“Let me get this straight—you hedged your bets by allowing for the possibility that Ahriman had granted Darius powers?”
“No,” Viktor said, “I allowed for the possibility that Darius believed that Ahriman had granted him these powers.”
“I thought you were a professor, not a lawyer.” Grey ran a hand through his hair, leaving it cupped behind his neck. “I have a question for you, something that’s been on my mind during this case for obvious reasons.”
“Of course.”
“Do you believe in evil?” Grey said.
Viktor chuckled.
“That wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”
“A student at a recent lecture asked me the same question,” Viktor said.
“And has your answer changed?”
Viktor compressed his lips. “We’re two generations away from Adolf Hitler, Rwanda and the Balkans are barely scabbed wounds. You yourself witnessed the depravity of L’église de la Bête. So no, I don’t question the existence of evil. I just want to know where it comes from. And what’s your opinion on the matter, my promising young student, after a year in the field?”
“Of course evil exists. And I don’t give a damn where it comes from.”
Viktor’s eyes crinkled. “I suppose that’s why we make a good team.”
Grey noticed Viktor’s hands had started to shake, whether from the lack of absinthe or from the weight of memory or from something else, Grey wasn’t sure.
Viktor turned towards the door, and Grey said, “Heading back to Prague?”
Viktor kept his hands in front of him, out of Grey’s line of sight. “Just stepping out for a bit of air.”
“No need to stick around on my behalf. I’ve been in worse shape.”
“It’s not a need, Grey.”
He left the room. Grey let his gaze linger on the closed door for a long time after Viktor left, then shifted to look out the window, at the afternoon light struggling to streak through the clouds.
Late that night, when Grey was alone with the beeping monitors, he found himself thinking, despite his strong words, about what had transpired. Though he saw no intrinsic value in it, maybe part of him, maybe part of everyone, yearned to know what this bottomless sea of atoms in which we swim was all about, this Ping-Pong game of quarks and quasars and dark energy, played out by forces unseen, wielding the paddles with such caprice.
And if a Supreme Being did exist, he had to admit he rather liked the idea of a more human concept of God, a God who was something less than perfect, and thus not accountable for evil. He knew the theologians would tell him how juvenile that was and that absolute free will was necessary and that our omnipotent God, with all his smiting, was like a father to a two-year-old because sometimes punishment just had to be given, and that, like two-year-olds, we humans become confused when we try to find rhyme or reason in God’s actions, and the reality is that we just can’t see clearly enough. And, so those theologians would argue, it was all okay because God knew exactly what He was doing when He created such flawed creatures and set the stage for a world where fathers beat their sons and men in white collars rape little boys and serial killers torture victims in dank holes and whole races are enslaved and whole cities are atomized and Jews are shoved into ovens and pink-skinned gurgling babies are born into crack houses.
Though he disagreed with those theologians, Grey could concede that maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to understand the finer points of all the arguments. But he didn’t really care, because he didn’t think it mattered.
Grey thought in human terms, because that was the perspective he was given, and he thought the followers of all religions and cultures and creeds, people everywhere, knew the basic difference between right and wrong. That it was only when someone wanted something so badly that they began to justify their actions.
His eyes sought the window again, the dark. It was with us all, and he thought no one really needed to question the definition of evil. Because even if you didn’t know why or understand how, you recognized it, and you knew.
You just knew.
Acknowledgments
As they say, it takes a village, and I can’t thank everyone enough who had a hand in this book. Special thanks to C-Money, J-Wall, Rusty, my wife, McLemore, and Mom for above and beyond support, assistance, and encouragement. Congrats again to Richard Marek for sending me into a tailspin of despair with his incisive comments—I wouldn’t have it any other way. Andrea Hurst provided amazing editorial support. Mike Burke, M.D., made sure the book passed muster with the principles of medical science. A special nod to Scott Nicholson for his selfless support of a young author. Heartfelt thanks to Alan Turkus and the rest of the team at Thomas & Mercer for their mad publishing skills, enthusiasm, and for taking me on. And to Steve Axelrod, my scarily savvy agent: thanks for guiding me through.
Finally, a very grateful shout out to all the book bloggers and reviewers who helped get this series off the ground with their grassroots support. Thanks for what you do for books.
ROBIN SHETLER PHOTOGRAPHY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAYTON GREEN is the author of the Dominic Grey series and other works. Please visit him at www.laytongreen.com for additional information on Layton, his works, and more. He might also be spotted in the corner of a dark and smoky café in Bogotá, researching the next Dominic Grey novel.
The Diabolist (Dominic Grey 3) Page 36