by Jack Parker
"Didn't exactly seem like father of the year," Victor agreed.
"How can you say things like that about your child? That he's better off dead?" Emery demanded, taking another swig. "My father loved me. I never doubted that for an instant. I can't even begin to imagine how it would have felt if he hadn't…especially if he were my only parent."
"Not all parents are stellar. People like Kurt are hard for a reason."
Emery shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to prattle on, I just…I knew about his past, but I never…knew."
Victor took an oversized bite of food and leaned over the table. "That's cool."
Emery closed his eyes and heaved out a breath. "I always loved my mother and father. They were very, very good to me with the time they had on this earth. It's awful to think that it was a rarity. When I was a kid I thought that's what a parent was by definition: unconditional love."
"It's supposed to be," Victor said. "Not all of us get that. Sometimes selfish and fucked up parents beget selfish and fucked up kids, who go on to become selfish and fucked up parents themselves. The cycle only gets broken when someone manages to rise above their circumstances and stop blaming everyone else for their bullshit. Like my aunt."
Emery looked over. "Your aunt?"
"Yup." Victor took another bite that was mercifully smaller, as he refused to stop speaking while he chewed. "She and my mom had fucked up parents. Their mother ran out and their dad was some hyper religious prick who beat the hell out of them for things like developing breasts and having periods. A real head-case. My mom moved out when she was eighteen and spent that time drinking and fucking and getting high. When my aunt was eighteen two years later she got a job, an apartment, and met my uncle. A few years later she was married with my cousin Tyler on the way. By then my mom was broke and alone. So she went to her sister hoping she'd bail her out. Set her up with a place to live or something."
Emery found himself curious. He'd never had siblings. The closest comparison he had was Mary, a little girl he was tightly bound to who he'd once defended from a name-calling bully in primary school, and Garrett and Charlie, two boys he used to play video games with in his preteen years before switching schools to move in with Hunter. But they were only friends. Once pulled away from them their connection ended and he'd never see any of them again as long as he lived. What must it be like to have a guaranteed peer for life? "And did she?"
"Hell no," Victor chortled. "Mom was a nightmare…So Aunt Laura just gave her some money and sent her on her way. But giving a deadbeat money is like feeding a stray cat, you know? She never stopped hounding her after that. She was jealous. Saw what her sister had and didn't see why she shouldn't have it too. When Aunt Laura got pregnant again with Mike, I guess it gave Mom the idea to get knocked up herself."
"And a genius was born."
Victor nodded unapologetically. "I tell you, man. I really wonder who did the deed. I mean every kid who doesn't have one wants a dad, but it was the mystery that always killed me. Anyway…it was smart, having me. It hit my aunt right in the heart. Couldn't have her sister living in poverty if she had a kid to support, right? And she sure as hell wasn't cut out to be a mother."
Emery frowned. "She was cruel to you."
"She didn't mean to be. She was just…selfish. Like I said. She wanted to be a victim of her circumstances for her entire life because it was easier that way. Accepting responsibility for yourself is harder. She blamed her mother for leaving, her father for beating her, her sister for not sharing her wealth. She blamed me for not being a perfect angel. My aunt wanted to take custody of me when I was five and that brought a real shitstorm down. She and my mom had a huge falling out then. Then when I was ten and she got busted smoking crack, the state took one look at my home and awarded it to her anyway."
"Didn't your mother know you were above average, though?" Emery asked, moving closer. "You had to have been showing signs."
"She didn't notice. My aunt did, though. I was scared when I moved in with her, I thought…I don't know, I thought our side of the family was just trash and they'd all resent me. But it was nice. They treated me like I belonged. Like I was their kid. My cousins thought I was cool because I'd smoked cigarettes before and knew what beer tasted like and swore a lot. Uncle Chuck let me work on cars and computers and stuff with him…Once my home life was stable I guess I actually did my school work and got placed into advanced classes. Aunt Laura signed me up for all this shit—early scholarships, grants, had me enrolled in college courses by the time I was twelve. I was in the local paper. College grad at sixteen with a bachelor's in engineering. I guess that's how Mom found out."
"Found out what?"
"That I was smart."
"And she came back?"
Victor nodded. "She was out and free to roam by the time I was twelve, but she never came to see me. She resented her sister for taking me and resented me for going and good riddance to another mouth to feed, I guess. But when she heard I was a 'child genius', ho…You would've thought she was Mother Teresa. She cleaned up her act, tried to get in contact. My uncle kept her away for the most part, though. She couldn't manage to get her hooks back in me before I was eighteen and by then I knew who my fucking family was. The last time I saw her she showed up at my graduation after my second degree and tried to tell me how proud she was. Told me I should come back and crash with her, that we would have fun, that she always knew I was something special…Then she asked me for money."
Emery had just about had enough of terrible parenting. If he ever entertained the notion of children before in some far off fantasy land, this night certainly petrified him beyond that desire. "That's rotten. What did you do?"
"Called her a bitch and told her to fuck off and die," Victor replied casually. "And she did. A year later she drank herself to death."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Mom wasn't great, but I wish that wasn't the last thing I said to her. I think about that a lot."
Emery fiddled with the beer bottle in his hands. It must have been hard for Victor to be cut off from his family now. He seemed so alone. He didn't know how others could possibly cope with being so alone. Emery certainly couldn't. "You…haven't contacted your aunt or uncle since you've come here? Or your cousins?"
Victor sighed, shaking his head again. "Nah. The best thing I can do for them is stay the hell away. They put a lot of work into me and this is all they got. An apple that rolled right back to its tree. I mean I want to apologize. I really, really do…but I can't face them again. I ran away from my shit just like Mom did. Fucked up begets fucked up. I guess the only difference between her and me is that I damn sure know my life is fucked up because I fucked it up. I stopped blaming her for the way I turned out a long time ago."
Silence ensued heavy in the air. Emery slowly pushed another beer towards him.
Victor perked back up, grabbing it and snatching the bottle opener. "There you have it. I've got all of your shitty story so I figured you oughtta have mine."
"Well I'm sorry about all of that. But…I'm not sorry you're here now."
Victor laughed lightly. "Yeah, I bet you're not. Just so you know, you owe me big time after this is all over. A favor I can call in for anything. If ten years down the road I want you to fly to Italy at two a.m. and bring me a goddamn lasagna, you have to do it."
Emery grinned. "Naturally."
Victor toasted his beer, looking satisfied. "Good. Just so long as we're clear."
* * *
Victor had gotten more or less used to sleeping in Georgie's apartment by now. It was quiet, the couch was comfortable, and it was pretty private for a complex. It felt safe enough that he generally left all of his things on the dining table without worrying—his computer, his wallet, his phone. Emery must've felt a similar sense of security because he left his creepy spider box out in the open in the middle of the table as well. Victor didn't like the idea of that thing watching him at all hours, but whatever. The nights were getting easie
r to sleep through. That was probably why he wasn't as alert as he should have been.
He felt warm. He was lying on his stomach in the pitch black, arm hanging over the edge of the couch and knuckles grazing the floor beneath him as he dreamt about a cute girl he knew in college who used to tug his beard when he got too snarky and damn it, he wanted to date her but her stupid on again off again boyfriend was always in the way…that's when he felt the end of a suppressor push into his head and his eyes snapped open.
He didn't move. There was a man above him, leaning down with the gun to his temple to whisper something at him tersely. "Where is she?"
Victor weighed his options quickly.
"Which room?" the man prodded. "You've got five sec—"
Victor twisted fast, palm jutting up, striking his assailant in the elbow and forcing his firing arm upwards. The gun went off and planted a round high into the opposing wall. Victor snatched the arm back instantly and rolled, wrenching it down trying to pull the man to the floor. He succeeded in knocking the gun out of his hand and it slid across the floor under the loveseat butting up against the dining table to their immediate right. The guy was taller, though . He had better leverage and a good bit of meat on his bones, so he was able to out-wrestle Victor for control and throw him over the back of the couch.
Victor hit the hardwood floor with a crunch, cursing and rolling away to find his feet. Before he could fully recover the gunman had gotten behind him, wrapping an arm around his neck in a chokehold and hauling him back to his feet. Victor grasped at the arm, coughing for breath. Fuck this guy was strong. He steadied his stance and pushed back as hard as he could, but the bastard just pulled up until his feet were off the ground. In a half panic Victor kicked out against the side of the sofa hard and broke their balance, sending them both into the dining table with a crash. The table fell with them, scattering its contents, the glass inlay shattering. The collision had broken Victor free of his hold. He tried desperately to shake off the stun of impact and search for his gun. His gun. Fuck, why was his gun not within reach?
He scrambled frantically for it, but the intruder was already up, thrusting a hand under the loveseat to find his own gun. As soon as he did so, however, he suddenly yanked his arm back with a shocked yell of pain, gripping at the hand. Victor took the opportunity to improvise, picking up his thrashed laptop and cracking it over the man's head as hard as he could. That instantly dropped him. He sprawled to the ground limply, arms outstretched. On his right hand were two distinct, reddening puncture marks…as if he'd been bitten. Victor looked back to the loveseat, where the tips of two tiny, hairy legs peeked out from underneath.
* * *
Emery awoke to a gunshot. He sprang up, staring blindly into the darkness of his room. Was that real? Or was he just having another nightmare? He rubbed at his head and looked up in concern as he heard a thud come from the living room. Immediately he threw back the covers and got to his feet, but just as he did so he was struck in the face.
Emery reeled back, catching himself just barely between the bed and the nightstand as someone came down on him hard. A man's hands fisted in his shirt and hoisted him up to his level. "Keep quiet or you're dead."
Emery clenched his aching jaw as a gun was shoved up under his chin. This was definitely no night terror. He had no choice but to comply with the man's demands and his heart hammered anxiously as he heard a great ruckus coming from the other room. How had they gotten past Victor? God, what did they do to him?
A second later he was jarred out of his position when another pair of arms suddenly appeared around his attacker's neck, one hand holding a hunting knife. It made a cut into the man's neck, but his reflexes were fast. He shoved the responsible party off with a short spurt of blood from the wound and fell back. When he was dropped Emery could see Georgie recovering, expression straight as she brandished the knife. The man was turning to aim his gun at her in surprise and Emery grabbed his arm, slamming it hard over the nearby bedrail and forcing the gun to be dropped behind the head of the bed. Georgie lunged for him, leaping up onto his back in an impressively athletic bound and locking her arms around his throat. She plunged the knife into his right pectoral and he screeched in pain before snatching the handle and pulling it out. The knife fell to the floor and he staggered back with Georgie still clinging to a chokehold.
Emery was swiping the knife off the ground as the man fell. Georgie still held him, seated on the floor with his upper body between her legs, struggling to tighten her grip around his neck as he struck out at her. She caught a few blows to the ribs before Emery was able get down past his kicking legs and drive the knife as hard as he could into his chest. The man stiffened with a desperate, unfulfilled gasp as he was suffocated. His movements became fitful, blood lining his teeth as he gnashed them. Emery withdrew the blade and stabbed twice more in quick jabs. A minute later he was blue in the face and the struggle had ceased. Emery grimaced, looking down at the blood spattering his clothes. He'd only ever killed men by shooting them. He'd never before carved the life from one with his own two hands like that. Georgie let loose a relieved breath, dropping the dead man and panting as she held her side.
Emery reached out and steadied her shoulders. "Are you alright?"
She nodded, using him to push herself to her feet. "Victor," she heaved.
They both made it out into the living room just in time to see Victor on his knees near the broken table. Emery leapt to his side, observing the dead man on the ground. Victor reached out and grabbed Emery's shoulder. "Shit. You okay?"
"Are you?" Emery asked incredulously as he surveyed the scene.
Victor was winded but nodded, wincing in pain as he bent over to continue whatever he was doing. Emery belatedly realized he was using a broken piece of chair wood to tap a wayward Fidget out from underneath the loveseat. Emery jumped in shock and scooped it up as it was forced out. Somehow, once again, the tarantula had managed to be flung from its enclosure and miraculously escape all injury. Emery held it close to his body as it began kicking hairs in agitation, gaping at Victor wordlessly.
Victor fell back onto his behind, tossing the piece of wood and holding his side. "I take back everything I ever said about that spider."
Emery and Georgie each took an arm and pulled him to his feet.
"There were just two," Georgie said.
"What the fuck is going on?" Victor demanded.
Emery found his glass box tipped on its side near the couch where the spider had been found and picked it up, shoveling bark back into it before closing his irate pet up inside. "Those blokes weren't bloody playing around."
"Must've been Eaton's service," Georgie surmised.
"Horseshit," Victor snapped, turning a glare on her. "They were here for you."
Georgie fell silent.
"How could you know a thing like that?" Emery asked.
Victor jabbed a finger down at the man on the floor. "The sandman here clued me in. Look at him—he's not bodyguard. He's not a thug. This is a full blown assassin. What are you not telling us? Why the fuck do you have these guys coming after you, Faraday?"
"How the hell should I know?" she said, looking frantically at the mess. "We've all got our bloody enemies."
Victor continued on. "Those guys at Eaton's place—they were after you too, weren't they?"
"I don't know."
"Who did you piss off? Who wants you fucking dead?"
"I don't know, Victor!" she barked suddenly. It was the first time they'd heard her raise her voice. She pinned him with a feral gaze that dared further accusation.
"Irrelevant," Emery said sternly. "We've got to get out of here. Now."
Victor stepped back. "I'm not going anywhere with her if she's got a hit out."
"You are." Emery reached down and snatched Victor's bag off the floor, tossing it at him where he caught it awkwardly in his arms. "Now pack it in."
* * *
History had a really stupid fucking way of repeating itself, V
ictor thought as the three of them found their way to their new digs around five a.m. that morning. One dumb plan and an early morning ambush during a job gone wrong caused him to move from a relatively nice place to a goddamn slum. It was just like old times. He set his bag down on the dusty floor and looked around the new joint. It was larger than the last apartment, but somewhat dilapidated and with few furnishings. It was a three bedroom at least. The kitchen was relatively barren and the oven had been torn out, nowhere to be found. He didn't bother to complain. He had too much else on his mind right now anyway, like the eighteen-hundred dollar laptop he'd just shattered on some asshole's cranium.
Georgie was all nerves as she tossed her shit on the floor and took a quick sweep of the place. Emery followed her around, clearly trying to calm her down, but she wasn't having it. Eventually she turned on him, demanding that he and Victor stay behind while she go out and get some tea or something since this place was empty, and that they don't go to sleep and keep their fucking guns handy. Then she rushed off. Emery watched her go, rubbing at the back of his head before turning to Victor. "She's wound tight," he remarked.
"She's hiding something," Victor corrected.
"What?"
Victor shrugged helplessly.
Emery scowled. "Don't go making claims. She just saved my life back there you know, and not for the first time."
"I don't know. This is all just fucking weird. I'm having a hard enough time with Ludkov's crew, and they're the ones that are supposed to be our allies. I can't deal with screwball assassins in the mix."
"Fine, but don't take it out on her."
Victor ran his hand over a wooden dining table and it came back nearly black. He wiped it roughly on his pants. "Whatever. Look at this place. Shit…"
"It's fine," Emery said. "Your back is bleeding."
Victor tried to look over his shoulder at himself. He could catch the barest glimpse of a bloodstain on his shirt. He must've caught a hunk of glass there when he hit that table or something. "Fuck. Is it bad?"