"Camouflaging sins is a little trick I never taught you, Peter." Gerd sighed. "And yes, sadly, my newest apprentice has a long way to go before he becomes a competent seer. Not like you. You were my pride, my best student. But your moral compass is . . . how can I say it? Too precise, too true for this business. You do not yet have the fire in your gut to play our game well."
"So what is to come? Your geriatric henchmen here try to beat the truth out of me?"
Gerd stepped closer to me. "No. We simply remove one of your sins, and see if your ensuing distress produces the answer we need to hear." He held a sin extraction tool in his hand. "And later, we discuss your ultimate disposition. Considering our position under the law, it is doubtful that you will cause us any problems. After all, who ever believes a sin-seer's testimony? We are all charlatans, yes?"
Gerd laughed at his own joke.
My breath caught in my chest. "Don't do it, Gerd. For the love of God, leave my sins alone. You know I'll confess to anything if the pain is great enough. Any tortured soul would. It won't do you any good! Best you just kill me now."
Gerd only shrugged and stooped over me. I felt the slightest twinge in my upper arm.
And then, terror.
It was the horror of separation, of infinite, melancholic longing. A pit of blackness beyond black opened up before me: the loss of all hope. Worse than death, a fate that granted no mercy, no succor. A pain beyond imagining, for all eternity. I screamed.
"You only need to reveal where you hid the Sin Of All Sins, Peter," Gerd said. "And then I will replace what you are missing, make the pain stop, make you whole again."
I screamed again, but by that time I had loosened the cords that held me in the chair. I leaned hard to my left and the heavy chair fell over into the codger who held the gun. He went down, crying out when he hit the floor. Did I break his hip? Another sin for me to bear. In my terror I gained strength, loosened the rest of my restraints and grabbed the firearm, which had slid a short way away from him. I stood and pointed the weapon at Gerd. "Put it back! Put it back now!"
Gerd, obviously shaken, replaced the sin on my quivering arm. Relief flooded through me. "Peter, I know you are distraught right now, but you must understand how important-"
"Distraught! You're a master of understatement, Gerd." My hands shook as I held the gun. I fought a momentary impulse to squeeze the trigger. "Sorry, I'll take my chances elsewhere, if you don't mind. Down on the floor, now, everyone. Don't move a muscle. And read my lips, Gerd: I don't have your God-damned sin!"
Where to go? I didn't know. I reclaimed my keys and wallet, ran out of the manor to my car and drove off, spinning wheels in the driveway, trying to reclaim my sanity.
I was sure that part of me would ever remain back in Gerd's library, hovering over the edge of that black, bottomless pit of despair.
****
I drove for days, determined to put as much mileage as I could between me and those who would seek me out. Every tick of the car's odometer made me feel incrementally safer. I finally holed up in a small town in Idaho, and called Henderson a week later.
I never would have expected his gravelly voice to sound so comforting to me.
"Pete! Where the hell are you, man?"
"As close to nowhere as I can get. Probably not close enough."
"Well now, that's a real pisser. Here I go to the wall for you with the Commissioner, and get your consulting contract extended for another two years. Then you up and disappear on me!"
"I'm sorry," I said. "Things got complicated. I got confused, and . . . scared."
I told him everything that had happened to me since the last time I saw him.
"Very interesting," he said. "But what you don't know is that Gerd Vanderhout was found dead in the library of his home last week. Gunshot to the skull, apparent suicide."
I felt the blood rush to my head. My mind spun. It was a double irony. Manny Greer, an incorrigible sinner, ended up dead for a sin he didn't commit. And Gerd Vanderhout, the consummate collector, ended up dead for a sin he didn't possess.
"It wasn't suicide, Henderson. Someone killed him. A rival sin-collector, trying to steal a prize they thought he had- something that doesn't even exist except as an imaginary figment in the minds of these insane people."
"You have solid evidence of this? If so, you need to come back and give us your statement. We'll protect you. Set you up in a witness protection program, if need be."
I sighed. "No. It's nothing but informed speculation on my part. In any case, I'm better off where I am." I looked down at my feet, then added, "Henderson, let me ask you something: Are you a religious man?"
"No, not particularly. Why do you ask?"
"Because I've been thinking lately that God doesn't want us to be able to see sins like I can. It's unnatural and ultimately corruptive. Even more perverse is collecting them like they were so many pretty baubles. After looking into that dark pit of despair at Gerd's place, I realize I can't do it anymore. I just can't."
There was a long pause on Henderson's end.
"See the tears fall from my cheek," he finally said. "You think you're something special, being able to see sins. And maybe you are. But I'm no slouch at it myself. I witness sin all the time, in my own way. And I too look into that dark abyss, every single day. The difference is in how we deal with it. You're running away from it. I fight it, and try to bring justice to the wronged souls who can no longer speak for themselves. Make a stand, Pete. Here and now."
I looked out at the highway. An empty logging truck roared by, heading North toward a farther nowhere.
"You sound like an avenging angel."
I heard him snort into the phone. "You don't have to believe in God to do right. But if there is a God, I've got no patience with him. Yeah, sure, sure. We might all have to pay for our sins someday. But I'd rather present the check in the here and now. Come back to me, Pete. Help me catch the bad guys, make them pay now. I've been toying with some ideas about how we can work together more closely. Up the ante, so to speak. Maybe become a little more proactive at this game . . ."
Every gut instinct I had, even after all I'd been through, told me to protect the anonymity of my Guild colleagues. But instincts can prove to be wrong. The closest thing I ever had to a family had shown itself to be rife with lunatics, single-mindedly pursuing an impossible chimera, doing terrible things in the name of their craft.
And Henderson had nailed it: I was indeed running away, just like a frightened child who refused to confront the source of his fear. Perhaps I was trying to run away from myself. If so, I'd never find solace.
One thing was certain. The Guild killings wouldn't cease. Not unless I helped stop them.
Another logging truck rumbled past, this one filled with cut timber, heading South.
I made my decision.
"There's a lot a names on my list," I said. "At least a couple of them are murderers. Think you can sort them all out?"
Henderson chuckled. "It's what I do, Pete. If you give me the bullets, I'll produce the retribution." He paused, then added, "Welcome back . . . partner."
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Grantville Gazette 38 gg-38 Page 30
