Superego (33 page)

“On their message page, they announced that tomorrow is the funeral for Hana and her family. And then they left a message for me…” She started to lose it. “They said…that they love me and are praying for me.”

“Do you think they believe you killed Hana and her family?”

“If they did, that's all the more reason I would need prayers.” She looked up at me. “I wonder what they'll think of this massacre we're planning.”

“No point in wondering,” I said. “It's the only way to try and strike back at the syndicates. It's what we have to do.”

“No choice,” she whispered. She was quiet for a few seconds and then set down her handheld. “I can't do this anymore.”

My reaction to this was unusual for me. A tingle down my spine. I think it was a physical manifestation of fear. “What do you mean?”

“Rudle was right: I'm such a hypocrite. Just look at this place.” She set the handheld down and stood up. “I wanted a second chance, but I kept this place and stocked it with weapons ‘just in case.' Just in case of what? I decided I wanted to be Melanie again? I set a trap for myself, and now I'm spiraling downward into it. I'm making all the same mistakes again. And I'm telling myself that this is my only choice—this is my only path—the same lies that kept me trapped for so long. I'm marching right into the abyss again, and…I just need to stop. I can't go through with the plan.”

I decided to try logic, though I suspected we were not operating in that realm. “All the syndicates will be there—this is our one big chance.”

“I know. I kept telling myself that. This is for the greater good—but that's not what this is about to me. I'm angry; I want revenge. And it's all happening again. You saw how coldly I struck down Rudle. I'm tired of feeling so hollow inside. I'm done.”

I took a deep breath and tried to think of the situation from her perspective. “Then what? We just let them all get away with it?”

That gave her a moment's pause, though I didn't really believe I had gotten anywhere with her. “We can give the information we have to others who can maybe act on it, but I'm not going to be part of a slaughter. I can't pretend it's righteous or that it must be done. There have been tyrants all throughout history, and they live, and they fall. This isn't worth my soul.”

I decided one last try at an emotional appeal. “And the killers of your friend, her husband, and her children?”

She teared up. She was silent for a few moments and a couple times looked like she was about to speak but couldn't bring herself to say the words she had in mind. Finally the tears stopped, and her conviction seemed to firm up. “I know what I'm supposed to do, but I can't bring myself to say it. I'm too angry—I want to hurt the people who murdered my friends. I want to see them suffer. It's just like with my parents. And I know how empty that is, but I'm drawn to it. I'm just so filled with hate for them, but I know what I have to do to break free…it's very hard. These people who destroyed my friends, my family…and me…they're just like us. They're broken people who need my sympathy, not my violence. I can't control their actions, but I can do the greatest thing that is in my power to do. I…” She choked up but quickly got a hold of herself. “I can forgive them. I'm through seeking comfort in the suffering of others.”

She cried some more—I didn't know if it was out of sadness or relief. “Should I just continue this alone, then? It's how I usually work anyway.”

She snapped out of it a bit to grab my hand. “No, Rico. I still don't know everything about you, but I know you're in a dark place, too. And I'm not even trying to help; I'm just letting you take this doomed path with me.”

I chuckled. “Sweetheart, you really don't know me, because you haven't dragged me down anywhere. This is by far the best I've ever been in my life.”

“What I do know about you is that you can be so much more. That I can be so much more. But we have to leave this life behind. It sounds like with some help Dip could extract us from here. We can just leave this mess and not let it destroy us. I don't want to leave my family here, but it's the only choice I have to keep them safe.”

“Then go. Leave me to what I do best.”

“No, I'm not going to do this alone this time.” She touched my cheek and pushed against me. “We'll go together. Start a new life together.”

“You don't even know me.”

“I know enough. I know…” She hesitated, her lip trembling slightly. “…I love you.”

As I looked into her eyes, sincere and longing, I knew she really meant it. I felt warmth on my cheek—something moving on it. A tear? Just that one statement broke me down. Simple words, yet it was like a spacecraft had plowed into me and left me paralyzed. I stood there, trying to comprehend what was happening to me, then realized there was nothing to comprehend. I loved her; she loved me. Was there anything more perfect? And I leaned in to kiss her.

And then the logical part of my brain finally broke up the party. Because where was this going? I could try settling down with her and living a quiet life—maybe have kids, which was just an abhorrent idea to me—but I would soon get bored. And then I would probably kill her, because it would be logical. I certainly would kill any children, because that was also logical, as they would mean nothing to me but might one day want vengeance. In the end, that's all I really am: a simple, logical being. I had some irrational emotions after all, which right now were telling me I didn't want to see Diane hurt, though they couldn't really provide reasons. But my logical side is the greater one. It's how I've survived. It's all I've really cared about. Being reasonable. And occasionally engaging my id with a little fun gun play.

So why was I here on this doomed path with some woman? Because I was in love with her. And these feelings for her kept me from wanting to think things through, because I knew where that would lead. I didn't want to face what I knew logic would tell me: that my relationship with her would only lead to tragedy. The happiest possible outcome was that she would die in this foolish assault against the syndicates while still believing the lie that I was someone who could ever love her back in the way she deserved.

But I didn't want her to die. Since I knew I couldn't be with her, whether she lived or died seemed logically irrelevant. Still, while I knew I had no hope of normality, Diane could live a normal life. And the thought of her happy was desirable to me for inexplicable reasons.

And thus I knew what I had to do.

I started laughing hysterically. I just lost it. The single tear from the heart was concealed by many more from laughter.

“What is it?” Diane tried to hide her hurt, but she failed. I usually didn't find pleasure in cruelty, but I usually didn't care either. This was an odd thing for me, though. It was as if by sensing her pain, I could feel it, too. I knew it was all in my head, but it was powerful.

I stopped laughing. “Sorry…it's just that I saw how much you meant it, and…” I chuckled some more. “I guess it's somewhat of an in-joke you're not privy to.”

“This is funny?” She was still too hurt to be angry.

When something is no longer of use to you but can only get in the way, the logical thing is to kill it. “Jokes just compel you to share them—humor is a very social thing—so let me try and explain this one to you. I guess I can start by explaining me. When I was nine years old, my father shot and killed my mother in front of me.

She just stared at me, a little pity creeping into her face. “Oh…Rico…”

I chuckled. “Don't feel sympathy for me. If ever there was a nine-year-old boy who deserved to have his mother shot in front of him, it was me. But anyway, you're stepping on the punchline. Do you know what my reaction was to seeing my mother shot and killed? “I turned to my father and asked him, ‘Who is going to make dinner tonight?'”

Again, she said nothing and looked quite confused.

“Oh, come on! That's at least a little bit funny. You know the silly things kids say. I just saw her as someone who did household chores and could easily be replaced with a maid. I was only nine, so I hadn't quite learned I was supposed to pretend to have some sort of affinity for my mother so I didn't look freakish.” I walked around the room, keeping a little distance from Diane. “You might ask why I didn't just naturally love my mother. It's because I lack that part of the brain that people associate with having humanity. I have no innate sense of right or wrong—everything is just a neutral action to me.

“Another childhood mistake was when I snapped the neck of the neighbors' puppy. It bit me, and I didn't want to get bitten again, so the logical thing seemed to be to kill it. I was so confused by the horrified expressions of the neighbors when what I did seemed so simple and logical. Of course, I didn't get the reason they'd keep the odd little creature around in the first place or what they meant by calling it ‘cute.'”

Diane finally spoke. “You were born this way?”

“Not just that—I was designed this way. I'm not some child of God. I am a flawed creation of man. Nystrom scientists designed my DNA before I was born and used targeted surgeries to make me a highly intelligent, dispassionate warrior to use for their purposes. I was conceived as a killer, then raised by one of Nystrom's people and trained to be a hitman—which I've done quite prolifically.”

She stared at me and then said, “I'm so sorry.”

She pitied; it was greatly misplaced. “For what? I got to see the worlds from a different perspective from everyone else—unburdened by the irrational impulses people's own brains force on them. It's not like I feel bad about anything that's happened to me. I'm not even really sure what that means.”

“But all you've done here…”

“Was just me pretending to be what I thought people would expect to see from a hero. It was all for the job. But then I found out Nystrom was planning for this to be my last job for them—I'm too scary for even them to keep around—so I wasn't sure what to do, and now here I am following the whims of some emotionally loopy woman.” I smiled—the one that usually made people shudder. “Anyway, that's where the heart of the humor is. You said you love me—and you meant it—but all you are in love with is just a hollow act. You're in love with someone who doesn't even exist.”

She watched me silently for a while. I had delivered a lot of surprise blows quite quickly, and she didn't seem to know how to process it all. “Let me help you,” she finally offered.

I laughed. “You? The mass-murderer trying to bury her guilt under some religion? I guess I should just feel lucky I've never known guilt and thus it's never motivated me to such high levels of idiocy. I'm bored of you now, Diane. I'm fed up with your silly little psychological drama. Here's a little tip for you: You're not special. There is no god looking out for you. You're just an emotional fool reading too much into her random circumstances.”

She kept a firm gaze on me, but I could see she was breaking. “You can rage against me all you want, but you can't convince me away from what I know.”

“Oh, I've spent enough time around you to know that deep down you don't even really believe your own nonsense.” I then swung a quick punch, hitting her hard on the side of the head and almost knocking her down. She looked at me, now clutching blood on her cheek. I smirked. “Going to turn the other cheek?”

I could see by her clenching fists that she was ready to fight back, but she soon relaxed her hands. She then stood tall and faced me and stated slowly and steadily, “I love you, Rico.”

This was not going exactly as I hoped. It was time to end it. “I can't believe all the time I've wasted listening to your prattle and subjecting myself to your idiotic, annoying friends—though at least with Hana and her family, that had a happy ending.” I kicked her in the stomach and went to grab her while she was stunned. She tried to get a hand up, but I grasped her hair and then smashed her head into the wall. I then got behind her and put my arm around her neck and squeezed. “Now that I had my way with you,” I said into her ear as she struggled against me, “you have nothing left to offer me.”

I couldn't see her face as I kept the pressure on her neck, and I didn't really want to see the results of my effort. Eventually I knew by her limp form that she was unconscious, and I eased her to the floor and left her sprawled there to at least give the impression that I'd just tossed her to the ground when I was done with her. That coldly rational part of me said I should pick up a gun and end the charade for good, but that was exactly the part of me I was trying to protect her from. And that's what a sick and twisted person I am:The best way I could express my love was by hurting her so much she'd never want to be near me again. I loved her and she had loved me, but it wasn't enough. The only way she could possibly be happy would be for me to kill that love. Only her hatred of me would keep her safe. My path was doomed—it had been since my creation—but she still had the possibility of safety and happiness. The syndicates would still be after her, but I'd soon give them much bigger things to worry about.

I turned to leave but couldn't help taking one last look at her. I felt I had destroyed something of great value—of value I couldn't even comprehend. Certainly something I would never see again.

But what did it matter? What was one more person in the universe who hated me?

CHAPTER 36

It helps to know one's purpose in life. Mine is death. That's all I know I am good for. Killing. Spreading misery. If you believe in evil, then that's what I am: an evil. It's all I'm capable of being.

But there were still worse people out there. That's who I was going after.