I used to think that I would never kill anyone. I remember, as a kid, hearing stories about Hunters killing Black Witches and stories about my father killing Hunters, and I thought I’d never do that. But so far, at the grand old age of seventeen, I’ve killed five people. And now I’m going to have to kill another. But Pilot isn’t trying to kill me. She’s dying anyway but I’ll be the one who kills her. Another death on my hands.
And I’m shocked at how little I think about those people I’ve killed. I thought murderers would be haunted by memories of their victims but I hardly give them a thought. I want to think of them now, sort of as a mark of respect, and possibly to convince myself that I’m not totally lacking in feeling. There was the first, the Hunter in Geneva whose neck I broke. I do remember her well. Then the Hunter in the forest, the fast one, the one I killed when I was an animal. Then there’s Kieran, who I don’t want to give any respect to. And then came the two in Spain. The first one was in the dry valley. I stabbed her in the neck. The second one was under an olive tree. The ground was strewn with olives. I remember them well: green olives, fat, ripe, some split open, staining the ground. I can’t remember the Hunter very well. I remember the ground beneath her better than her.
I’ve killed five people.
Soon to be six.
If I can go through with it.
*
Pilot is lying on the ground. Her head is on a pillow made of a rug from the car. Pers is sitting beside her, holding her hand. Van has spent the last hour surrounded by vials and jars from her carpetbag. She’s been mixing and grinding ingredients, preparing them for me, and now she says she’s ready. She speaks to Pilot. Gabriel says, “She’s telling her we don’t have to do this. All Pilot has to do is tell us the location. She’s saying she can help with the pain.”
“And what’s Pilot saying?” But I think I can guess.
“Basically, no.”
Van then speaks to Pers, I guess telling her what’s going to happen. I expect Pers to spit at Van, to fight and complain, but she just holds Pilot’s hand and whispers to her.
Van says to me, “Pers is a sharp little vixen. Don’t be fooled by her cute exterior, Nathan.”
Pers doesn’t strike me as cute in any way. I know she already hates me, and I know that she’ll hate me more for doing this to Pilot. There’s always room for more hate.
Van has told me what to do. I must cut down Pilot’s arm vertically, into the vein. Pilot must see and know what I’m doing. I must collect her blood and add it to the potion that Van has made up using the map. I must take as much blood as I can. Pilot will die. Pilot has to die. It’s best if I drink the potion as she dies.
Van says, “Pilot has many memories in her head; she must really understand what you need to know and how badly you need it. When you cut her think about Mercury, think about Pilot’s blood, and think about taking Pilot’s memories of Mercury’s home.”
Pilot is wearing a dress with wide sleeves and Gabriel has pulled one up to reveal the pale skin on the inside of her long, thin arm. The blue vein seems to lie boldly but deeply within it.
I have the knife in my hand, put the point to Pilot’s skin, and then take it away. I’m not ready. I’ve got to get my head together. Got to think the correct thoughts.
“It’s the only way to find Mercury, Nathan,” says Van. “The only way to help Annalise. But you must be sure. The potion won’t work if you’re not sure. Remember, Pilot will be gone anyway in a few hours. There is nothing we can do to save her; she’s dying.”
Gabriel says, “But you are going to kill her. You are taking the last few hours she has from her. You have to be sure.”
Van looks at him. “Gabriel, what would you do if Nathan was held by Mercury? If you had to cut Pilot to find him and try to rescue him?”
Gabriel doesn’t reply. He stares at Van and then turns away.
She says, quietly and slowly, “I think you’d skin her alive.”
He turns back to look at me and I see the gold glints tumble slowly in his eyes as he says, “Ten times over.”
“But you don’t think I should do this. Why? Because I don’t care enough about Annalise?”
He shakes his head. “I know you do, Nathan. You don’t need to prove it.”
“I’m not proving anything. I’m trying to find a way to help Annalise.”
“And this is the only way,” says Van.
I think of Mercury and finding her home and push the knife’s point into Pilot’s arm and draw the blade down. Pilot doesn’t flinch but she grunts and says something, a curse, I think, and, even though I told myself not to look at her face, I do. Her eyes are black; as black as mine. She says some more things, more curses. I can smell her breath, which is rancid. It’s good that I can concentrate on Pilot’s face. I know I have to believe in what I’m doing. Pilot stops cursing and her eyelids flutter but don’t close. She stares at me until the end and then beyond, but the flashes of gray in her eyes, which were weak even before I cut, finally disappear, and her blood flows more slowly and then stops.
“Quick,” orders Van. “Before she dies.”