Nightlife (Cal Leandros #1)(95)

"He atoned." Nik wasn't a religious man by most standards, but he had a moral code that would have had Mother Teresa's staunch approval. Samuel had committed a grievous act, but in my brother's eyes he had more than redeemed himself.

"Do you think he made it out?"

Niko took the third sandwich and handed me the last one. "Anything's possible," he answered with care. "If nothing else over the years, we've seen that."

We'd also seen how few fairy-tale endings actually materialized, how many happily-ever-afters survived reality. Not too damn many. My fingers pressed deep into the soft bread before I exhaled and took a bite. "He was a good guy," I murmured around the mouthful. "Deep down, where it counted, he was a good man."

"Perhaps, I think, even a great man." Nik discarded his sandwich unfinished. Studying me with an unwavering attention, he watched as I slowly worked on mine. Several minutes of this scrutiny passed before he spoke. It might have been unnerving to someone else, but I was used to it. Niko had something to say. When he was ready he would say it and not a moment sooner. When the words finally came, they were fairly innocuous—on the surface. "How are you, Cal?"

How was I? A simple question, right? Straightforward. Direct. And as loaded as a dealer's Glock. "Didn't we cover this already?" I blinked and sucked peanut butter off of my thumb. "Fine and dandy. Right as rain. Want I should go on?" I'd known that I wasn't going to get off so easily. I just hadn't known it would come so soon.

"Only if you want to tell me what's really going on." His finger poked me in the chest and then flicked my head. "In here and here."

I'd always been a pathetic liar where Niko was involved. You would think Mom's swindler genes had skipped a generation altogether. Not that trying to lie to my brother came up that often. Now, though, in post-Darkling times, I felt more reticent with Nik than I had with the others. It wasn't difficult to understand why. I had tried to kill Goodfellow and I would've made the same attempt on Rafferty if I'd been given the opportunity. But while betrayal is betrayal, history is also history. What I'd done to Nik, who had spent his entire life trying to protect me… it was in a realm all its own. I knew my brother like no one else did, and I knew exactly what to do to hurt him the most. In an odd way I regretted the things I'd said to him almost more than the attempts to take his life.

"Cal?" Nik prodded, not without empathy. At my continued silence, he locked fingers around my wrist and squeezed lightly. "You know this isn't idle curiosity on my part. I want to know what it was like for you. I want to understand."

So he could help me. So at least one person would know exactly how it had been for me. Yeah, I knew that. And I also knew he would suffer for the hearing of it, but that wasn't going to stop him. I had the most bizarre urge to cover my eyes like a child. If you can't see it, it's not there. Unfortunately, every time I closed my eyes I could see it. No trick could change that. "I remember everything, Cyrano," I said slowly. "Every single goddamn thing, every emotion, every sound, every sensation, like they were my own." I looked down and took a deep breath. "I tried to burn a man to death, beat another one to within an inch of his life. I tried to kill George." Shaking my head, I swallowed and pushed on, "And when I shot you… stabbed you…"

I stopped, rubbed my hand harshly over my face, and started to get up before Niko's hand on my arm held me back. Fight or flight, it was a sensation I'd spent a lifetime becoming familiar with. I sat back down and continued flatly, "When I did those things… I can still feel the emotions. Glee. Satisfaction. I have that in me now. I have every damned memory and it makes me sick." And it did. It made me physically ill, but it was more than that. Much more. "It makes me sick that I spilled your blood. That I hurt you. You, Nik. But you know what's worse? You know what really kicks me in the gut? It was the most goddamn fun I've ever had." That time I jerked away from him and paced the room. "It wasn't me. I know it wasn't. But Jesus, I remember it just like it was."

He slid out of bed and followed, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder. "Cal, listen to me. You're right. It wasn't you. Maybe that doesn't make a difference to you now, but it will. In time, I promise, it will. Those memories, those feelings, will fade." Thanks to Rafferty, they already had to a certain extent. If they hadn't, I couldn't imagine the shape I would be in. "It will get better. You just have to give it time."

"Not sure I can wait that long." I gave him a wobbly smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come. I wasn't the only one who had memories or who would have sleepless nights. And I wasn't the only one who would dread closing his eyes. Nik had some horrifying memories of his own… in many ways equal to mine. Maybe worse. He'd done things he would regret until the day he died, no matter how necessary they were. "I'm sorry, Nik. I am so damn sorry."

"I think we will both be living in a universe full of sorry for a long, long time." He gave me a look so colored with melancholy humor and undiminished affection that I felt like a child again, in awe of a brother worlds away wiser than I.

Steering me back to the bed, he waved me imperiously to a sitting position. "You didn't do any of those things. It was Darkling, not you. I do not want you apologizing for something that wasn't your fault. Are we clear?" I opened my mouth to protest, but it was futile. Niko repeated with steely authority before I had a chance, "Are we clear?"