I admit, I feel kind of bad for the guy. Not necessarily for what’s about to happen, but because he was a tortured soul and I naturally have empathy for people who I can relate to. I know about Dorian’s demons because he told me many times when we were partnered; he’d ramble on and on about how ‘unhappy’ he was—he always downplayed the severity of it, using words like ‘unhappy’ when ‘dying inside’ would’ve been more fitting—how he put a gun in his mouth dozens of times but was too afraid to pull the trigger, about how the only woman he ever loved wanted nothing to do with him. But he always talked about these things as if they were a joke; he’d make wise-ass comments and laugh and then later he’d be in bed with some random girl because sex was how he made it all better—typical Dorian Flynn; can’t say I’m too much different in that aspect, really. I often wondered if he wasn’t the way he was, guns blazing and reckless and mouthy, because he wanted to die in the field. But I didn’t care much—empathy or not—Dorian is his own man, and I was never his keeper. I had—and still have—enough of my own demons to contend with, and mine are enough to weigh all four of us down into the Atlantic with Valerie Lou. The only difference between me and Dorian in this moment is that he wants to die and I’m not ready. Yet.
“And tell Izabel that I’m sorry,” Dorian says.
Victor’s gun appears, but for the moment he keeps it down at his side.
“I should tell you,” Victor speaks up, “I contemplated giving you a pass. For Izabel’s sake, of course, because I know that by killing you it will hurt her deeply and I am not in the habit of hurting the woman I love.”
“What changed your mind?” Dorian asks.
Victor sighs, almost unnoticeably; seems like something’s troubling him, which I find odder than Dorian only removing one boot.
“As I read through the files Dan Barrett gave me,” Victor begins, “the very files that you, Flynn, betrayed me by giving to them, I ran across something quite interesting.”
Oh? This is news to me, even. I cock an eyebrow, listening intently.
“What was it?” Dorian asks.
Victor pauses and then answers, “There was some information in particular included in those files that you could not have known prior to the date Nora Kessler had us in that room with her, forcing each of us to confess our secrets. Which can only mean that even after you were exposed as a traitor to my Order, after you vowed in your cell to be loyal to me, that you continued to betray me by passing along that information later the first chance you got.”
Dorian’s head lowers. “I know,” he says, and then raises his eyes. “I know…though I guess the only thing I’m sorry for, Victor, is that you had to read it.”
Victor nods once more.
Then Dorian turns around, putting his back to Victor, and his eyes to the vastness of the ocean before him. I have to wonder what he’s thinking, because I always wonder about what a man is thinking when he knows he’s about to die. I find more and more that I’m so intrigued by that very thought: What is he thinking?, that it alone is evolving me as a killer.
But that’s another story.
Victor raises his gun to the back of Dorian’s head, and then a shot rings out over the ocean, stirring the sound of water. Dorian goes down, his body slumping into a heap against the debris-littered floor of the boat. Mack comes out of the cabin afterward and prepares the body to sink overboard.
I follow Victor to the stern, sit down next to him on a fiberglass bench. We sit quietly for a long time, taking in the grim truth of the moment.
“So he told his superiors about what all went on with Nora?” I ask. “Everything that was said?”
“Yes.”
It’s the only answer he gives, and I get the distinct feeling there’s more to it than it seems. But I know Victor well enough to know that if it’s something he wants to tell me, that he would’ve by now.
“I could not allow Flynn’s betrayal to slip through the cracks.” He stares out at the water. “It troubles me immensely that I ever gave it a second thought, even for Izabel’s sake. But I did what had to be done. And I will continue to do what must be done. Izabel will have to understand.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“She will have to.”
I nod and say, “Well if it means anything, I do think she’ll understand. She’s strong, Victor; she may be too emotional at times, but I think she’s into this for the long haul.” I pause, glance over and add, “And I could never be sure before, but I really believe she’s not only committed to this life because of you. She wants it for herself as well.”
“Yes. She does.”
A splash breaks the sudden silence as Mack pushes Dorian’s body over the side of the boat.
“What will you tell Dan Barrett and his men?” I ask.
“The truth,” he says without pause. “Flynn’s death will be a warning to them.”
The silence grows again, and then Victor turns to look at me, making eye contact for the first time.
“This job with Kenneth Ware in finding this serial killer,” he says, “I am leaving entirely up to you. You do with it what you will, work as closely with Ware as you see fit, carry out the mission yourself and reap the rewards in-full.” He looks back out ahead of him. “I have too much on my plate where Vonnegut and The Order is concerned, to be concerning myself with other, less important matters—no matter how much money is at stake.”
“I understand.”
“Vonnegut is my number one priority,” he goes on. “And I know that before I can even begin to weed him out and take him down, things in my own Order need to be resolved: I need to know just how much Nora Kessler can be trusted; I need to be confident in Izabel’s ability to be a part of the Mexico mission; I either need to know that my brother is with me, or cut him loose and move on—there are too many broken threads, Fredrik. I do not need anymore.”
That last comment, it felt like a warning—directed at me.
I reach behind me and rub my hand against the back of my neck, smiling.
“Well don’t worry about me; I know I went off the deep end for a while after Seraphina, but I think I’m going to be OK—I’m OK now.” I’m not OK. Just different.