XII
"What happened to your eyes?"
Victor doesn't reply. The foul screeching of the cell tabletop being scratched is all Henry can hear.
"Victor, I need to ask you something." It isn't a lie: he does need to ask him, if only for him to think about the information he seeks.
And what if he doesn't actually need him to answer? He's already come all the way here: the bare minimum his father can do after all his troubles is talk to him.
In the face of his father's unfathomable silence, he takes a few seconds to consider his next move.
"So be it," Henry sighs. "We'll do it my way, then."
Slowly, he raises his hand.
Victor is unable to scream; in addition to the way he's immobilizing all his bones in a Herculean grip, Henry has made sure to seal his lips closed.
"I'll ask again, Victor, lest it be said I'm not patient," Henry mutters. "What happened to your eyes?"
Victor's animalistic trembling assures him he has subdued him—which, with some luck, will have secured his cooperation; Henry lowers his hand and, in sync with the gesture, the old man's body falls to the ground. On his knees, bony hands resting against the stone floor, Victor is but a wreck of a human. Henry is wary. He's ready to forcefully silence him again should he decide to call for help.
Victor, however, has not a shred of humanity's typical survival spirit left.
"You've returned," he whispers. "Will you take my life now, devil?"
"Don't tempt me; contrary to what you may believe, I am only a man and, at the moment, I have no interest in killing you."
There it is: the initial confession. No, Victor, there's no devil…
The truth is much worse.
"But slaughtering my wife, my daughter and my son was of interest to you?" babbles the prisoner, now leaning on his knees. His hurt expression does not elicit an iota of emotion out of him. "And the way you did it… That wasn't the deed of a man!"
"Believe what you wish; reality doesn't cater to anyone's fantasies."
A pause.
And then, with a broken voice, the old man confesses: "I did this to myself. I wanted to join them. Join those you took away from me… You tore our family to shreds. You broke us into pieces. You…"
"Oh, please, don't be dramatic," Henry snorts. "Your family was broken from the start: I know what you've done, as I know what your wife was about to do."
"And what about my daughter?" Victor interrupts him, because of course there's always a way to divert attention from one's own sins. "Had she also committed a crime, in your opinion? And my so…?"
Henry doesn't falter.
"Your daughter, just like her mother, just like you, was on her way to become another human scum. I'm certain: I saw it in her mind, the seed of corruption…
"I chose to do the right thing and cut the evil off at the root."
Victor's mouth drops open in outrage.
"Have you got no heart?"
Henry smiles, for he wants his father to sense it in his answer.
"No."
"You said… You said you were human, but is it even possible to be human and not have a heart? My wife, I know, she wasn't perfect, she wasn't innocent, perhaps, but my children…"
"Actually," Henry replies, "all this is boring me to tears. I'm not here to discuss your family."
This takes the prisoner by surprise. He makes an effort to stand up; Henry feels a wave of disgust at the way his emaciated body needs to lean against the wall to pull off such a simple action.
"Then… what is it you want?"
Now.
"I am aware that, at some point, you owned a small fortune. Where is it now?"
Victor takes a moment to consider his question. The sound he finally lets out is a far cry from the way actual laughter should sound like and lasts but an instant, for the old man's broken heart does not allow him more.
"Isn't this question twenty years late? You committed all those aberrant crimes and framed me, only so you could get ahold of that money?"
"No; actually, my plan was to kill you too. The fortune didn't cross my mind back then," Henry comments nonchalantly, his voice tinted with mock politeness.
"You're a monster."
"A monster?" Henry frowns and places both hands behind his back, an instinctive action his father cannot see. "How curious, Victor; I admit I have committed a good number of crimes, by the standards of this corrupt society.
"And yet, for all my crimes, I have never burned a baby alive."
Victor's sorrowful sob is heartbreaking. Or, at least, it would be, if it was a different person listening to him.
Henry, for his part, is not done yet.
"What? Now you regret it? You were even awarded a medal for 'serving your country', am I wrong? And, oh, how painful, what an awful accident…!
"That didn't stop your chest from swelling with pride every time your wife or friends praised your military exploits."
"Who are you?" stammers Victor. "How do you know all this? If you're really a man… did you make a deal with the devil?"
Henry doesn't hesitate when he answers.
"To your disgrace, the devil doesn't exist, old man; there's only me."