Chapter 39
Devil's Call
It washed off well.
Maybe it couldn't be scrubbed out of Ludwig's mind, but the stain of blood eventually came out of his clothes.
Toris watched as Ludwig sat there on the bottom stair, and gazed blankly ahead at the front door. Didn't move much. Every so often, Toris walked by and leaned down close enough to see if the pulse in Ludwig's neck was still kicking. It was, of course, and Toris lingered only long enough to notice the scent of soap in Ludwig's hair. Too scared of him to hang around much longer.
Ludwig didn't speak. Staring, for hours on end. He had been that way since Toris had trudged in through the door in the early morning. Had he been there all night?
Toris stripped down, showered to remove the smell of smoke and sweat and stress, and when he returned, Ludwig had still been there.
No time for rest; now it was time to go back to the office and bleach it. And then, again, back to the woods to check on the state of the cremation. He wouldn't sleep for another day, that much was certain. One of the longest, most exhausting days of his life.
But not the worst.
Another noon and sunset had come, and stars were appearing again when Toris finally came home for good, stinking worse than he had the first time. Everything was finally taken care of. The office was pristine and stank of bleach. The pile of ashes in the woods was unrecognizable as anything that had even once been alive.
And fuckin' Ludwig was still sittin' there.
Everyone else was out of sight.
Ivan had cooped Irina upstairs in a room, disappearing along with her as he had been since it had happened, and Toris would rather not know what they were doing. Fighting, no doubt; every so often, he could hear a shrill shriek from either one of them, and it was probably Irina's way of trying to regain a little control as she screamed at her brother. She was trying to go about life as normal, but he was her obstacle now.
Ivan couldn't seem to really get over it.
As far as Irina was concerned, it was over and done with. She had been over it the moment that Ludwig had come home covered in blood. Her anger and frustration were now aimed at Ivan, who wouldn't stop. Ivan had to be right about everything, had to have everything the way he wanted it. Irina had inadvertently disrupted his routine, and he couldn't seem to let it go. If he didn't stop soon, Irina would be the one to pull a gun on him. At this rate.
Toris did as best he could to make sure Ludwig's head stayed above the water in the meantime. Had to force him to eat. To sleep. To move. Otherwise, he just sat there, staring.
Raivis came to him in the afternoon the next day and asked, "What's wrong with Irina?"
Toris just stared down at him. What could he say?
"Don't worry about it," he finally said. "It's nothing."
"Is Ivan okay?"
"Ivan's always okay."
"What about Ludwig? Is he okay?"
Stupid brat couldn't even communicate with Ludwig.
"He's fine. Just leave him alone for a while, won't ya?"
Raivis did the opposite, as Toris could have expected.
Toris saw them once, Ludwig perched there on that bottom step and Raivis before him, kneeling down and staring at Ludwig quite intently. Ludwig stared right back at him, through loose bangs, and the shiver that overtook Toris then had no name. The way they just stared at each other. Didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stared. Raivis looked at Ludwig the way Ludwig looked at Ivan.
Horror.
He didn't know how long they stared at each other like that; a few minutes and he had already turned tail and fled. Things seemed to keep going downhill. He felt so terrified by everyone here, after thinking he had finally settled down years ago. Thinking he had finally found steady ground out here. Thinking he had found his home.
Ludwig seemed to have brought out the dormant current.
Desperate to escape them, if only for a while, Toris trudged outside through the back door, afraid to pass Ludwig, and started scrubbing the blood out of the car and the trunk. Getting rid of the smell of gas. Anything to avoid them. All of them.
He reached up to tug at his collar frequently, always feeling now as if there was a noose around his neck.
Survival didn't seem too likely lately. The way they were going.
It was another day before Ivan started letting Irina move about. Toris watched her when she appeared, and was surprised at how normal her movements were. As if nothing had happened at all. Only the fading bruises made it apparent that there had ever been an incident. She spoke normally. She smiled, as she always had. Her voice held the same tone. She was fine. Just fine.
The men were dead. Ivan was set back. Ludwig was gone.
But Irina was fine.
Maybe she hadn't ever really been that damaged in the first place. Toris wondered, sometimes, if maybe women were stronger than men, because the whole incident seemed to have fucked Ivan and Ludwig over more than Irina. Well, not women, exactly. Irina wasn't normal in any sense. Not a normal woman. As dangerous as the rest of them, in the right conditions. Irina was Ivan, as much as Ivan was.
There was one curious thing that had arisen out of the whole thing, however.
The way Irina behaved around Ludwig.
Often, now, when Toris saw them, Irina had started treating Ludwig as she treated Ivan. Couldn't blame her—they were essentially the same person now. Instead of coddling him every second as she had before, Irina treated Ludwig like a brother, and was quick to berate him if the need for it arose. She stared him down. She hassled him when she had to. When he didn't eat, she didn't try to sweet-talk him; she threatened him. She got her way with him.
No more fussing over broken noses.
She had never berated Ludwig before, and when she did now, the response she got was just like it was with Ivan. Ludwig ducked his chin, pursed his lips, and stared at the floor. Still did what she said, though. Irina had power of the both of them, one way or another. Looking back on it, maybe Irina was the craziest one.
At any rate, with Irina no longer needing attention, Ivan had focused his attention on someone else.
Ivan had abandoned Irina's side to be forever at Ludwig's, and every time Toris saw them, they were sitting together somewhere, Ludwig looking lost and gone and confused. It took Ivan's hand upon his face to even get his eyes moving, and it had been a long while since he had spoken. When his eyes finally met Ivan's, though, Ludwig would always smile. Ivan just stroked Ludwig's cheek, staring at him as though he were the only thing left in the world.
They seemed to be the only ones in their universe.
Ivan never left Ludwig alone, and Ludwig seemed grateful. If Ludwig were gone, Ivan wouldn't know what to do.
Gilbert would ruin everything.
And, still, despite the urgency and looming doom, Toris found himself standing there, watching them, and thinking, 'So what!'
Ludwig had shot two men. So what? He'd killed so many people for Ivan. Ruined so many lives. Done so many things.
All these years...
Hadn't even gotten a damn 'thank you'.
Daylight grew longer.
So did the shadows.
Siberia came to life in spring, and Toris felt himself withering away in the corner. He had little time to bask in sunlight when Gilbert's damn darkness was ever approaching. The stars seemed dull. Hadn't felt this despondent since he'd arrived here that very first day.
Couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe sometimes.
Probably what Ludwig felt.
A week passed, Ludwig slowly started to come out of his stupor, and started walking confidently again. Raivis trailed behind him like a dog, that stupid look of awe on his face the whole while.
Toris watched them go by, watched their lives tick on, all the while feeling as if he was counting down his own.
The disruption of Ludwig's darkness had ever slowed his pursuit of Gilbert, and now they seemed farther away than ever. Everywhere he looked led to dust. Shadows that slipped out his grasp before he could pin them down. It was steadily dawning on him that he couldn't do it on his own. Didn't want to admit it, because admitting it meant that he would have to admit it to Ivan, and Ivan would fuckin' shoot him right where he stood.
Two weeks after the 'incident', someone finally bothered to call.
Toris was so spaced he couldn't even give real effort, and when he picked up the phone all he managed was a short, "What?"
But it wasn't his guys. Rather, a man looking for his guys.
"Is General Braginsky there?"
"If he were here," Toris snapped, "He'd'a picked up the damn phone, wouldn't he?"
Not smart, to reflect upon Ivan in such a manner, but Gilbert had gotten under his skin.
After a short pause, the man asked, "Will you inform him to call us back when he can? We're curious about two missing KGB officers. Don't suppose you have any information, do you?"
Toris nearly scoffed, and instead griped, "It's Siberia. People go missing all the time. Maybe they got drunk and wandered off into the woods. Go look for 'em yourself."
"We'll be sending out an officer to investigate—"
"So send him!" he barked, and slammed the phone down, without bothering to get so much as a name or a number. Ivan would hardly be more interested to speak with them, anyway.
Gripping a hapless piece of paper in his hands and crumpling it, Toris glowered at the phone and huffed away.
The dead officers were the last thing he cared about, not when he was gonna be joining them if he couldn't get it together. Let them send whoever they wanted; they wouldn't find anyone willing to talk, and Ivan would have it all washed away, sooner or later. If, by chance, they found the clearing, then so what? All of the ashes had been scattered by now by wind and animals.
...what if they ran into Ludwig, though? Would he be able to keep calm and sure and unbreakable when put on the spot? Honest and naive as he was. Ah. No point in worrying about it. Ivan was immune to such things.
Toris waited a few more days, but no one else called. No word of Gilbert. No sign of Eduard.
Nothing.
He couldn't hack it. Couldn't wrangle them.
And so he found himself, late one afternoon, sitting alone on the couch, staring at the floor and feeling chilly even as the sun shone in through the glass. Maybe it wasn't even Gilbert and Eduard; maybe it was all these years, maybe it was so many disappointments, maybe it was Ludwig, hell, maybe it was just self-pity that made him suddenly hang his head down between his arms and almost start crying.
Stress. Fear. Stinging in his eyes. Thickness in his throat as he breathed through his mouth. The closest he'd come to sobbing since he'd lost himself back there. Couldn't hold it together anymore.
Frustration.
Time to say it. It was time to tell Ivan.
He would have been able to take care of it himself, if it had just been Gilbert. Eduard made it harder. He needed help. Ivan was ruthless enough to resort to things Toris wouldn't have thought of otherwise. Ivan had tricks up his sleeve that Toris didn't. Knew more people. Ivan didn't tell Toris everything. Almost, but not everything.
He needed Ivan's help. Assuming that Ivan didn't kill him.
It was hard to get Ivan alone, as plastered as Ludwig was to his hip, but for once, Raivis' annoying admiration of Ludwig proved enough of a distraction to get by him and find Ivan alone in the office. Toris glanced back just long enough to see Raivis grabbing Ludwig's hand with his own and looking over the lines on his palm with apparent fascination. Those hands had killed now; was that what interested Raivis so? A shudder.
Quickly, he whirled back around, grabbed the doorknob, and braced himself for the inevitable.
Ivan would kill him.
He had stood there before Ivan all those years ago, helpless and terrified, and yet somehow it felt more horrifying now, to push open that door. To step inside. To tell Ivan.
Ivan was sitting at the desk, pen in hand but not writing, staring at papers without reading them. In his own world. Toris shut the door behind him, gently, and Ivan glanced up from the desk with a surprisingly weary expression. Wonderful. What a great mood to do this in.
Toris was sure he was shaking, but couldn't really feel it. Sure did feel sick, though. In a normal household, seeing someone looking so scared might have been cause for a worried, 'What's wrong?'
Not here.
Ivan narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth and asked instead, sternly, "What did you do?"
Oh, god, Ivan was gonna shoot him.
It took a long time for him to open his mouth, and when he did, his voice was scarcely more than a scratchy whisper.
"I—I need help."
Ivan's equally low voice was not amused.
"Help. What did you do?"
It was the hardest thing he had ever done, to utter then, "He's coming."
A long, unbearable silence.
No elaboration was needed. It was obvious that Ivan understood immediately who 'he' was, from the way his fingers clenched his pen and the way his narrowed eyes darkened. The way he suddenly seemed to plunge the room into night.
Toris found himself edging up against the wall in a subconscious attempt to create distance between Ivan and himself. For all the good it did when Ivan stood up, swept the contents of the desk onto the floor with a furious hand, and lunged across the room to grab Toris by the collar. It was easy to forget how fuckin' fast Ivan was until he was pouncing on you.
A merciless slam cracked his head into the wall, causing a temporary scenery of darkness and stars, and when Toris' vision cleared, Ivan was staring down at him, hands so tight that he could barely breathe. So close he could smell Ivan's shaving cream.
"He! He! How's he fuckin' comin' Toris, huh? How's he coming? Huh? Weren't you supposed to be watching? Isn't that what I told you to do? Isn't it?"
Ivan's voice had gone high, as it did when he was furious.
Terror.
Toris didn't know what he could say that would save his life, but he tried to sputter some bullshit anyway, if only to make a go of it.
"I didn't know! I didn't know he had left, I didn't— I didn't know until—"
Didn't get to finish. Ivan had already wrenched his fist back, and Toris finally got what he had been seeking all these months; a punch. A sharp pain in his nose, a trickle of blood, and he didn't get a chance to speak before Ivan slammed him into the wall again and screeched, "You didn't KNOW? How could you not have KNOWN? You were supposed to be WATCHING HIM! You were supposed to be keeping an eye on EVERYTHING that was going on! You were supposed to make sure that he didn't ever come back across that FUCKING BORDER! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING HIM! I had everything in place there for you, all you had to do was CHECK IN!"
He hadn't ever heard Ivan scream like that. The most terrifying thing he'd ever heard in his life.
Ivan's fingers clenched ever tighter in his collar, he slammed Toris into the wall one final time, and leaned in. A low, dangerous hiss.
"You're so fuckin' stupid, you know? You're so stupid! Fuck, Toris, oh, god, I oughta shoot you right here you stupid son of a bitch, how the fuck could you have missed this? You had one job! One job! One goddamn job, and you couldn't do it! That stupid, moronic little cretin, dumb as he is, so fuckin' stupid, and somehow he outsmarted you, Toris, he fuckin' outsmarted you! If I—"
Toris did it, then, and he didn't know why. He opened his mouth in his defense, and interrupted Ivan. Nobody interrupted Ivan when he spoke.
Nobody.
"It's not just him," Toris said, as loudly as he dared. "He's gettin' help! I know he can't make it on his own, but he's not alone. Fuckin' Eduard is helpin' him! Eduard's doing everything. That was why I couldn't find them for so long. Eduard!"
Not the whole truth, but pretty close. It had taken him too long to notice Gilbert's absence, sure, but Eduard's stealth was prolonging the discovery of their whereabouts. Easier to let Eduard take some of the blame.
Ivan's wrath fell silent for a second, he opened his mouth, lost his voice, and inhaled a sharp breath. No doubt he had assumed he'd never hear Eduard's name again. After this long. It was the shock of being backstabbed by Eduard that kept Ivan from punching Toris in the nose again for being petulant. Toris had said it, no doubt, so that Ivan would hit him again. At least if Ivan was hitting him he was too busy to shoot him.
Speak of the devil!
Ivan didn't hit him, not this time, but he might have gotten it worse; the short shock of Eduard wore off too quickly, and Ivan went dark again. A hand fumbled, something clicked, and before Toris really knew it, Ivan's fuckin' gun was pressing into his stomach. Ivan's nose nearly touched his own.
That horrible shrieking, that frightful anger, died down into a somehow more terrifying whisper.
"He's mine. No one's gonna take him, no one, and I'll raze this entire miserable country to the ground to keep him, you hear me?"
In the midst of it all, one stupid thought—fuckin' Christ, not in the stomach. If Ivan was gonna shoot him then he was gonna shoot him, but let it be in the chest like Ivan shot everyone, not in the fuckin' stomach. Didn't wanna go out like that. Heard that was the worst way to die, a bullet in the gut.
Dumb. Did it really matter, in the end? Dead was dead.
The muzzle was pressing so hard into him that he practically taste the metal, and Ivan's iron fist in his collar, constricting his airway, wasn't helping much.
"What good are you, huh? What fuckin' good are you, Toris? Huh? Outdone by the same man twice, huh? All these years! You never fuckin' learn anything, do you? What good are you?"
A shake, violent and angry, and Toris could feel in Ivan's contracting hands that he was about to be shot.
Ivan said as much.
"You just killed yourself, you stupid son of a bitch."
Emptiness.
When it came down to it, when he stood upon the brink, Toris realized that he wasn't scared. His shaking stopped cold, his breath stopped, every muscle in his body seemed to go limp, and he could only stare into Ivan's eyes. As it was when he was put into a position that required his full focus, he didn't tremble. Whether he was holding the gun or the gun was held on him, it seemed to be the only time he could even feel somethin' close to brave. No fear. Just numb and void, as if he had caught the hypothermia that had once nearly killed Ludwig.
Space. Silence.
Static.
Ludwig!
Fuckin' Ludwig, he had set everything into motion by crossing that wall. Should have left Gilbert to die.
The pressure on his stomach intensified. Ivan's finger started pulling.
And then, somewhere through the void of space, Toris could have sworn that he had heard Ludwig's voice, faint and deep, far beneath the atmosphere. Had thinking of Ludwig brought his voice in Toris' head?
Or had Ivan shot him already?
"Ivan."
A gentle, tranquil whisper.
Ivan seemed to freeze that time, and Toris realized he wasn't hearing things; he somehow tore his eyes from Ivan long enough to see Ludwig standing behind Ivan, calm and straight and very much unfazed.
Disbelief. Ludwig had come.
The shock was broken quite brutally, and the fear that had been stunned away surged forth in full force. His trembling came back tenfold as Ivan looked back, and Ludwig reached out to place a gentle hand upon his arm. Toris could see the tensing of Ivan's shoulders, and it didn't seem at first as though he even realized Ludwig was there.
Quiet. Unbearably quiet.
Ludwig.
Ludwig's hand raised from Ivan's arm up to his shoulder, and Toris was too dumb and stunned to hear what Ludwig whispered. Focused as he was on that gun.
Ivan seemed as oblivious to Ludwig's words, quickly shrugging Ludwig off and wrenching himself back towards Toris. Ludwig tried again, this time grabbing Ivan's shirt and physically attempting to pull Ivan backwards.
Not a good idea at the moment.
Ivan was so furious, so intent on hurting, that he whirled around like a snake and struck Ludwig across the face with the back of his hand. The sharp sound of it had more of an effect on Ivan than Ludwig's initial words had, and Ludwig, shrugging off the blow as easily as a fly and reached out to grab Ivan's face in that instant that Ivan was frozen.
Toris' cloudy mind couldn't even take comfort in the fact that Ivan had finally hit Ludwig out of anger. Ha; yeah, kind of. It was Toris that Ivan was angry with. Ludwig just got in the way.
A brief struggle as Ludwig tried to keep Ivan still and calm, popping upwards on his toes to put his lips up to Ivan's ear. Whispering. Toris was glad he couldn't hear. Probably wouldn't have understood anyway. They didn't make sense to him anymore. Whatever was said, whatever strange things came to mind, Ludwig's words were steadily breaking through the oblivion; Ivan's shoulders suddenly slumped, and the gun was loose at his side. A lightening of his eyes and a lift of his brow. And, then, quite suddenly, Ivan looked exhausted again.
The tiger had been tamed quite skillfully by Ludwig.
Ludwig's hands stayed firm on Ivan's face when he pulled back, and the smile Ludwig sent Ivan was scarier somehow than Ivan's rage had been.
The darkness was gone. Shadows lingered. Oh, still furious, no doubt about it, but Ludwig had managed to cut the blue wire before Ivan had pulled the trigger.
When Ivan pried himself out of Ludwig's hands and whipped around again to grab Toris by the throat, this time the gun stayed put and made no contact with him. Didn't feel much better, if he were honest. Ivan's hiss in his ear was more frightening than the gun.
"By god, Toris, I'll shoot every last one of us if he gets here. I'll kill us all before I ever give him up. He's mine. Find him. Find him. Kill him. I swear to you, I'll kill us all. Find him!"
Toris wished he was brave enough to retort, 'What's the big deal if Gilbert shows up? I thought you had Ludwig trained?'
Maybe not fully. Ivan was afraid of a wave coming in to break that still water. Another disruption. If Ludwig cracked and recognized Gilbert, if Ludwig woke up and tried to flee, Ivan would implode. Hell unleashed on the world. Everyone would pay for it.
Gunshots in the middle of the night.
"I'll fix it," Toris managed, stiffly, and Ivan released his collar.
He said nothing more, and when Ivan left, Toris fell against the wall, wide-eyed and breathless, his heart racing so fiercely that he was certain Ludwig could hear it.
Ludwig.
Ludwig had saved his life. He thought that Ludwig would stop there, and ask for an explanation, as he would have before. He thought Ludwig would reach out, and put a hand on Toris' shoulder. Ask him if he was alright. Offer comfort. Brother.
Instead, Toris could only lean there and watch as Ludwig walked slowly by, casting him only a short, uninterested glance as he passed. High brow. Barely crinkled leer. Chin lowered and shoulders loose.
Toris' short elation of being alive died at the expression on Ludwig's face. The unintentionally condescending and arrogant look of a man who knew he was superior. The way Ivan looked at him. Ludwig had never looked at him like that. Not like that. Hurt, more than it frightened him. He had become a novelty to Ludwig.
Toris immediately understood that look :
'I saved you because I felt like it.'
Not because he meant anything to Ludwig. Ludwig had intervened because doing so had been interesting to him. Ludwig had saved him from Ivan with about as much sincerity as a cat letting a mouse go after teasing it because it realized it wasn't even hungry. It had been a fun experiment for Ludwig, to see if he could bring Ivan down from the cloud in the midst of rage. To try and control the wild beast.
He had.
Ludwig might have transcended Ivan in the power struggle.
Maybe Ludwig had starting calling the shots, having Ivan as helplessly enamored as he did. Ludwig had realized, perhaps, that although Ivan was always in charge, it wasn't so hard to get him to do what Ludwig wanted. Ivan had hit Ludwig for the first time, sure, but had caved in to him all the same afterwards, and Ludwig hadn't even flinched.
With a god under his belt, a man was nothing. Toris was nothing.
Ludwig was nothing, because this wasn't Ludwig. They weren't brothers anymore.
A short snort of air through his nose, a hooding of his eyes, a prim lift of his head, and Ludwig walked through the threshold. The cat had gotten bored. The door clicked shut, Ludwig's soft steps vanished, and Toris sank to the floor and held his head in his hands.
Oh. He just wanted to go to sleep.
He sat there until the sun went down, and finally, somehow, he dragged himself up long enough to reach the desk and collapse into the chair. He laid his head down, buried it under his arms, and drifted away.
Pressure on his abdomen. Echoes of a gun.
His fitful sleep didn't last long.
When Ivan calmed down, in the dark and when the hour crept closer to the early morning, he came into the office, and shut the door behind him.
Toris jumped up in fright and swallowed, head pounding and heart racing. Ivan didn't utter a word as he strode forward, and somehow Toris managed to feel even shittier than he had before. He knew he was still pale as a sheet, nauseous as he was, and yet he felt even sicker when Ivan sat down in front of him and stared him down. He ducked his head, quickly, hoping immediate submission would placate a little of Ivan's wrath.
It didn't, not really.
Terror.
Ludwig was asleep; no more water to douse that fire if it started up again, assuming Ludwig could even be bothered to save him a second time. Unlikely.
Ivan sat there for what felt like hours, and when he finally spoke, it wasn't much better.
"I was going to shoot you," Ivan finally said, in a rather serene whisper, and Toris had no doubt that he was telling the truth. "But," he continued quickly, one hand drumming the desk, "I've decided instead to help you fix this mess, because frankly, Toris, I don't really want to be bothered with it. When it's fixed, and depending on how it's fixed, I'll decide what to do with you."
Toris kept his eyes on the desk, and waited until it was time for him to speak.
"It should go without saying that I won't be leaving you in charge of anything again. All these years, and you somehow managed to fuck up the simplest task I've ever given you. After this is done, you'll be relieved of most of your duties."
Why did that sting so much? He'd done so much for Ivan.
Ah, hell. Shouldn't'a said anything at all. Ivan was gonna end up shootin' him, when everything was said and done. Ivan hated paperwork, sure he did, hated meetings and conversations, hated work, but he'd shoot Toris all the same if he felt so inclined. If Toris' annoying tendencies outweighed his usefulness. After all, in the end, he was only Toris. He was replaceable to Ivan. Not like Ludwig.
Toris and Ivan had been side by side for ten years, never one without the other, had created this Siberian world together, and yet for it all Toris didn't mean a damn thing to Ivan. When the time was right, Raivis would take Toris' place.
Ivan leaned forward then, pale eyes catching light in the lamp, and he asked, firmly, "Where is he, Toris? Where exactly is he?"
Toris was too scared to say, 'I don't know', so he said instead, "Leaving Moscow."
A barely noticeable crinkle of Ivan's nose. The distant rumble of a brewing storm.
"Who helped him get that far?"
"Edelstein got him into Kyiv, looks like. Eduard's done everything after. Buncha wire transfers from Edelstein's bank account—"
"Which one is he?"
"Edelstein. Austrian ambassador to West Germany. Took care of Ludwig. We had the papers on him, too, remember?"
Ivan grunted, as if annoyed that Toris expected him to remember such asinine details now that he didn't need to threaten Ludwig with them anymore.
Again, maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Nobody crossed Ivan.
"Why's he stickin' his nose in?"
Toris understood what Ivan meant.
'Why's he doing all this for a man who doesn't even know his own real name?'
"I don't know."
A long, unpleasant hesitation. Toris could see the wheels turning away in Ivan's head, and just waited, as always. Those fingers kept tapping the desk.
"Who else have you been watching? When you were actually doing your job, that is."
"His wife. That American kid, too. But they haven't moved around any."
They didn't have anything to do with this, apart from knowing the wrong person at the wrong time.
Toris had done a lot of shitty things in his life, so many terrible things, and yet somehow he wasn't really ready for what Ivan said then.
"So kill them."
Toris hesitated.
"Why?"
They hadn't done anything wrong.
"Because I said to."
"But Edelstein's—"
"I said kill them. They should have let it go and minded their own business. I was fair. I gave them one. They should have left it alone. Ha! Important people die all the time, don't they? I was fair."
Ivan had been wronged, in his mind. He had been fair. Sure he had. He had let Gilbert go, and had taken Ludwig instead. And hell, in some twisted sense, perhaps Ivan was right. He had been fair. Not kind or merciful or right, but fair. He could have taken both; instead, he had traded. They should have known that they couldn't have both, either.
He wanted to say, 'But that kid and that woman haven't done anything.'
Didn't matter. Ivan wouldn't be moved. Too late for excuses. Ivan wanted Gilbert dead. Didn't matter why or how. And Ivan was right about something else, too :
Important did die, all the time. Happened every damn day.
Oh. When had it ever come to all this?
It had all come about so quickly. So quickly. The snapping of Ludwig's mind had emboldened Ivan to a point of madness, even for him. Before Ludwig, even fearless Ivan woulda sat there and thought twice about takin' out someone as high-profile as Edelstein. Not now. Ivan ordered death onto gods now as easily as he always had men.
Funny, when Toris thought about it; Ivan's fury. Funny because Ivan was threatened by Gilbert, by that stupid man, as he had put it.
Maybe Ivan wasn't perfectly confident that Ludwig wouldn't turn at the sight of Gilbert and remember that there was actually a world outside this place. Maybe Ivan thought that Gilbert would somehow jam the machine and bring Ludwig back from the dark. Maybe he thought that, somewhere in there, Ludwig still loved Gilbert.
Or maybe Ivan just wanted Gilbert dead because Gilbert had had the audacity to leave Berlin and the gall to attempt to trek through Siberia with the intention of taking something that belonged to Ivan. The principle of the matter.
Who cared, anymore?
Gilbert had signed his death warrant the second he had crossed that wall, and he took others with him. If Gilbert turned around right now and went back to Berlin, he wouldn't find anyone left waiting by the time he got there. Edelstein and his wife. Ludwig's dumb friend. Good people.
Annoyances to Ivan.
To Ivan, they were the 'bad guys', trying to take something that Ivan was convinced he had rightfully earned and taken fairly.
A scribble on a paper, and Ivan was shoving something in his hand. Toris looked down to see a number. Not one of his guys. Must have been one of Ivan's secret associates.
Ivan stood up then, the chair scraping on the floor, and as he left, he glanced back at Toris and said, in more of a contemptuous hiss, "You can do this, can't you? Should I even bother letting you try? Don't mess up again, Toris. For your sake."
Voiceless, Toris nodded.
He could do it. He'd prove he could.
A rise of bitterness. He could do anything Ludwig could. Better.
Later on in the night, having paced a hole in the floor, Toris finally sat down at the desk, picked up the phone, looked at the number Ivan had given him, and set to work. Like in everything else, he knew every move he made was wrong.
He still did it.
Because maybe, just maybe, in the back of his mind he was angry that Eduard had returned to this land with Gilbert. That Eduard was coming to Ludwig's rescue, when Eduard had had no reservations about leaving him here, so long ago. That Eduard extended his hand for a man he didn't know, but had not done so for a brother.
Anger.
He had been betrayed once. Eduard would get it back double.
Eduard had left behind only bitterness and hate, and stoked it now by helping someone who meant nothing to him, nothing at all. Well. So what? Let him do as he wished. At any rate, Eduard had made a mistake this time in coming back. Gilbert was beyond help, and so was Ludwig. Gilbert was just leading Eduard to death. And Toris couldn't really say that he was too upset about that.
He was angry at Eduard. He was angry at Gilbert. He was angry at Ludwig. So he took it out on everyone Ivan told him to. But it was really Gilbert's fault; not his. Gilbert, who had caused everything in the first place, by being foolish. Eduard's fault, too, for abandoning him and sharpening him.
Ludwig's fault, for being Ivan's favorite.
The phone felt too heavy in his hand.
Was it Gilbert or was it Ludwig that brought misfortune to others? The Ivan-Ludwig had as little thought for others as Gilbert did. Gilbert. Ludwig. Eduard. One death for each of them. Which one would take the blame for these three accidents? All of them were responsible, in their own ways. Each of them could carry the guilt.
All any of them had ever had to do was stay put. Just sit still. They were all responsible.
The plastic in his hand had gotten warm.
Wind battered the window. Above the trees, stars, steadily being swallowed by encroaching clouds. A sharp pain in his temples. Hell—the Ivan-Ludwig. Ha, yeah. Hypocrite. When he picked up that phone, he was just letting the Ivan-Toris out a little. He was crazy, too. The only blame was his own. He did it because he wanted to. Because he wanted to hurt someone. Because he wanted to show up Ludwig. Because he wanted to impress Ivan.
Long ago, somewhere along the line, he had been a good person.
Toris dialed.
Good people died, too.
He had.
