Зло

Mitch didn’t know what had just happened back in the cafeteria, but a decade in and out of prison had taught him this: There were some people you had to stay away from, people who poisoned everything in reach. Then there were people you wanted to stick with, the ones with silver tongues and golden touches. And then, there were people you stood beside, because it meant you weren’t in their way. And whoever Victor Vale was, whatever he was, and whatever he was up to, the only thing Mitch knew was that he did not want to be in his way.

Cool air blew against her face and Sydney blinked and realized Victor was holding the car door open for her. Mitch was standing on the path to the apartment, kicking a loose piece of concrete.
"Coming?" asked Victor.
She couldn`t will her feet to move.
"Sydney, look at me." He rested his hands on the car roof and leaned in. "No one is going to hurt you. Do you know why?" She shook her head, and Victor smiled. "Because I`ll hurt them first."
He held the door open wide for her. "Now get out."
And Sydney did.

As much as they looked like each other, they bore little resemblance to their parents -- not that they were often around to provide comparison. Serena used to tell Sydney that those people weren`t their parents at all, that the girls had washed ashore in a small blue boat from some faraway place, or been found in the first-class compartment of a train, or been smuggled in by spies. If Sydney questioned the story, Serena would simply insist that her sister had been too young to remember. Sydney was still fairly sure they were just fantasies, but never entirely sure; Serena was very good at telling tales. She had always been convincing (that was the word her sister like to use for lying).

"I`ve been thinking about this ability. Regeneration." His eyes glittered as he spoke. "Why of all the potential powers I ended up with this one. Maybe it`s not random. Maybe there`s some correlation between a person`s character and their resulting ability. Maybe it`s a reflection of their psyche. I`m trying to understand how this" -- he held up a blood-stained but uninjured hand -- "is a reflection of me. Why He would give me--"
"He?" asked Victor incredulously. He wasn`t in the mood for God. Not this morning. "According to your thesis," he said, "an influx of adrenaline and a desire to survive gave you that talent. Not God. This isn`t divinity, Eli. It`s science and chance."
"Maybe to a point, but when I climbed into that water, I put myself in His hands--"
"No," snapped Victor. "You put yourself in mine."

Hate was too simple a world. He and Eli were bonded, by blood and death and science. They were alike, more so now than ever. And he had missed Eli. He wanted to see him. And he wanted to see him suffer. He wanted to see the look in Eli`s eyes when he lit them up with pain. He wanted his attention.
Eli was like a thorn beneath Victor`s skin, and it hurt. He could turn off every nerve in his body, but Victor couldn`t do a damned thing about the twinge he felt when he though of Cardale. The worst part of going numb was that it took away everything but this, the smothering need to hurt, to break, to kill, pouring over him like a thick blanket of syrup until he panicked and brought the physical sensations back.

It wasn`t just that Eli stole Angie from Victor -- that was bad enough -- but somehow Angie had stolen Eli from him, too. The more interesting Eli, anyway. Not the one with perfect teeth and an easy laugh, but the one beneath that was glittering and sharp, like broken glass. It was in those jagged pieces that Victor saw something he recognized. Something dangerous, and hungry. But when Eli was with Angie, it never showed. He was a model boyfriend, caring, attentive, and dull, and Victor found himself studying his friends in Angie`s wake, searching for signs of life.