I moved to Mitnick. I heard him wheezing, laboring to breathe. His limbs spasmed as they failed, the commander of men no longer able to control his own body. His eyes moved, searched for a way out, landing on me instead.
“Why?” he asked. “I would have made us rich.”
I patted down his jacket, searching for any possible surprises. There weren’t any. “You were already rich, Mitnick. It would never be enough.”
“I could have made you rich. This city, this country, could have been ours.”
“I don’t want it.” I moved so Mitnick had a clear line of sight to Nika, could see the anguish on her tear-stained face. “I don’t want to be a part of it.”
Mitnick gurgled a bitter laugh. “I thought all Americans wanted to be rich.”Â
I thought about all of the reasons we did what we had done, the suffering Mitnick caused, Sophie’s vendetta against monsters like him, my own fiery desires. It didn’t resolve itself into any answer, so I said, “Maybe. But just because you can take something doesn’t mean you should. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
Mitnick bubbled another chuckle. “We come from very different places, you and I.”
“Yeah.” I thought about it and added, “You should have left the kids alone.”
Mitnick held up a hand, staring at his own blood on it. “It seems in this you are right.” His eyes darted to Nika. “Oleg will continue searching for his daughter.”
“Oleg’s dead,” I said, quietly enough that Nika wouldn’t hear me.
Mitnick’s face relaxed. “Well, at least there is that.” Mitnick took his eyes from me and stared up at the ceiling. “Thank God my children are not here.”
I didn’t believe anymore, but I joined him in that prayer. It hadn’t occurred to me that his family might be in the house and I tried not to think about what that would have meant.
Over the sound of the flames I didn’t realize that Mitnick had stopped breathing. I left him to the fire.
To start at the beginning of the story, go here.Â
Photo courtesy of Hert Niks.
To read the previous chapter, go here.
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