Vengeance was addicting.
As ashamed as Apollo was to admit it, he knew how enrapturing the concept of revenge felt. The Misham case had left his mind battling with certain complexities. Night after night, he'd fantasize about the agonies he'd inflict if he saw Mr. Gavin just one last time.
The dreams would haunt him. He'd wake up and feel revolted by his very being. If Mr. Wright hadn't talked to him after the trial, he might've lost it. He could see himself doing those things. Worse, it made him feel…happy.
Euphoric.
Kristoph was never going to resist forever.
"Don't listen to him," Apollo started, holding Phoenix's sleeve. He could only imagine how long Kristoph had craved this. The fact that the criminal had held back at all was impressive. "Call the police—"
The warning was useless. Before he could move, a vice grip latched onto Apollo's shoulder, pulling him back into the room.
Instead of running away, Phoenix followed after him.
"Gavin."
"Wright. Finally."
Icy iron pressed against Apollo's neck. He could feel the tip of the fireplace poker resting over his vein, threatening to slash it open.
"You took longer than I anticipated," Kristoph taunted. "To think you care so little for Justice."
The killer's voice dripped with delight. Apollo reached up to grab the metal bar, hoping that Kristoph would hesitate. As soon as he touched it, it pierced his skin.
He's serious.
The sudden switch from a man paralyzed by fear to a vicious, apathetic murderer threw Apollo for a loop. Kristoph had waited so long to attack. If he was going to create a hostage situation anyway, why wait?
It's some kind of strategy. Come on, come on…what would he think?
"Not quite the reunion you were expecting, I presume," Kristoph continued.
Although Phoenix kept his expression as stoic as possible, Apollo could tell that he was frantically processing the scene. Coming face-to-face with a convicted murderer wasn't really an everyday occurrence. Besides, moments ago, all they'd been doing was arguing.
Kristoph heard everything.
Of course. The ongoing drama was a perfect source for tense, buried emotions to start surfacing. Humiliation. Frustration. The same kind that Kristoph loved manipulating.
Guilt, too.
Phoenix wasn't remorseless. He'd exhibited genuine regret after insinuating that he'd step back if Apollo ever snapped. Now, the opposite had happened. Mr. Wright had doubted and detached, only to be proven wrong in the end. A single outcome remained.
That very same guilt would keep Phoenix from leaving.
"Mr. Wright. Don't worry about me," Apollo pressed. He kept his voice neutral, trying to prevent more panic. "It's okay. He won't do anything."
Another sharp sting to his neck. The blade cut further into him, challenging his words.
Fiery disbelief shone in Phoenix's eyes.
"Let him go," Phoenix said, glaring at Kristoph. A rare sort of fury colored the man's tone. "You know this won't end well."
Negotiating definitely wasn't on the table. Apollo winced when Kristoph decided to flaunt his power once more.
"Perceptive. Unfortunately, I've grown far more attached to Justice than you appear to be." An attempt at mocking laughter. It sounded hollow. "Such cruelty on your part."
I can't do anything like this.
This position was useless. With Kristoph behind him, Apollo couldn't observe the criminal's expression. He had a suspicion that that was intentional. These past few days had made him an expert at deciphering the man's many moods—even those that were hidden beneath layers of denial.
Getting out of this hold, though, could end up being deadly. The fireplace poker would just slit his throat if he tried moving. He struggled to come up with ways to break out, feeling his head pound. The poison must be getting to him…he had to act now, and quick. There was no way to get out of this without getting hurt.
Except that didn't matter, did it?
I'm already dead.
Apollo grabbed the tip of the poker, feeling it sink into the scars left by the razor blade. The gashes began to reopen as he forced the weapon away from himself.
"Behave, Justice," Kristoph snarled. The murderer drove the iron deeper into his palm, as if trying to saw it away.
"I…am…behaving."
The sensation of cold metal slicing through his hand felt like pure hellfire. Apollo twisted the poker to the side, just out of reach of his neck. That was all he could manage. He let go of the blade soon after, staggering a good few feet out of range.
A small victory, but it wasn't over. The second Apollo regained his bearings, he whipped around to face Kristoph, situating himself right in front of Phoenix. Acting as a shield was the best choice he had at the moment.
"Go, Mr. Wright," he ordered. He kept his back to Phoenix, refusing to look away from Kristoph's irritated gaze.
"You're bleeding."
Phoenix's concern was matched by reluctance. Apollo clenched his jaw and flexed his injured hand into a fist.
"I know. It's fine. Just listen to me."
"I'm not leaving you alone."
The stubbornness was not helpful. Logically, Apollo knew the reasoning behind it—Kristoph had the potential to beat him to death if Mr. Wright actually left. Being as caring and compassionate as he was, Phoenix couldn't stand taking that chance.
Or he thinks I can't handle it.
"How heartwarming," Kristoph spat. "Where was your affection when you were accusing him, Wright?"
"Honestly, I never thought you'd make it this far." Phoenix's voice shifted to nonchalance. His casual attitude caught Apollo off guard. "I didn't consider it. Well, y'know. Since you've failed so many times before."
Kristoph's fingers twitched. A manic look flitted across his face. All of a sudden, Phoenix's behavior made sense.
He's provoking him.
Apollo racked his brain for something to do. Mr. Wright was aggravating the criminal as a form of misdirection. Kristoph was pacing in front of him, growing more agitated and swinging the fireplace poker back and forth. Something bad was bound to happen soon.
"You're here, aren't you?" Kristoph said. "Perhaps you've simply grown more foolish."
Phoenix shrugged. "Right. I guess baiting someone isn't that elaborate."
He could rush Kristoph, but getting stabbed in the gut wasn't going to change Phoenix's fate. On the contrary, he could try to push Mr. Wright out of the room, yet Phoenix would certainly resist. Force wasn't going to stop them.
One of them would have to listen.
"You don't deserve a thoughtful death," Kristoph scoffed.
"Blunt force trauma is as plain as they come," Phoenix remarked.
"Overzealous as always."
"I had higher hopes. Maybe we can reschedule?"
"And just as humorless."
"Can't say the same for you."
This was getting worse. Any more insults and they'd be at each other's throats.
Who'd listen to me?
"Kristoph," Apollo called. The murderer's eyes flicked towards him, dark with sheer loathing. "Would you be satisfied?"
The brief flash of reminiscence was dwarfed by the criminal's burning hatred. "Stay out of this."
Luckily, Kristoph's animosity didn't seem to extend beyond Mr. Wright. After pausing for an instant, Apollo noticed that the man seemed more miffed than infuriated by his interruption.
"Would you?" he repeated. Kristoph stared straight through him.
"Yes."
"Then you remember what I said."
The glow of the fireplace. Those everlasting questions.
Whatever universe Kristoph had built seemed to shatter in that moment. He concealed it well, but Apollo could always tell. The resulting silence was rich with uncertainty.
"The rest of your life," Apollo reminded. "You'd be afraid for the rest of your life."
Kristoph halted before him.
Did that have an impact? Apollo didn't get to find out. Just when he was about to elaborate, Phoenix grabbed his upper arm and stole his attention.
"Go to Klavier," Mr. Wright said. The man spoke with an authority he did not have. "Let me take care of this."
This wasn't a briefing, or an investigation, or a trial. More courtroom experience was worthless here.
"No, you won't," Apollo replied. Tenacity, while admirable, was no longer practical. This was simply common sense.
"Apollo—"
"If you trusted me, you wouldn't be here."
He brushed off Phoenix's touch, his anger getting the better of him. Every single move he made was scrutinized and disputed. Was it too much to ask for someone to believe him? If they did, this disaster would've never occurred. He would've died peacefully next to Kristoph instead of fighting for someone else's survival, all while being ignored.
Kristoph stepped forward. Apollo tensed. He could sense the aggression in the murderer's demeanor.
"Move, Justice," the man commanded.
As if I would.
Maybe this was a show of restraint. Apollo stood still and crossed his arms, meeting it with defiance. It's not like Kristoph had spared him. His adrenaline was just keeping the poison's effects at bay.
"You were going to change," he said. He kept his gaze steady. "This all looks the same."
Like a viper facing a resilient mongoose, Kristoph watched for an opening. "I said it would take time."
"That time is now."
"It's far too late, then."
They'd been stuck in limbo long enough. Days of discussion had come down to this.
"Who are you, Mr. Gavin?"
Cycles of malice, repeating themselves over the years. Apollo had been drawn into this never-ending nightmare with Kristoph. Both of their identities were distorted beyond recognition. They were losing themselves.
Today, it could stop.
"I…"
Contemplation consumed them. The criminal's eyes drifted to Phoenix.
"I am not letting Wright escape."
Kristoph pushed with an excessive amount of force. Apollo lost his stance, stumbling to the side. The blade whistled as the murderer swung it high into the air, glinting in the sunlight.
Less than a second to reach Mr. Wright.
Raw instinct took over Apollo's actions. He leapt in front of the weapon's trajectory, reaching for the handle.
He missed.
There was no avoiding it. His shoulder screamed as he recoiled from the strike, falling to his hands and knees. The edge of the poker had swerved when he'd tried to catch it—rather than hitting his head, it had raked through the flesh of his arm.
Too slow.
"Apollo!"
Phoenix dropped beside him, trying to assess the damage. After the initial burn, Apollo didn't feel anything. Numbness radiated through the torn tissue.
He took a shaky breath. A few seconds later, Phoenix put pressure on the wound.
"You're fine, you're fine," Mr. Wright repeated. Probably hoping to reassure him. He didn't need it.
Kristoph towered over them. The sentiment was clear.
Get out of the way.
No need to. Apollo had seen that maneuver.
A smile ghosted around the corners of his mouth. The sight of it, ever so slight, seemed to make Kristoph nervous.
The fireplace poker tapped on the floor. Streaks of red spread along the hardwood. Phoenix pulled Apollo back, anticipating another attack.
"Okay. You have me," Phoenix conceded. "We'll settle this. He doesn't need to be here."
It was kind of funny, actually. If Kristoph had given into impulse and caved his skull in, Apollo wouldn't have a point to make.
"You changed your mind at the last second."
He stared up. Those pale blue eyes, once clear as ice, were muddled with doubt.
"Don't make me kill you," Kristoph hissed.
"Do it."
Apollo stretched, displaying his cut. Upper arm to elbow. Not lethal by any means.
Taunting, though? Definitely.
Kristoph raised the iron bar again. Mr. Wright shifted fast, trying to move ahead and take the hit for him. Apollo held out his injured arm, blocking the attempt.
"Let him," he said. "Believe me."
The fireplace poker hovered above him. Apollo watched it waver to and fro. It was harder to elevate it than let gravity run its course.
"Gavin…" Phoenix warned.
"He can decide," Apollo hushed.
Dizziness was beginning to turn his brain inside out. It hit him gradually—a faint inkling that expanded into a haze of lightheadedness.
The blade remained frozen.
"Go ahead. Prove that you don't care."
It clattered to the floor.
Kristoph laughed. He laughed and he laughed and he dissolved into someone else entirely, shedding whatever ominous presence he'd constructed. Anyone else would call it a fit of madness. Utter hysteria.
To Apollo, it felt different.
"Well done. You've won," Kristoph said, catching his breath. Weariness tainted his words. He draped a hand over his face, as if he was covering something up. "In the end…I am still weak."
There was a familiarity to the way he stood. Millions of mirrors had revealed the same to Apollo when he reached the edge of collapse, searching for something within himself that was worth salvaging.
"You're just like me," Apollo said.
Existence itself was exhausting. The weight of it seemed to bear down on Kristoph.
For a minute, at least.
The sound of shattering glass rang through the room. Apollo hadn't moved when Kristoph had reclaimed the fireplace poker, but the sight of his window being destroyed made him flinch. The shards glittered like a crystalline sea. If they could speak, perhaps they'd plead for contrition.
"It's over, Gavin," Phoenix said. With a gentle grasp, he helped Apollo stand. Although it was hard to maintain his balance, Apollo appreciated the support. "Klavier's downstairs. He knows."
The chance to bluff was dead and gone. Kristoph remained unbothered, continuing to clear the glass from the edges of the windowsill.
"Ah. My dear brother." The wintery wind whipped through strands of Kristoph's golden hair. "Tell him I did miss him, occasionally."
Bits of frost flew inside. The air became crisp from the frigid gusts. Apollo caught Kristoph's reflection in the remaining fragments, splintered and warped.
Contentment.
Suddenly, he knew exactly what was going to happen.
He slipped away from Phoenix and held his arm, feeling the hot blood trickle over his knuckles. Kristoph wouldn't. There'd been no indication of it. They'd never even mentioned it.
Then why did he have this sinking feeling?
"Don't do this," he said.
Kristoph looked at him. Phantom of the past. Apollo prayed that the peacefulness was a way to deceive him, to make him believe that nothing had changed, to break him.
"You were right. We are the same."
Serene with a twist. Elegant yet foreign.
"Stop—" Phoenix began. He was cut off.
"Please. Please don't do this to me," Apollo begged. The glass crunched under his feet. Fresh snow glistened on the other side. "You can't. Please…"
Mr. Wright clutched his wrist. Apollo easily peeled off the man's fingers.
"One of us is enough. Wouldn't you agree?" Kristoph asked. He placed his foot on the windowsill.
"I wouldn't. Don't leave me—"
"I'm proud of you, Apollo."
The world blurred. The man leaned over the edge and Apollo shot forward, hand outstretched. He grabbed Kristoph's forearm. He'd saved them. He was—
Falling. His knee struck the jagged edge of the window and he was dragged down by the momentum of the leap, anchored to Kristoph. Phoenix shouted. Weightlessness enveloped him. Gray concrete came into focus.
He crashed to the ground.
