The Guilty - Jason Pinter [89]
could pick up, move on, quickly find someone who wouldn't.
Not that she wanted him to move on. But there was the deliciously dangerous possibility of it all.
"William Roberts," he said. "It's nice to meet you." He
offered his hand.
"Mya Loverne." She took it, shook it. "So, William
Roberts. Do you have a middle name?"
"You want to know my middle name? I don't know, that's
a pretty big step. Once I've given that out, we're linked until
one of us leaves this bar. Are you prepared for that kind of
commitment?"
"Is it really that big a commitment?" Mya asked.
"Of course it is," he said. "See, a boy and a girl can sit in
a bar talking for hours. They can share the most intimate
secrets of their life, loves and hates, lovers and ex-lovers, pet
peeves and fetishes, but there's always a layer of protection
between them, this subtle, unspoken boundary where they
both know the biggest intimacy has yet to be allowed." She
felt the boy move closer, inching his stool toward hers. She
pretended she hadn't noticed.
"See, once you cross that line, once you allow that
intimacy, you can never go back. See, knowing my middle
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name isn't such a big deal on the surface, it's what it represents. So if I tell it to you, be sure there's no going back. Are
you ready for that?"
"Mine's Helen," she blurted out. Everything seemed to
stop for a moment, the boy seeming to soak it in. Now the
night was open to all sorts of possibilities.
"Henry," he said. "William Henry Roberts. It's a pleasure
to meet you, Mya."
Henry.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, William Henry."
William smiled. "Hey, barkeep," he shouted. Gregory
turned around. "Another round down here, if you please."
40
William put down the copy of the Gazette. His fingertips
had become black with ink. He licked his thumb, rubbed his
fingers until the smudge had congealed, then wiped his hand
on a napkin which he then tossed in the garbage by the bed.
The article was smartly written, insightful, and one
hundred percent true. Parker had done a surprisingly good job.
In a short amount of time, too. He wasn't quite sure how
Henry had pulled all the facts together, and part of him was
rather impressed. Still, William knew there were many unanswered questions to which Parker--and the rest of the city--
would beg the answers. This was the beauty of the whole
thing. William felt a great surge inside. Pride and ambition.
Those four deaths were just the beginning. Athena Paradis,
the other three martyrs, they were stepping-stones to a greater
good.
Two pages after Parker's story was an article about the
turmoil at Franklin-Rees publications following Jeffrey
Lourdes's murder, as the empire ran around like a headless
chicken hoping to find some stability. William knew, as soon
everyone else would, that regardless of how many Frankenstein-esque heads they tried to bolt on, the animal itself was
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dying. Everything would crumble from the top down. And out
of that rubble would come something beautiful.
Once the guilty had hanged, the innocent had nothing to
fear. It was human nature to fear the executioner. Most never
realized their job was to cleanse the earth of the guilty, the
evil, those who poisoned society.
Despite the truths Henry Parker had unearthed, William
felt no anger toward him. Being attacked and brutalized
hadn't stopped Parker's pursuit of the truth.
Parker, of course, only knew what William wanted him to
know. Because he was the Regulator. He was the last of the
great bloodline. And even if the line died with him, it would
have died claiming a destiny so abruptly halted many years
ago.
Just as William had uncovered his history despite those
who had wished to keep it a secret, so would Henry Parker
discover it, as well. Two sides of a coin--one clean, one
dirty--both needed to create the whole. The same way Billy
the Kid had his chronicler in Pat Garrett, so would William
in Henry Parker.
William heard a groan. She was waking up.
He nudged the prone body on the floor, gave her a little