His grimy cheeks and weathered, wrinkled skin come into view, and he watches me wearily from the corner of his cell, legs drawn up close to his body, his bare feet so dirty they almost look black. Shadows from the dancing flame flicker over his features while he watches me pace in circles and restlessly tap the gun against my thigh.
“I can’t sleep,” I say after what feels like an eternity. “I dream of that night over and over and over again.”
He remains silent, which pisses me off more.
I hate that even now, locked in a tiny cell, he remains calm and in control. Meanwhile, I’m falling apart on the inside.
I aim the gun at him. “The memories haunt me. They fucking haunt me, and it’s your fault. I should finally kill you.”
“You should,” he agrees in his croaky, unused voice. “You should set me free.”
The gun trembles in my hand. “Set you free? You would love that, wouldn’t you?” I shake my head, and a bitter chuckle cuts through the thick silence, my lip curling over my teeth in a sneer as I tighten my grip on the gun. “You don’t deserve freedom.”
We watch each other in the ensuing silence, the lone torch casting elongating shadows on the stone walls. It would be so easy to kill him. One bullet is all it would take to end this nightmare, but his death won’t bring me answers.
I lower the gun. “What happened to my mother that night? How did she die? Who killed her?”
“Your mother is gone, and she’s not coming back?—”
“Shut up!” I roar, surging forward and slamming the weapon against the bars. Van der Meer watches me calmly as I unravel before him, layer by layer, until nothing remains but fury.
I point the gun at him again, clutching it like I might disappear if I don’t end him right here and now. “What did you do to my mother after you dragged her out of the house? Where did you take her?”
“You already know the answer.”
The Exodus party.
“How did she die?”
He doesn’t grace me with an answer, so I tighten my grip on the gun, determined to pull the trigger. “Answer the fucking question.”
“Pull the trigger, son.”
“I’m not your son. You murdered my father in cold blood.”
“End this.”
“No,” I bite out, pulling back on the hammer. “You don’t deserve to die.”
“Kill me.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears as he shuffles forward on the dirty stone floor. An ugly feeling sits on my chest, heavy and suffocating, and I bare my teeth as he presses his grimy face against the bars.
“Kill me, Delacroix. Don’t you want revenge?” His lips peel back to reveal yellowed, rotten teeth that haven’t seen a toothbrush in ten years. His gums have receded, and now theroots are visible. “Can’t you taste it in the stale air?” Pretending to taste the air, he then levels his eyes on me. “Shoot me.”
“Fuck you,” I sneer, and he rolls his forehead over the bars as he snickers under his breath.
“You can’t do it, can you, Delacroix? You’re pathetic.” His smile turns cruel. “Just like your father. He was weak, too. He didn’t even try to save your mom, did he?”
“He had a gun to his head.”
“So instead, he slumped in defeat while we took turns with his wife.” He tuts, pressing his mouth through the rusty bars. “A real man fights back.”
“You were four against one. He was injured.”
“Weak,” he taunts, then retreats back into the shadows. “You’re just as weak as your father. You were too scared to save your mom then, and you’re still scared.”
My finger itches on the trigger, but I lower the weapon. I won’t kill him. Not today. Not until I have my answers.
