“You think he killed this child?”
“Until I’m proven wrong.” She began to pick up bits of clay that had fallen on the table. “Go on. Try to get some sleep. I’ll go to bed myself after I unwind a little.”
She heard the bedroom door close behind Catherine a moment later.
Sleep well, Catherine. I have an idea we’ll need all the rest we can get in the days ahead.
If they even had days. She was overwhelmingly conscious of the giant shadow cast by Rakovac’s horror looming over all of them. Her stomach was twisting as she kept remembering those planes diving into the Twin Towers.
Catherine wouldn’t be able to hold her hand from killing Rakovac if it came to a choice. Would Eve? Sacrifice that sweet, innocent child so full life and joy?
Please God, don’t let it come to that choice.
Her eyes stung with tears as she stared at the reconstruction of Jeremy. Another victim of Rakovac. He, too, had been full of life before Rakovac had entered his world.
“It’s not fair, is it?” she murmured as she gently touched the cool clay of Jeremy’s cheek. “We’re all so concerned about Luke, wondering, worrying, happy that you’re not him. It’s not that you’re not important. You have value, you are important. It’s just that he has a chance to stay with us.”
A chance.
If they could find and get him away from Rakovac before he killed him.
It wasn’t even certain that Luke was still alive. That skeleton in the grave might have been a macabre twist to raise their hopes, then dash them later.
But she didn’t believe that was true. Rakovac’s revenge had been simmering too long for him to cheat himself out of being able to watch Catherine’s final agony. No, Catherine’s son was alive.
But where are you, Luke?
The rat was staring at him, bright, black eyes fixed as he edged closer in the cell.
He was probably hungry, Luke thought. Rats came up from the basement and were often caught here. He didn’t blame him. He was hungry, too. He wasn’t afraid of the rat. Mikhal hadn’t tied him this time, and he could fight the rat off if it got too bold. He’d try not to kill it. Hunger was a good reason to attack and kill.
Maybe the best reason.
“Luke, your time is up,” Mikhal Czadas called out as he came down the corridor to the cell. “Now be a good lad and do what you’re told.”
Luke didn’t answer.
“Don’t be stubborn, Luke.” Mikhal opened the cell door, and the rat scampered away. “You’ve been in here for two days. Do you think I like to punish you? But Rakovac is determined you do this kill. All you have to do is point the gun and pull the trigger. Then you walk away, and I give you a fine dinner and let you get back to your books.”
“No.”
Mikhal knelt beside him. “Do it,” he coaxed. “It’s not as if you haven’t killed before. I put a gun in your hand when you were scarcely able to hold it. I’ve taken you on so many of my raids since you were eight. You fought for the great cause. Do you think when you fired that gun that you didn’t kill? What’s the difference? This is just easier. He’s tied and can’t try to kill you. You walk up to the man and press the trigger.”
“There’s a difference.” He would not have known that difference if his books had not said that fighting in a war and the killing of the helpless were not the same. He was still confused about it, but he would believe his books. He believed nothing Rakovac said. Rakovac was the enemy. When he had been younger, he had never thought at all. He had just done as he was told. But that was before he had found the books. “Why does Rakovac want me to do it?”
“I believe he thinks it may upset your dear mother. As I’ve told you, all your pain is caused by her.”
Luke had heard those words all his life too when he was growing up and at first he hadn’t doubted them. It was only in the past few years that his hatred of Rakovac had cleared his head of those lies. It was Rakovac who wielded the whip. It was Rakovac who punished and tormented. Usually not personally; he relied on Mikhal to carry out his orders. Luke had lived with Mikhal Czadas as long as he could remember in this crumbling stone house on the lake.
He had gradually become vaguely aware that Mikhal took orders from Rakovac about his care in exchange for the weapons he supplied him. It was a rare occasion when Rakovac visited Savrin House, and it usually involved a beating and Rakovac showing him the picture of the woman he said was Luke’s mother and telling him that she was responsible.
She was not responsible. She was not real to him. He had only a vague memory of her, but it was of kindness and warmth. But no one was responsible for this pain but Rakovac. When he’d finally gotten over the confusion and hurt, he’d realized that everything Rakovac or Mikhal told him was lies. Why should he believe the man who hurt him?
“Do it for me, Luke,” Mikhal said. “Look at all I do for you. Are you not treated well? Except for these little rebellions when you cause me trouble, I’m very kind to you. I keep you fed and housed and supplied with all those books you love so much.”
Books. It had been a magical day when he had been exploring and discovered the library, with the thousands of books that had belonged to Nikolai Savrin and his English wife, the former owners of the house. And when Mikhal had discovered how fascinated he was by them, they had become weapons. He had even had Luke taught to read both Russian and English so that the love would grow. Now the books were kept or withdrawn at Mikhal’s whim…or Rakovac’s order.
“Why should it matter to my mother if I kill this man or not?”
“Rakovac believes she has the foolish idea that your soul may be damaged in some way. It will hurt her. Don’t worry your head about it. Just do as Rakovac says.”
He was silent a moment. Was it worth enduring the beating that was bound to come? All it would take would be to pull the trigger.
Rakovac wanted it. It was worth the pain. “No.”
Mikhal sat back on his heels. “The man’s going to die anyway. Rakovac thinks Medvar cheated him. He only sent him here because he had this brilliant idea of how he could use him.”
“No.”
Mikhal sighed and got to his feet. “Then I’ll have to do it myself.” He started to turn away. “Though Rakovac will be angry with both of us.”
He was leaving, Luke realized, stunned.
“You’re not going to beat me?”
“It doesn’t work anymore. The last few times I became very frustrated. I spoke to Rakovac about it, and he told me not to worry. That our time together was almost over anyway.” He smiled maliciously over his shoulder. “So instead, I’ll just burn all your books.”
“No!”
“I’ve been thinking about doing it for a long time. They’re beginning to be troublesome. At first, I found them useful in controlling you. It came as a surprise to me since I’ve never cared much for books. I couldn’t see why they meant so much to you.”
Because they took me away from this place, Luke thought in agony. Because when I was reading, you and Rakovac and what you did to me didn’t matter anymore.
“But that time is past,” Mikhal said. “I actually believe that’s where you got the idea of running away from here.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I’ll let you watch. We’ll make a bonfire beside the lake. Come along.”
It was no use refusing. Mikhal had ways to make sure he saw the burning. Luke got to his feet and stumbled toward the door.
“Unless you change your mind. Why make me do this? You know I’m right.”
Luke shook his head. He had to fight them, he thought in agony. They weren’t right. Everything they said and did were lies. Maybe the whole world was full of lies. There were stories in the books about truth and kindness and courage, but they might also not be true. How could he be sure? He only knew Mikhal and Rakovac and the few people he’d met when Mikhal had taken him away from Savrin House on the raids.
