Page 49 of Adam, Mine

Victor sat in his chair, wrapped up tight for the rest of the night. He tested his arms and legs to wriggle out, but he couldn’t even shift them from side to side. Resigned, he sat there quietly as Willem ate his own dinner, then cleaned up Victor’s dry things from the floor, stacking and folding them to be ready for him. Willem swept the ashes from the fireplace, did what sounded like dishes and his nightly routine, and then went deeper into the house to sleep.

He left Victor in the dark.

Somehow it felt more like abandonment than if Victor had woken up tied and left to starve. He could still feel the ghosts of Willem’s hands on his neck and shoulders.

Victor let fall the tears he had been holding in all evening. He felt overwhelmed, guilty, and hurt. Terrified.

He wished he could run back to France and demand what had been demanded of him by Alain. He wished he could see how that cruel man dealt with Willem’s gentle pointed questions. Whether these tears were a weakness unique to him or if Willem was to blame. What things would Willem say that could make Alain hang his head like this, full of shame?

Did Alain have things in his past that would make him feel the way Victor did now?

Victor wanted to scream that he was sorry, but who could hear him that mattered? What would his feelings of remorse do in the face of the finality of his actions? Was he actually sorry, or was he just scared and disappointed? A cry for forgiveness and a cry for mercy are two different things.

Thinking about this at all made his head hurt, pound to the beat of his heart, and there was terror at that, too.

He wept and grit his teeth in alternation late into the night until sleep took him, again.

The Netherlands

Victor woke to Willem unwrapping him. His first instinct was to kick himself free and flee. But he hadn’t noticed how tall and large Willem was until now. Like many men from this country, he towered over Victor. Victor just hadn’t seen this because the previous night, Willem had been either seated or behind him.

Also, Willem had another bowl nearby of steaming grain with berries and a generous dollop of honey. Victor ached, remembering Willem’s hands in his hair, and stayed still. Stayed obedient.

Willem unwrapped Victor’s arms and placed the bowl in his lap.

“So,” he started. “Your horse is fed and has had enough to drink.”

“Thank you.” Victor’s voice was rough; he cleared his throat.

Willem hummed and reached down beyond where Victor could see and produced a wet cloth.

He daubed Victor’s neck and around his collar, swiping up around his face. He was nearly finished before Victor realized: Willem was cleaning the tracks left from his tears. He looked up at Willem’s face, humiliated. But he found nothing there that looked like judgment. Just the sort of mild determination his mother had on her face when she wiped jam from his cheeks as a boy.

What a strange man.

When he finished, Willem and Victor ate their breakfast, and Willem brought Victor a brown shift not unlike what he was wearing.

“You’ll need this. You can have your city clothes back, but they cannot be worn where we are going. Or for what we are doing.”

Willem moved to unwrap Victor’s legs, but paused.

“I do not think you will. But you are a dangerous man and I am a good one.” He patted Victor’s knee. “If you move against me, I will tear the hole in your heart open so wide and send your bones back to Elizabeth.”

Victor jerked as if he’d been slapped. Her name sounded so strange in Willem’s mouth, a childhood love thrown into the grotesquerie of this space. What a cruel way that Willem had chosen to remind Victor he had been through his things.

“Do we understand each other, Dark Alchemist?” Willem said, sitting back. He looked exhausted and a bit insulted for even having to give this warning.

“We understand each other,” Victor said. “Thank you for . . . everything.”

Willem shrugged. “Dress and come with me.”

Victor stretched, cracking his joints, and pulled the shift over his head. The garment was far too big for him, swamping his form like a monk’s habit.

He found Willem outside, feeding his geese.

“If you live, changing your relationship with animals would be a good start?” Willem remarked.

Victor was forced to remember with a wave of shame the cats and rats he’d killed. Everything this man said felt like violence.