minus all the laughing.”
“Well maybe the laughing is important, you ever think of that?” She slammed her door.
“Laughing is important?” He sounded perturbed. “During sex?”
“Not during sex, Ruin, but around sex, before and after maybe? You know, the stuff that people do in life?”
He started the truck. “Not really, no.”
Guilt hit her as she realized he didn’t know. Maybe she needed to cut him some slack in that area, maybe if she’d have a little bloody patience the man might have time to fall in love with her. But then time could mean he’d come to his senses with her and realize she wasn’t all that. She wasn’t even pretty, he’d just imprinted on her. Soon he’d see the truth of the matter. She was smart, that was the only real thing she had going for her and given his intelligence, time would make her a huge bore. Which . . . made her realize that sex had become one of her tools with him, hadn’t it?