Page 80 of Sigma
He frowns at me. “Youarea glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”
“I guess.” I meet his eyes. “Because, here I am.”
He closes his eyes with a sarcastic sniff and a slight shake of his head at the way I’ve twisted his own words. “She was a terrible mother,” he says, looking away, out at the garden. “She was…arrogant. Vain. Shallow and materialistic. Selfish. She never once told me she loved me. She didn’t hug me. I’m not even certain why I am here at all. Meaning, why she didn’t abort me. Why did she carry me to term? She seemed to loathe the responsibility I represented. Perhaps even the fact of my existence, that I represent the continuation of her family line, the evil that is the Karahalios name.”
“Do you havenogood memories of her?”
A shrug. Staring into the vacant space of memory, an unfocused gaze. “Good memories? Mmm…not really. She was all sharp edges and hard words, when she was sober. But when she was drunk? I’d see the softer side of her, the dark, soft underbelly of the mad bitch from hell—and it was…far worse. The things she’d say to me…I brought her breakfast, once. She’d accidentally stayed through to Sunday morning, and I got up before Gemma, and I brought her yogurt and made her tea. And she asked if I was trying to be a good boy. Like that, hmm? ‘Are you trying to be a good boy, my little Polly?’ And then she laughed, as if she’d told the funniest joke. ‘Youcan’tbe good, Apollo. So don’t bother trying. It simply isn’t in you. You are my son, and I am truly sorry for that. It’s a horrible thing to be.’”
I choke. “She said that to you?”
He nods slowly. “It was a few weeks before her death. I was…ten? Almost eleven, maybe?” A frown. “No, younger. I don’t know—I don’t remember exactly.”
A silence.
“It was better when she was gone. It was lonely and boring, but easier. Yet, I would always work myself into a mad state, wishing she was there, because I would always talk myself into believing she would be different. Like the children of addicts, you know? Maybe this time, they’ll really get clean. And like the child whose addict parent always lets them down by relapsing, my mother always turned out to be the same awful creature she’d been the last time she turned up.”
“Apollo…” I breathe.
He looks at me then, and for a brief moment, I see the unending wealth of pain his walls hide. “You still think there’s a good man inside me?” He smirks, and it isn’t pretty. “Like in the movies, yes? The crusader who sees good in the villain. TheStar Warsmovie. Luke…Sky…something. Skywalker? ‘There’s still good in you, I know it.’ He says this to his father, the robot man with the red laser sword. Darth…something.”
I laugh. “Darth Vader.”
“Ah yes. But was there? How did that turn out for the orphan boy from the desert planet? Not well. There may have been something good in the remains of the thing that had once been his father. But if there was, it was too late, and buried too deeply under all the hate.” He taps his chest. “Youare going to redeemme? A few hard truths and I’m going to suddenly be something other than what I am? Which is a Karahalios. That’s why I took on the family business. Because that’s what I am.”
He strides away from me into the garden, and now we’re surrounded by fruit trees and an explosion of flowers of every color and variety. I follow him.
“You don’t fool me, Apollo.”
He barks a laugh. “Don’t I? Do tell.”
“You’re deflecting. Pushing me off, because you think I’m going to be like everyone else—forced to be here. Your men, Consuela, your assistant or whatever…they have a choice in that you pay them. But without that money, how loyal are they toyou? To theman, not the title, not the power, not the position or the influence.”
He snorts. “Funny, I wonder that myself. And the answer is, not at all. That’s why I pay them so well no one could ever outbid me. Their loyalty is assured, because I am their fortune’s future.”
“Right. Exactly.”
A laugh, a wry arch of his eyebrow. “You are not making the case you think you are, Corinna.”
“I’m still here, Apollo.”
“Because I won’t let you leave. You are a prisoner. Or have you forgotten?”
I stop short, stunned. He senses that I’ve stopped, and halts as well. A hibiscus blooms huge and wild behind him. Roses surround us, fragrant and violently crimson. “You know, I think I have, actually.”
He laughs. “And I’m the crazy one.”
“No, you’re not crazy. I never thought you were.”
“I’m really not following you, Corinna. Please at leasttryto make sense.”
“What if there could be someone who was loyal to you? Toyou, I mean. To Apollo. The man. The man behind the castle and the soldiers and the money.” I pause, and I wait until he turns to look at me. “What if, Apollo? What if someone could see beyond the name? What if someone could helpyousee beyond…beyond everything you’ve just told me?”
He swallows hard. “Sounds lovely.” A slow blink, a deep breath, and then I see the emergency blast doors slam down behind his eyes. “And as fictional asStar Wars.”
He turns then, and walks away. “I have business to attend to.”
I see what he’s doing—delaying, avoiding.