“You look surprised I would share the information with you.” She shrugged and the action was dismissive. He didn’t care for it much. “My past cannot hurt me unless I allow it to. And since it seems you want to have a 'let’s chat and be friends’ session, I’ll go one step further.
“My parents were devout Jews until they met a man who turned them into Zionists. They became zealots, terrorists if you will, though I would argue we are all terrorists of a sort. Anyway, they excelled at killing any who opposed their beliefs or who threatened Jerusalem at all. They were so effective at what they did, so full of the richness of being killers, they decided to have a child to pass their beliefs on to.”
She took a deep breath but never blinked.
“This is all information I found out later in life, mind you, though there are times when my memories collide with my dreams and I remember more than one would think possible.”
Dmitry sat across from her, attempting to ground himself before she went any farther. He inhaled slowly but she refused to relinquish his gaze. She waited for him to gain control as if she knew he was on the edge.
“We lived in Jericho and I remember how the sun shone there. It would strike the sand and sparkle when it was at its highest. I would scoop it up and drop it over me thinking that the sand would make me beautiful like my mother. Even the heat of my homeland was lovely, the people were mine, and my life was full. Then my father forced me to watch him kill one of his enemies and life as I’d known it changed. Not long after that, Joseph and Minton came calling. My parents were contract killers—we lived a minimalistic life but even Zionists need money to survive.”
Her voice was low and rough. It ripped at the ragged edges of Dmitry’s soul to hear these things. What must it be like for her to have lived it?
“My parents had crossed swords with Joseph but they found a way to bargain. My ima, her voice so deep and soft, proposed a much simpler, less deadly option for her and my father. I’d been playing in the ruins of Masada that day and had just returned when I heard her offer her only child if Joseph would but spare their lives.
“I remember walking into the tent and he was there, the black-eyed man with the Devil’s minion at his back. His smile was stunning, as any killer’s should be, yes? He held out his hand and I turned to run because though I lived with two demons, I had not encountered anyone like Joseph Bombardier.”
“Stop,” Dmitry pleaded, exposed and raw from her recounting.
“There are questions you ask, Asinimov, that inevitably lead to other answers. I am but giving you a full response so that in the future when you think to query me further you will understand what you might be getting.” She smiled and Dmitry thought that perhaps Joseph’s smile might have been just so the night he’d taken her. It was a facsimile, a hard curve of her lips and it hurt to see it. “Now you will listen to the story and you will know how Bone was formed from blood and sand and the lust to create a perfect killer.”
Shock raced through his system. This was the assassin he’d not met. Though he’d seen her take life, he’d not known the horrible insanity of who she was. He’d yet to be exposed to her wrath and in that moment he both feared her, and suffered with her as well.
Dmitry remained still as any prey would. If he moved they would fight and this was not the time for fighting.
“My father was blocking my way. He restrained me, his face blank, his hazel eyes burning and then he guided me to Joseph. I have my father’s eyes. I have a picture I could show you?”
Dmitry shook his head.
She paused and then, “No? I do not like looking at it either. But back to my story…there I am, standing in front of Joseph, my father offering me up and I thought then it must have been how Abraham offered Isaac at the altar—reverently. That story had a much happier ending though, didn’t it?” A shudder worked its way through her body.
Dmitry did not reach for her. She would neither appreciate it nor accept it.
“Joseph touched my hair, then pushed me to my knees and said, ‘Do you believe in God, child?’ I nodded, because the God of my fathers, Hashem he was called, while silent in His responses when I prayed to Him, was revered in my aba’s house. He smiled again and I could not look away. He said to me, ‘I am your God now. Bow down before the one who will break and remake you.’ I looked to my ima and aba and both nodded, so I had no choice. I bowed. And Joseph laughed. I will forever remember his laugh.”