Chapter Text
Eli rubbed his arms, looking past the detective before him, past the caution tape, honing in on the darkened stains that coated the tan carpet floor. It had even splattered onto the wall, and in the middle, almost impossible to discern was a small notch from his warning shot that only he found himself occasionally focusing on. He closed his eyes. Victor’s blood stained the floor, growing outwards as he gasped and gasped, red bubbling on his lips. Icy blue eyes, seizing and unseizing. A buzzing and crackling sound persisted in the air. Hands reaching for a knife like a starved man clawing for scraps, knuckles white and fingers rigid. Even then, he still kept fighting to grasp onto something, anything, unable to accept death even as it stared back at him a second time. Eli’s hold on the gun was firm, almost too comfortable in its grip. Standing and watching Victor die like an idiot, as if he were transported back home—back in time, watching as his father took his last breath at the bottom of those stairs. How long until it was too late?
Eli picked up the phone.
He dialed the police as he had years ago. This time it wasn’t an accident, not the type of accident caused by drunken footwork and an inebriated state. He had acted out of self-defense, against (the devil that paraded in) his former friend(’s skin). Victor the devil had somehow crawled his way out of jail Hell and had come back with a thirst for revenge. (He saw the way it laughed and ridiculed him, heard it commit blasphemy and spin arrogance as easily as yarn). He could still remember that unmistakable pain that turned him inside out, like being wrapped in a live wire as lightning struck over and over again. Agony that conveniently left no physical mark on his body saved his mind.
He dragged his hands over his face and cut off the woman standing across from him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling too well. He was the closest thing to a brother. I still can’t believe how he snapped like that.” Eli saw her frown but didn’t care. He was past that. “Can we…I don’t know, schedule this sometime else? I can’t deal with this right now, not when it just happened two hours ago.”
The detective didn’t look too pleased. “Well,” she flipped onto a fresh new page on her notepad and scribbled quickly on the paper, ripping it out and handing it to him. “Call this number when you’re ready.” She then scanned the scene and sighed heavily. “I’d move in with a friend or book a hotel for a couple of days. It’ll take a while to clean this place up and collect evidence if you even want to move back here.”
Eli nodded mutely and watched as she left, walking over to another officer to talk by the open windowsill where Victor had made his grand entrance. The apartment was now swarmed with investigators, forensic scientists, and neighbors who tried to peer over the police tape for a better glimpse. He felt like a ghost, drifting in and out of the space without anybody paying any mind to him. No one offered to get him something to drink or ask if he was okay. He hated being invisible.
He risked another glance at the crime scene. Someone wearing latex gloves, protective glasses, and a mask was photographing the fallen knife and bullet casings that littered the floor. Eli was brought back to the thought of Victor—barely breathing, slowing pulse, pale, and empty—Victor getting carried away on a stretcher. He felt sorry for everything that had happened, just a blanket of disappointment that wasn’t pointed at anything. He missed having someone to talk to. The two closest people he had known were now ripped away from him just like that.
There was a sudden ache to turn back time, where he could have another chance to talk Victor out of it. Even apologized for turning him in and found some way to fix their broken relationship. One day, he could find some way to heal from Angie’s death, but right now, all he could think about was being alone again. He’d find a way for Victor to repent for his sins, drive out the darkness from within, and free his soul. He’d use his God-given abilities to make everything right. That’s why he was chosen, he was certain. It wasn’t too late.
He began an aimless walk. The fresh air would do him some good. Away from the flashing lights, the hushed whispers, the wary eyes. He wondered if his friend survived the ride to the hospital and if Victor would ever forgive him for shooting him. He thought about a lot of things, all of them about Victor.
Eli wished it hadn’t all come to this.
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Victor almost thought he had died again. Something in the corner of his mind rejoiced at the prospect that Eli had ended it all. Had killed him off for the better. Alas, he only woke to the sound of beeping over his head, right wrist cuffed to the white handlebars on his bedside. The taste of iron coated his mouth. He was still a little high on painkillers then, barely able to process what had happened. Eyes fixed upon the plain tiled ceiling of the hospital, curtains drawn for privacy. The distant sound of footsteps and murmuring voices filtered into the background noise.
Victor had fucked up. He knew it had been a bad idea, but he never really did think things through rationally when he was angry, did he? Rushing into their apartment without a single plan in place and just the goal of making Eli understand his pain was objectively a bad idea; he knew that now, after mulling over every single one of his mistakes for hours. It was an incredibly rash choice that had felt so powerful right in that moment. Eli did put him in that cell after all. An absence of fear only led to stupid decisions that led to stupid consequences. This was what he probably deserved. For killing Angie, losing Eli’s trust, fucking up his life.
He listened to the steady drips of IV, tapped down into his veins. Victor remembered with a sudden jolt that he didn't need to feel. He could turn all of this right off and could relish in the feel of nothing. Relinquish all his senses in pure bliss. But that was what had gotten him in trouble. Choking on his own blood. His life seeping out of him like running water. Out of sight, out of mind. Thinking that he was on the same level as Eli. Invincible. Untouchable.
He had been too impatient all his life. Impatient and reckless. Sure, impulsivity was a vice of his, but he always had a reason for acting out. It felt good to act out, to dispel the stress and extra energy that always built up in his head. Otherwise, who knows what would happen to him if he let it all build up inside? Jealousy was a hell of a drug (and motivator). Eli held some of that blame; surely he could've helped Victor instead of letting him destroy himself by trying.
He had to do everything by himself while Eli stood back and watched. Watched as everything crashed down. Irreparable. Relationships, education, and friendship all washed away in the blink of an eye. Struck down in a single second. Why didn't he try to step in? What a righteous person he was. To think that Eli still held onto a self-serving God. Victor wanted to laugh.
“Victor Vale? Can you state your date of birth for me?”
His eyes trailed to a fuzzy dark shape, broad-shouldered and towering. That was a surprise; he hadn't even noticed that someone had come in. He tried blinking. It didn’t get any clearer. For some reason, it didn’t upset him as it usually would. In the far back corner of his mind, there was an understanding that he was still heavily medicated, but it was too hard to think at the moment. He couldn't bring his lips to move, not that he wanted to either.
A sigh resounded from the man, heavy and exhausted. “I would like to know if you'd cooperate with us or not, Mr. Vale. You're under very precarious circumstances, and I wish you would understand what kind of trouble you're in.”
Victor stayed mute. Let the officer talk. He didn't care anymore. He decided that he would stop giving a shit about everything right here.
“Well then.”
He heard feet shuffling somewhere below.
“Your parents hired a lawyer who's waiting just outside this room. From what I hear, they don't seem to want to associate with you anymore. They were nice enough to pay for the legal proceedings, but that’s about it. You’ll be on your own from now on.”
Victor didn't think of that. His parents…weird to think that they'd only supply him with a lawyer, probably a fine one, and cease contact. It was a relief, actually, to know that he didn't have to deal with them any longer. Not that they would have the time for him. He ought to have felt abandoned, but it was quite freeing.
“Do you have anything to say? If not, I'll have your lawyer walk right in. "
Victor thought about it as his eyesight cleared. What could he even say? Everything had turned out the way it did; he couldn't change that. There was a deep resentment from knowing that he had survived only to be put back in a cell again, unable to make a dent in Eli’s...what? Mind? Body? Soul? He wanted to see that aggravating face twist back into a groan as he twisted his knife deeper and deeper into Eli’s heart, savoring the resistance of tissues and muscles as he forced the blade in. Victor wanted him on his knees, his blood pouring out to compensate for the blood he had lost in that fight. That’s when he would see those beautiful, long lashes flutter shut, hands dropping from his wrists, and Eli’s body slumping against him.
“Hello, Mr. Vale, your parents have hired me to be your defense attorney and…”
He finally had the strength to turn his head and tune out the middle-aged man standing beside his bed, reciting legal lingo. Victor was too preoccupied with his new obsession. He only wanted to see Eli’s face again, just as he drifted back into unconsciousness. No doubt Eli survived the stab wounds, skin flawless and smooth as if nothing had happened. Probably relieved that Victor was caught and stuck in this hospital bed until he healed enough to be taken into custody. He thought about a lot of things, all of them about Eli.
He wished he had killed him.