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“Nothing you ever do, Eli, is meant to be theoretical. I see it in you.”
-Vicious, V.E. Schwab
Victor knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to see that Eli hadn’t aged a day. It made sense, after all, cellular regeneration twining with immortality. And it was so very like him – this was Eli, who wanted to be forever, in memories or otherwise.
But he was surprised, nevertheless. It seemed as if a single day hadn’t gone by since Eli had gotten into that tub, into the cold, and Victor would be there, by his side: younger, his hair more blonde, his skin tanner (for although he had never been an athletic person, he still soaked in more sun than in prison).
He looked at the newspaper picture, thinking that the black and white didn’t suit Eli. Eli was…vibrant, vivid, a force beyond reckoning. And no one had seen that, except Victor, who had known since the beginning.
I will ruin you, Victor thought.
He clenched one of his hands, and felt his nails dig into his palm. He didn’t let the pain in.
Back at Lockland University, Victor had once caught Eli on his knees. He was praying, his eyes closed shut and his hands folded. Victor had never seen Eli pray before – he realized that Eli probably timed it so that Victor wouldn’t see. Because it was private and because he knew that Victor wouldn’t understand.
Victor watched as Eli’s mouth formed soft words. He caught strains of them: my lord, mercy, heaven, amen.
Then he saw Eli’s eyes snap open. His eyes were hard and intense, and Victor saw in them that jaggedness and darkness that he had always been drawn to. That steady focus that emitted from Eli, making him beyond anyone Victor had ever met.
Victor found himself wishing that he could unlock that darkness himself, not some nonexistent deity. Crack it open and intensify it and make it spill, and it’d pour out like light. It’d change the world. And Victor bet that he could match that light.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said out loud, clearing his throat but feeling the revelation touch his eyes.
Eli merely nodded, and looked away.
He still had dreams of Eli on his knees.
In prison, Victor had found a bible in the library. It was a small, black leather-bound book. The title was a glossy gold, announcing that it was a modern version of King James, and it was in a moderately good condition, considering this was a prison.
Victor took out the black sharpie he had tucked into his right shoe. He had…convinced a man from the next cell over to swipe it from a guard’s pocket, and had been saving it for moments like these.
The black was a comforting color.
In the beginning God created the void and darkness of the deep. And God made two great lights and let them have dominion over every living thing that creepeth the earth.
When he finished the first chapter of Genesis, he looked at his handiwork and laughed until he thought it hurt. But Victor knew that couldn’t be right, because nothing hurt him.
He tried to convince himself that it was Angie that he had loved. A clear, simple answer, but at the end of the day, he hadn’t cried, hadn’t cared. Love wasn’t the kind way she looked at him, nor the way she called his name. Love was power, control, and victory – the thrill of getting whatever you want and knowing yourself. Love was competition and ambition so strong that you could bleed; love was Eli, who was beautiful and strange and mad, just like Victor.
Victor thought about this, while pacing in his prison cell like a restless animal in its cage (which he was).
Love could also be the cold little girl he had met in the rain. Love could be the man who thought he had all the bad luck in the world, even though, of course, luck didn’t scientifically work that way. But Victor did not know this yet.
Victor had a dream that he pushed Eli to his knees, held him by the roots of his hair, and cut his throat. Eli’s voice was hoarse from screaming, and he was saying Victor’s name over and over again, like that prayer Victor had seen him send to God, all those years ago.
Victor dreamed himself taking away Eli’s pain, and smiling, as Eli slowly began to regain his breath.
Can’t you see it yet? he asked him. Can’t you see?
He tugged Eli close to him, and set his mouth to the side of Eli’s face, tasting blood there. He told him, Stop playing at avenging angel, Eli. You could have been a god. We could have been gods together.
Then Victor woke up and reminded himself that it was over. Eli was behind bars now.
There was one thing that his death had taught him: everything came with a price. Eli had thought that you lost a part of your soul in an exchange with God. Victor didn’t believe in souls or God, but he knew that there was something that he was missing. He had felt it in him during those long ten years.
Victor had a dream that they hadn’t had their last fight after all.
He had a dream where they stared at each other, seeing the changes in each other’s eyes, and noting the tiredness there. He had a dream that he grabbed Eli’s hand and made the pain go away from them both – the pain from the inside and out.
He had a dream that he pulled them back into the past, back to Lockland, where they were back in their old dormitory. They would be both be young again, and they both would strive and fight and carve momentums into history. They would tear the world apart and rebuild it to their own liking; they would not find themselves in prisons or in fanaticism (which was, of course, a type of prison).
They would be extraordinary.