Last Violent Call

by Chloe Gong

In the first few months after they had settled in Zhouzhuang, the townspeople had been much colder toward them. Rightfully so, since no one knew where Roma and Juliette had suddenly popped up from. Then Juliette started bringing fish to the doors of every old woman along the main canals, and Roma would braid flower crowns for the children who played by the largest stone bridges. Though the townspeople still suspected that the two must have fled from something unlawful, they had come to treat Roma and Juliette like their own. “I suppose that was our own fault. Come on, we’re going to catch a cold.”

It would have been easier if Alisa were less stubborn, if she had just gone with Marshall and Benedikt to Moscow, because Roma had contacted his two best friends within days of them settling there, out of the Nationalists’ reach, and Benedikt had yelled at him so thoroughly for faking his death—REALLY, ROMA?! THIS IS THE LAST AND FINAL TIME ANYONE DOES THIS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! GET YOUR WIFE ON THE LINE, I HAVE SOME WORDS FOR HER, TOO—that he thought the international telephone audio might short out.

“The poor fish?” Juliette echoed. “We’re feeding the fish so many good nutrients. This is going to be the best meal they’ve had in years. Delicious human meat.” If he didn’t love Juliette so much, he would really spend every waking moment in fear of what went on in that mind of hers. But because he loved her, and he was clearly out of his mind too, he only turned and steered her back into the house.

He strode toward the door, carefully opening it into the dark hallway and peering out. “My knees have been creaking since I was fifteen.” “It’s all that lying you did. Aged you prematurely.” “All right, Saint Juliette. Enough about my past crimes before I start airing yours, too.”

Juliette caught his wrist, rolling her eyes. Was that it? The whole plan that had been whirling behind his eyes while he talked? She twisted his arm hard, and Pyotr yelled out, dropping the pen. It clattered to the floor. Roma glanced down to track where it was rolling, his nose scrunched like he smelled something bad. “You could have at least lunged for me instead,” he said dully. “My reflexes are a little slower.” “Enough,” Pyotr spat. He yanked his arm free from Juliette’s hold, then was forced to freeze immediately when her gun pressed to his forehead again. “I have done nothing wrong. Let me go.”