The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [52]
“I’m sure they do,” The Roman said, snatching the picture and fighting to keep Nico on track. “But I need you to tell me if—”
“We relieve them from duty when they have that look,” Nico said, almost proudly. “They lose sight of the cause.”
“Exactly. They lose sight of the cause. Let’s focus on that.” Tapping Wes’s picture, The Roman added, “Remember what he said about you? At the hearing a few years back?”
Nico stayed silent.
“What’d he call you again? A savage?”
“A monster,” Nico growled.
The Roman shook his head, well aware of Wes’s description. But like any interrogation, the key was hiding the big questions. “And that’s the last you heard from him?” The Roman asked.
“He blames me. Refuses to see what I saved us from.”
The Roman watched Nico carefully, now convinced that Wes hadn’t been in touch. Of course, that was only part of the reason for his visit. “Speaking of which, do you think about Boyle?”
Nico looked up, his eyes angry for barely a second, then calm. The hatred disappeared almost instantly. Thanks to the doctors, he’d finally learned to bury it. “Never,” Nico said.
“Not at all?”
“Never,” Nico repeated, his voice slow and measured. He’d spent eight years perfecting his answer.
“It’s okay, Nico. You’re safe now, so—”
“I don’t think of him. I don’t,” he insisted, still on his knees and staring straight at the fiery red of the rosaries. “What happened to . . . him . . . he . . .” Swallowing hard, Nico reached for the beads, then stopped himself. “He put me in here. He . . .”
“You can say his name, Nico.”
Nico shook his head, still eyeing the beads. “Names are fictions. He . . . Masks for the devil.” Without warning, Nico’s arm shot forward, snatching the rosary beads from the center of the bed. He pulled them to his chest, his thumb furiously climbing from bead to bead, counting to the rosary’s small engraving of Mary.
“Nico, take it easy—”
“Only God is true.”
“I understand, but—”
“God is true!” he exploded, climbing the beads quicker than ever. Turning away, Nico rocked back and forth . . . slowly, then faster. Gripping each bead, one by one. His shoulders sagged with each sway, and his body hunched lower and lower, practically curling into a ball at the side of the bed. He kept trying to speak, then abruptly cut himself off. The Roman had seen it before. The battle internal. Without warning, Nico looked back over his shoulder. The Roman didn’t need 20/6 vision to spot the tears in his eyes.
“Are you here to redeem me?” Nico sobbed.
The Roman froze, assuming it was all about Boyle . . . and it was, but—
“Of course,” The Roman said as he moved to the other side of the bed. Putting a hand on Nico’s shoulder, he picked up the violin from the floor. He’d read enough of Nico’s file to know it was still his best transitional item. “That’s why I’m here,” he promised as Nico embraced the neck of the violin.
“For redemption?” Nico asked for the second time.
“For salvation.”
Nico eked out a smile, and the crimson beads sank to the floor. From the way Nico studied the violin with his half-closed eyes, The Roman knew he had a few minutes of calm. Better make it quick.
“In the name of The Three, I’m here for your cleansing . . . and to be sure that when it comes to Boyl— When it comes to the Beast, that his influence is no longer felt by your spirit.”
“Who increases our faith . . . Who strengthens our hope . . . Who perfects our love,” Nico began to pray.
“Then let us begin,” The Roman said. “What is your last memory of him?”
“At the Revolt,” Nico began. “His hand up in victory . . . preening for the masses with his white teeth glowing. Then the anger in his eyes when I pulled that trigger—he didn’t know he’d been hit. He was angry . . . enraged as he gritted his teeth. That was his first reaction, even in death. Hatred and rage. Until he looked down and spotted his own blood.”
“And you saw him fall?”
“Two shots in the heart, one in the hand as they tore me down. Sliced his neck too. I heard him screaming as they clawed at me. Screaming for his