Page 35 of Spiders in the Grove

He smirks.

“You know what they’ll do to her over there,” he continues. “You know they’ve probably already done it. Over and over and over—”

I tear across the room in a blur; Apollo’s eyes bulge in his face as my hand clamps about his throat with all the force I can summon. I glare down into his eyes, my lips stretched tight over my teeth, my head burning hot like a raging fire, spreading, spreading, spreading. He chokes, gasping for air, his tongue swollen in his mouth; I squeeze harder, the rage in my head burning hotter. The whites of his eyes roll into view, and then his eyelids flutter. “Don’t fucking test me, Apollo Stone”—the force of my hand knocks his head against the wall behind him—“because I can find your sister without you; you are only alive because this way is quicker.” Gritting my teeth, I hold him still for a second longer and then let go.

Apollo coughs in a mad fit; life rushes back into his face; moisture settles in around his eyes.

I fall heavily into the chair, my arms hanging limply down at my sides, my back slouched, my breathing labored. What is wrong with me? I must focus. I cannot let this man get to me.

Then I sigh, realizing. It is not Apollo getting to me at all—it is Izabel. And I do not know what to do with it. All I know is that I cannot spend too much time on Apollo and Artemis; I need to be ready in case—

A surge of energy floods my body; I scoot the chair closer to him, and I sit right in front of him. I cannot believe I am about to do this, but seeing as how I grow more and more unlike myself every single day, I just go with it. Until I can fix it.

“Goddamn”—Apollo coughs, still trying to catch his breath—“you’ve seriously cracked!” He clears his throat, and then he laughs.

“Cut the sarcasm, Apollo,” I say, “I am going to do you a favor.”

“I’m listening,” he says, with suspicious doubt.

“I am going to let you go”—(his left brow hitches higher than the other)—“and the reason I am going to let you go—”

“Is to teach that woman of yours a lesson,” he finishes for me, grinning. “You got that look in your eyes. Wow…I uh…well, I have to say, vengeance really doesn’t look good on you. I mean, it really doesn’t.”

“Do I look like I care how it looks to you?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Actually, no, you honestly don’t—Wooo! Am I still fucked up on that shit Tall-Dark-And-Psychotic pumped me full of? I must be. Because if I ain’t, then this world must’ve hit one helluva—.” He stops mid-sentence, and just looks at me, realization filling the lines in his face. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. I have never been known for my jokes.”

He laughs, makes a noise with his breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right—though you should try a few sometime; laughter might do you some good. Wait—what’s the price? Of course, there’s a price.”

I lean toward him, dropping my hands between my legs.

“I want you and Artemis to leave Izabel alone. I will call off every person I have looking for you, terminate the bounties on your heads, and I myself will leave you be, let you live your pathetic lives without having to look over your shoulders—just leave Izabel alone.” If I kill Apollo here, no deal like this could ever be made, and Artemis would hunt Izabel forever.

“Oh, come on now, Victor,” he says with amusement, “you know Artemis; she won’t be as easy to convince. Not to mention that woman of yours; I think her level of revenge is waaay up there in the Ain’t-No-Motherfucker-Stopping-Me range right along with my sister’s, so I doubt she’ll stop looking for Artemis.”

“You, Apollo, know how to convince Artemis of anything,” I tell him. “You know as well as I do that you could have stopped all of this from ever happening in the first place, but you chose to let her go through with it.” I peer in closer at him, leaning forward on the chair. “I will take care of Izabel. You deal with Artemis. Nobody dies. Everybody goes on to live the short, eventful lives we were always meant to. Do I have your word?”

He smiles, close-lipped. “Would you even believe my word if I gave it to you?”

“I suppose I will have no choice,” I say. “But remember, if either of you ever go after Izabel again, using any method at all, I will find you both and I will kill you both and nothing in this world will save you then.”

Apollo thinks on it a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“All right,” he says with a short nod, “you have my word.”

After a moment of my own contemplation, further talking myself into doing this, I unstrap his legs and then his wrists.

Apollo slowly stands from the rickety wheelchair, and his legs, weak from not being used in so long, almost fail him, but he gets his balance. He stretches his arms out at his sides, up into the air; he rolls his neck side to side. And then he looks at me, and down at the gun already in my hand again.

“You really do love that woman,” he says, this time with less mocking, and more understanding. “If only you had loved my sister like that—you fucked her up, man; you tore out her heart; you created something vicious and cruel.”

“I know. And one day I hope to repay her for what I did. One day I hope she can…understand me.” I pause, making sure whether or not I want to say this. “Apollo…I never did stop caring for Artemis. I did what I had to do—what I chose to do, I know, I am guilty—but I was a different man then; I was not even a man. I was a product; a machine built by the hands of men, trained from a boy to think and act only as they taught me. It was all I knew for a very long time. I would never ask or expect Artemis to forgive what I did to her; I would only want her to understand it someday.” I lower my head.

“Ahh, so, that’s what this is about?” Apollo says; he tilts his head to one side, and then the other. “It’s not revenge because your woman left you in the dark; you…”—he chuckles—“…I can’t believe I’m seeing this.”

“Seeing what?”

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