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“No. I wanted to have everything, and I should have known that I could not have everything. I wanted to capture Rage, protect lives, and have you. Those three things weren’t all possible. In the end, you made the decision.”
He is stroking my hair and holding me close, comforting me. This is the most surprising interaction of all. Far more surprising than discovering that mothmen are real. I have never had a partner like this, who respected my strength, took responsibility for his own failings, who refused to let my walls stand, but made himself safe for me when they fell.
I feel the most overwhelming welling of love from him and for him. I feel cared for and cherished. I feel a whole host of emotions, some of which I’ve never experienced in my life.
Tears start to roll down my cheeks, but they’re no longer tears of guilt and fear. Instead, they are tears of relief. He understands me, and that understanding feels like the greatest gift I have ever received.
Justice holds me through all of them, rocking me a little until my eyes dry themselves.
“I can’t believe you’d forgive me for that.”
“I haven’t forgiven you, because there’s nothing to forgive,” Justice says simply. “Rage chose his path. We tried to intervene, and he chose further violence. It’s tragic, but I cannot pretend that he or I have been wronged.”
“That’s very logical for someone who just lost his brother.”
“I was hatched with dozens of others,” Justice explains. “I am closer to some than others. I wanted to save his life if it was possible, but he was too far gone. I would rather have you breathing than him.”
Blunt, but fair.
“I just have one question,” he says, his tone heavy.
“Ask it.”
“Where is the body?”
“Oh! Uhm.” I hadn’t actually thought about the logistics of all that would follow confession. “I can show you. It’s safe.”
“Good. I would like to take him home. Give him a proper burial.”
A proper burial is a good idea, and it will ensure that nobody stumbles across a disfigured but undeniably monstrous corpse. If anybody were to find Rage’s body, shit would certainly hit the fan.
Now that I am no longer absolutely frozen with fear at the prospect of Justice discovering my crime, I find myself able to think more clearly. Colors seem brighter. The world is less threatening. Things are going to be okay, maybe.
“I need to make a call,” I tell him.
“Okay.” He gives me a squeeze. There is nothing like a comforting hug from two sets of arms at once. He holds me very close, for a long time, until I exhale and relax against him. “There is nothing I could not forgive you for,” he says. “Some things I may need to punish you for, but you will never be unwanted. Do you understand that?”
“Mmnghh,” I answer. My face is pressed against his neck. I don’t want to say any more than that. I don’t know how to take that kind of a declaration of devotion. I don’t feel like I have earned it, and there is a part of me wondering if this is actually real, or if it is like it is when we are wanting to recover a body from a murderer. Everybody is friends until the location is confirmed. That’s when the Mrs Nice Lady act drops.
If that is what he is doing, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve accepted my fate. Time will tell if Justice truly feels love for me, or if he just wants to recover the body.
He watches and listens to me as I make the call.
“Yeah?”
“Hey. Hank. Do you still have the, uh...”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got it. Had it sitting in the warehouse since you called. Been waiting for instructions.”
I completely forgot to get in touch with him. Or maybe it wasn’t so much forgetting as it was a refusal to deal with the reality of my actions.
“Alright. Can you load it on a truck. Just a general flatbed. You didn’t open the container did you?”
“I don’t open nothing I’m not told to open.”
I believe him. Hank is a man who has seen enough things that cannot be unseen. He’s not going to play peekaboo with a body in a dumpster.
“Alright. See you soon.”
