GILBERT

Her first question is pretty obvious. "Why do you call yourself The Prussian? What does that mean?"

I pat my chest down with a small towel (yes, I have different sized towels, they're useful, goddamn it). "How much do you know about West European history?"

She blinks, sheepish. "Um. I know all the words to God Save the Queen."

I laugh way too hard, then say, "Well, that's a start. Truth be told, I know jackshit about history, too. Except for Prussia. I got kinda obsessed with Prussia when I got hired by Braginski. He has this huge-ass library in his mansion in Russia, and most of i is history books. When I had downtime, I wound up in there. I saw one the there about Prussia and I said well what the hell is that? And, y'know, a sign sayin' Fifty Hours Later."

She giggles at my horrible impersonation of the narrator in SpongeBob. "I didn't think you were someone who would like reading."

I shrug, grinning, and let the towel hang around my neck. "I got all kinds of hidden depths. Or, y'know, whatever. Hidden something. I'm an ocean of possibilities."

Actually, I kinda am like the ocean. Hard to tell what's inside me, from the outside. I can be lots of fun, sunny days at the beach (not if you're albino, of course). Or I can kill ya, if you don't know what you're doing. How many people drown in a year? A good chunk, I'd wager. Most of 'em accidental. Except the ones I've actually done. Those were all on purpose.

"Well, Miss Kirkland, I won't bore ya with all the history shit, but basically Prussia was a big area in Northern Europe that had land in Germany and Poland. The Nazis pretty much got rid of it, and the Allies definitely did after they won the war. That's the less interesting Prussia." I can't keep from smiling; I'm a fuck-awful historian, but I love this shit, the idea of that lost place and those people there—and the soldiers I'm about to describe. "Ever heard of the Teutonic Knights?"

She's smiling faintly, and God help us—fondly at me. "Nope. Do tell."

"Well, to be as basic as possible, they were a bunch of Roman Catholic warriors. They were called Prussians after they defeated the old inhabitants of Prussia, back in the freakin' thirteenth century or some crazy shit like that. They were awesome. Picture big soldiers in white robes, with black crosses on the front, huge swords and shields, all the horses draped in white, flags held up above—running toward battle! Fuckin' awesome!"

Arthur giggles softly. "I love your enthusiasm, Gilbert. You would be a great knight. You're strong and brave and . . ." She stops, lips still forming the first syllable of a word, her eyes uncertain.

My smile fades. "And I'm good at killing people, right? Ja. Well, I guess this is why I wanted to be in the army. The feeling of rushing into a battle for freedom with my comrades in arms? Sign me the hell up, 'cause that just . . ." I want it, so much. I want to have my people surrounding me. I want a group to have my back and know I'll have theirs in return.

I turn away from Arthur. "Anyway. You wanted to know about torture methods, right? What I do to people?"

I can hear the stifled fear in her voice. "Yes."

God, she thinks I'm brave? She's the brave one. No question.

I exhale, then dive right in. "I stalk people first, so I can learn more about them. What their lives are like. If I need information from somebody, I can mention loved ones to make 'em more likely to speak. Then I go for 'em. Sometimes I kill 'em just at their place, if they live alone and away from nosy neighbors. Sometimes—only on occasion—I don't kill 'em, just beat the ever-loving shit outta them. But most times, they die. Usually, they die down here." I point to the chairs by the counter, then walk over and pull out the drawers. "In here, there's guns, knives, wire. I used to have some acid—the flesh-eating kind, not the rainbow trip kind—but I used all that up on a Polish guy I had in here once. What a goddamn douche bag he was." I open the cupboards. "Lots of rope, zip ties, bleach. God bless bleach, man." Not that it gets rid of evidence very well, but I don't need to worry about that down here. "The walls are soundproofed. Boss Man let me pimp the place out."

Finally, I turn to face Arthur. "I've cut off fingers and ears and tongues. I've strangled people while looking them in the eye."

Arthur looks at the blades, at the objects of murder. She looks around my basement, the torture chamber/rec room any self-respecting serial killer would scoff at. And then, slowly but surely, she turns to look at me. For a millisecond, she almost smiles.

Then her face contorts with terror and she screams. "Gilbertbehindyou!"

All I have time to do is breathe in half a breath before an arm is wrapped around my neck, jammed against my throat, cutting off my air.

Someone strong is behind me, in my house, attacking. Arthur is in here. Arthur is in danger.

I don't think of battle strategies and fighting moves.

I flip my fucking lid.