“Why?” I ask again since it seems the only word my stunned brain can produce right now.
“The previous tenants have been relocated to better accommodations,” he continues as if he didn’t hear me. “Some of them initially refused to leave, but I can be very persuasive… and generous,” he finishes, so I won’t get the wrong idea.
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
He sighs, tilting his head like he’s trying to find a way to say this to me without sounding too mushy. “You mentioned that this is where you came with Elias after you escaped. That it felt similar to home. I thought it’s fitting that it should continue to serve that purpose for others,” he says it so quickly, like it’s a poem he memorized word for word.
But my throat still tightens. I can’t speak. I can’t even nod. I just stand there, staring at the plaque again, while the weight of what Ares has done settles over me.
“Do you want to see the rest?” he asks, his voice so controlled that I can see through his bullshit. He doesn’t want to show any kind of emotion.
Still, I nod, my own voice is not stable enough right now.
We take the elevator to the fourth floor, where my old apartment used to be, and the door slides open. I brace myself for a rush of memories. But it’s something entirely new. The walls have been knocked down to create a large common area with a few desks, computers, and bookshelves.
“It’s a job training center,” he explains. “Resume building, basic computer skills, GED preparation. There’s a small staff that rotates through. All volunteers except the director.”
A few people look up from the computers as we pass. A teenage girl with dyed blue hair, an older man with work-beaten hands, a woman about my age with a sleeping toddler in her lap.
We continue with the third floor, which houses a communal kitchen and a dining area filled with people who chop vegetables and knead dough.
“Meal service three times a day,” Ares says. “The residents take turns cooking. They’re building skills, community.”
“Building community,” I repeat, testing the phrase because it definitely sounds weird coming from Ares’ mouth, like this is a trap that will send everyone to hell or maybe make them agree to some kind of pact with the devil.
But he ignores my skepticism, only leading me to the second floor. “It’s not finished down here yet. That’s why I didn’t want to bring you. I wanted to show you when this was all completed, but those idiots forced my hand.”
I smile, realizing the power I have over a god.
“This is going to be an area for counseling,” he continues. “Mental health, substance abuse, career guidance, legal aid... whatever.”
“And the other apartments?” I ask. “The ones that weren’t converted?”
“Housing. Temporary for most, until they manage to get a job and a place of their own. But there’s no set limit as long as we see that they’re trying.”
He then leads me back to the elevator, and I find myself reevaluating everything I thought I knew about him. Every cruel word, every act of violence. They still exist. But now they exist alongside this. A memorial to a man he never met, created for the woman who came into his life to destroy him.
The elevator opens directly onto the roof, and I can’t believe the transformation. It used to be nothing but tar paper and cigarette butts. Now it’s a garden suspended above the city. A small greenhouse overflows with herbs and vegetables on one side, and on the other side, different decorative plants meant to survive the winter, like a small garden.
And beyond it all, the city stretches to the horizon.
I stop, looking around me and thinking how similar this building is to my life. “This is where I came when things became too much. Looking for a solution that seemed like it would never come.”
“It came,” he whispers, then walks to the edge of the roof, where a glass barrier provides safety without obstructing the view. And for a second, I don’t understand how I ended up here. Not on this rooftop, but in this new life. How did I end up having so many things when I used to have nothing?
I follow him. The wind is stronger than I remember, but it’s winter.
I know I’m supposed to thank him. But how do I begin to thank someone for this? For everything? What words exist to acknowledge such a gesture from a being who has walked through centuries of blood?
For the first time in my life, I feel useless and clumsy.
“The garden was one of the first volunteers ideas. Along with the urban agriculture project. They use the vegetables for their meals, and the director I hired will get funds and organize charities for this.”
“You’ve changed…” I finally say, my voice so quiet it almost disappears into the wind. “I never expected…. this… from you.”
He turns to look at me. “Expected what? Investment properties? I have many.”
“No.” I shake my head, pushing away his deflection. “This, as in all of it. What you created here. What it really means.”
