BASILISK: Chimera Book 2, Chapter 11

As an apology, when I asked for a candy bar, I broke off half and gave it to him. With my obsession with food, there was no higher gesture. He accepted it with all the gravity it deserved. Or he was mocking me. Either way, the graveyard shadows in his eyes receded and that was enough for me.

As I was giving Godzilla who’d been curled, chirping nervously, on my stomach a peanut from the Payday bar, Saul put down the visor against the searing Tucson light sunglasses couldn’t handle and said, “I don’t get it. You said they killed all those gang bangers in there. That punk ass teenage Jim Jones said this wasn’t about Michael being good enough to join up with their Sesame Street serial killer family after all. Why weren’t the rest of them there? Besides the one driving the truck?” Who had gotten away so quickly Saul hadn’t seen if it was a girl or a boy. Hadn’t seen anyone period. “Why didn’t they stay put and try to kill us or, for God’s sake, give us a chance to do the same to them?”

“Because they’re not done playing yet.” My muscles tightened. The moment was coming. I’d put it off as long as I could, too long. A combination of Institute ingrained secrecy and something else. Once I was free I’d picked up quickly the practice of denial. Inside Institute walls, it was impossible. Outside them, it was a drug. Mental heroin. The more you did, the more you’d do. I was headed straight into cold-turkey rehab now.

“Peter didn’t say play. He said punish,” Stefan said quietly, but unyielding. He’d been patient with my evasions these past few days, giving me the chance to prove I was the man I said I was. That patience was over. “Why do they want to punish you? What did all Peter’s bullshit mean?”

The moment was closer, its consequence-laden breath on the back of my neck.

I sat up slowly, Stefan’s hand bracing me. Godzilla slithered to the floorboards in search of more peanuts. I settled against the seat, giving my ribs a chance to get used to the change of position and increased pain. It was all done slowly, but not as slowly as I answered Stefan. “It means Peter knows more than he’s saying.”

“He’s not the only one, is he?”

The moment was here.

“No,” I said, “he’s not.”

It was time for the truth and I told it. The majority of it. There was one thing I held back. Among other things I told them Peter knew about the cure. What I didn’t tell was the truth of the cure itself. I had to. If I had, the only cure for the chimeras would be a bullet to their brains. Killing thirteen teenagers and children, murderous or not, that would be on Stefan and Saul’s consciences for the rest of their lives. I wasn’t going to let them carry that with them, especially when I couldn’t take part of that weight myself.

I wasn’t a killer, a vow to myself—not one that I wouldn’t break, but one that I couldn’t.

Not a killer, never again.

I was a liar though.

And a manipulator.

A deceiver.

A hypocrite.

What good is a conscience if it lets you commit every evil under the sun save one?

No damn good at all.

[ Read Chapters 3 & 4] [ Purchase BASILISK ]