A Maze of Glass, Chapter Twenty Three, Pt. 1
Zo’—
I’m sorry. I tried.
I never really belonged in this world, anyway. It’s too cruel; too content in its cruelty. The fact that I made it this far, I owe it to you and Darnell. I know Sung-ho helped but I was never close to him the way you were. It was all you and D.
I miss him so much, Zo’.
I miss all of them so much. I just can’t keep missing, anymore.
Do you remember when you first pledged to Hammer? Or whatever it was called back then, or whatever they like to call it now? Dad was so proud of you. He got us drunk on champagne even though we were both underage. He cooked a whole three course dinner. Even mom liked it, ever the discerning consumer…
I always think about the look on his face that day when I think about the look on his face the first time he sent me to rehab. Christ, my best friend hanged himself. My best friend hanged himself and heroin was the thing I stumbled into because I didn’t have the coping mechanisms to process that.
Since I imagine this will be my Last Confessional, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.
One night, after I’d defected to Winters but before I disappeared entirely, we crept away from our respective camps to get drunk together and you mused out loud, “I wonder whatever happened to the Summoner? Do you remember that case?”
At the time, I shrugged it off. It was one case among ten or twelve I’d helped you with over the years so I let you tell me the tale again and I pretended not to know the ending.
Want to know how the Summoner died?
I killed him.
Did you not think I could find him? You’d invited me into all the spellcraft, all the matrices you’d used and all the ones he’d used, too. We had radio contact during the raid. I knew exactly where he was.
So I bought heroin for the first time in a long time and I gave it to him. I never used, except for my relapses, but you’d be surprised how often I ended up knowing where to get some. Or maybe you wouldn’t be surprised: it was always. Within a few months of living anywhere, I always knew where to get some.
I drove up to the slaughterhouse and put him under. I held him and caressed his forehead.
Before he nodded off, he told me that all he’d wanted to do was change the world. I told him I was sorry. I was sorry it didn’t change. I was sorry he couldn’t change it.
After he passed out, I put a small derringer behind his ear and squeezed the trigger. The bullet never came out the other side. I guess that’s the point. Sometimes I still have nightmares about the sound—about the sound and the long, terrible quiet that came after it.
I dosed him because I didn’t want him to be awake when I did it.
And, to be honest, I didn’t want your people to do whatever they were going to do to him to learn whatever they thought he might know. I thought you’d already done enough to him, yourself.
Maybe he was right. Maybe magic can change the world. He might’ve acted in bad faith or approached the idea with the incorrect methods, but I don’t think the fundamental concept is wrong. Do you? I mean, fuck, we know magic, right? Shouldn’t we be able to save some people? Isn’t that what you pride yourself on doing? So what, now?
I love you, Zoe. Everything you’ve done for me, for my kids…
Just remember: under all the cases and assignments and gigs, under all the Intel-A reports and personnel dossiers and operations, under everything, there’s just me. There’s just people like me.
Stay safe. I love you.
May the secret and sacred energies connect us always.
Jill.
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