Tempted by the Sinner

“You think that’s what I have to do?” I asked, my lip trembling just a little bit.

“Maybe,” he said and shook his head. “I don’t really know. What’s the difference between a journalist in a war zone and a soldier fighting the war? They’re both getting shot at.”

“The soldier’s shooting back,” I said.

“Good point. But the journalist is doing her job too.” He cocked his head, swirled his drink. “I think if you want to keep being a part of this, you’re going to have to learn how to cope. Maybe you’ll have to become a little bit like me.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Maybe.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not so bad. I’m not as much of a monster as you think I am.”

“But you are a monster,” I said. “Just a little bit, at least.”

He shrugged a little, let out a breath. He slumped forward a bit and looked like exhaustion hit him over the head with a shovel.

“You have to be,” he said. “Because your enemies are monsters too, except they’re worse, they’re the kind of monsters that don’t care who you are or what you are, they’ll pull you under the bed and devour you whole.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to change,” I said.

“You’ll have to be,” he said. “Or else maybe you need to get the hell out of here before you don’t have an option anymore.”

I nodded a little, staring into his eyes. He almost looked sad, but there was a hardness to him, like he couldn’t let that sadness get under his skin. For just a brief moment, I saw the Vincent he used to be, before the mob took everything from him and molded him into what he is now.

I saw the little kid, the innocent kid behind it all.

But that kid was dead and gone, and Vincent was the man before me, ice water in his veins, steel in his spine.

“I’m going to bed,” I said, and pushed away from the table.

“Sure,” he said. “You go do that.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

He nodded and smiled. “I’m fine, little journalist,” he said. “I’m always fine.”

“If you ever need to talk—”

“I don’t,” he said and threw back the rest of his drink. “I never do.”

I nodded a little and turned away.

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the steps. I looked back, just for a brief moment, as I started up. He smirked a little, his head tilted to one side, and the mask was back up, the walls put back into place. I wondered if I’d ever see that side of him again, tired and battered, angry and guilty and sad all at once.

Probably not, or at least I hoped I never did.

Because that part of him probably only came out after he’d killed a bunch of men, after he’d nearly gotten me killed in the process.

I headed upstairs and into my room. I shut the door behind me, walked to my phone, and picked it up.

I typed out a single text, chewed on my lip, and hit send before crawling under the covers and closing my eyes.16MonaThe sun was bright as I sat on the familiar bench in Clark Park. Kids played on the swing sets, their parents laughing and talking with each other nearby. Teens on roller skates rolled past, nudging at each other, grinning like the world was just fine and nothing bad could ever happen.

My ears rang from the gunshots the day before.

I stretched my legs out and tried to keep myself centered. It wasn’t easy, not with the images still running through my brain. I barely slept the night before and even after I’d gone back up to my room, I couldn’t seem to shut down. I heard Vincent head up to bed not long after me, stumbling in the dark, stomping on the steps like he didn’t have a care in the world.

In the morning, before I left, he was up and already making coffee. I poured some in a to-go mug and told him I was running some errands.

He only smiled and told me to have fun.

I wondered if I was making a mistake. Thomas was a mentor to me, an important person in my life, but what happened yesterday went way beyond anything we’d ever talked about. I witnessed multiple murders, even if they were in self-defense. I saw an attempted mob hit go down right before my eyes.

That wasn’t the sort of thing you could just talk about with anyone.

But before I could decide this was all a horrible mistake and run back to Vince’s house, I saw Thomas ambling down the path toward me. He wore dark khaki pants with a navy shirt tucked into them. He had on a Phillies baseball cap, pulled down low over his eyes, and a newspaper was tucked under one arm.