It’s not the best time to have an attitude, and I’m not even sure what I should tell him.
Still, I have to start somewhere. “Elias was… investigating your game,” I say, much more sheepishly than I intended, watching Ares arch an eyebrow.
“A cop?” he asks, looking at me like I have just crossed to the other side of the fence.
“No, not a cop. He was a journalist… aspiring to be one at least.”
The same scowl is still there, printed on his face, maybe just slightly more relaxed around the edges. Probably from the relief of knowing I’m not working with the police.
“You said you didn’t kill any Elias’, but I suspect he had an alias. He probably didn’t enter the game with his own name.” My fingers tap nervously on the leather arm of the chair, I don’t want to seem this invested, but I can’t stop myself from being an emotional wreck.
“He had inside help… like you did,” his tone grows even more dangerous. Somehow, I know we’re gonna get to the part where he asks me to give up whoever helped me get in. Though, I’ll never do that. I’d never jeopardize 404 and take the easy way out.
“I guess he did,” I cut him short, knowing this isn’t something that will be swept under the rug. He’ll want information about who helped me, sooner or later.
His nostrils flare like he’s holding back from blowing through the roof but quickly regains focus on the current subject. “Show me a picture of him.” Ares turns the laptop toward me so I can look Elias up online.
Thing is, there’s nothing about him online. No social media accounts, no profiles on dating apps or whatever else. Not since we escaped the asylum. I was always arguing with Elias aboutthis. I mean, he was aiming to become famous, but he couldn’t really show his face.
He had decided when the time came, he’d probably use the magic touch of an aesthetician. It’s the era of transformation, and a few milliliters of filler can change a person completely. Besides, after two years out of the asylum, he was almost a different person. He wasn’t the skinny-ass looking nerd, who ran away with me that day. He was hitting the gym, gaining weight, but mostly gaining manly features that defined the strong lines of his face. Add a new hairstyle and he was definitely on the right track. Though still no social media presence, yet. We couldn’t risk it. Not so soon.
This makes Ares’s request to find his picture online pretty much impossible.
But I do have a picture of him. “Can I have my phone?” I ask, pushing the laptop back. “He doesn’t have anything online.”
Ares shoots me another glare, more confused and angrier this time, but disappears down the hallway for a few seconds, then returns with my phone.
There’s an eerie silence as he returns, like his steps foreshadow something final. A verdict to whatever the entire last year has been about.
Still, before I get a chance to brace myself, Ares turns the phone screen to face me. The picture I took with Elias at the carnival stares back at me. I haven’t looked at it in months. An entirely different me and his vibrant blue eyes that are now replaced by my last memory of him. Cold. Lifeless. Haunting.
I fight back a few tears, biting the inside of my cheeks, so I won’t show so much weakness. I never used to show weakness in front of anyone, and still Ares has already seen the most fragile parts of me.
I raise my eyes to look up at him, trying to understand how he knew about this. I still can’t figure out how he found this exactpicture.But before I can ask, he gives me the answer. “This is the only picture you had of anyone else in your phone. I put two and two together.” He pauses, fully aware that he’s torturing me by holding back.
I swallow the knot in my throat, my teeth clench, my hands grip the armchair harder, so I won’t start shaking. “Did you…” I stop, unable to even say the words.
I thought I’d feel rage, anger, but right now, I’m just afraid of what his answer might be.
As if to make things worse, he takes his damn time giving me one. He just looks at me, showing no emotion, no line marking his face like he’s made of stone.
Chills trail down my spine, my lips trembling as I ask again, “Did you?”
His eyes suddenly grow darker, like he wasn’t expecting me to break the dead silence between us. At least not so soon.
“Does it even matter now?” he answers me with a question.
I hate being answered with a question, but this one awakens me. I’m lost either way. Yes, it does matter, but I guess now I should secretly pray he’s the one who killed Elias. That would give me a path, a resolution… a reason. Because if he didn’t, there’s nothing else. I don’t mean my revenge. I mean, what’s between us. And I’d be the one who ruined it.
I can hear my heart beating; haunting, dooming like I’m living out my final hours.
His gaze still doesn’t betray any hint of what happened. To prolong my agony, he pours himself a glass of whiskey without even asking me if I want one. I’ve wronged him. I don’t deserve him being polite, I know that much.
He takes a sip, knowing I’m boiling on the inside. Then he sets his glass on the table, the sound of glass on glass scraping against my eardrums. In reality, it can’t be that loud, but I’m too on edge for my own good.
“You should go back to your room,” Ares says, his cold voice almost otherworldly.
“You know I can’t do that. Not until… until I get an answer.” I trail off, ready to fight for the truth. The alternative feels impossible right now.
