“You’re so fucking naïve.” Melt shook the flask, and then finished off whatever was left in it. “And that’s not even what I meant.”
Melt gestured to the cabin they were in, and then to the window.
“I used to work here,” he said. “Surprised I remember that. I was… a summer camp counselor.”
“That’s… kind of hard for me to picture,” said Malcolm.
“It was a long time ago,” said Melt. “But… I enjoyed it. I honestly fucking did. It wasn’t fun, though, not exactly. It was mostly just boring.”
Malcolm didn’t say anything.
“That’s what I never got,” said Melt. “It was boring, predictable, and routine. Probably the happiest time of my life, if I’d stopped to really think about it. You’re lucky when you’re bored, especially if you’re around other people, who are bored too. You just never stop to fucking think about that, until you’re not bored. Until you’re scared, or angry at the world. Or you hate yourself.”
He’s venting to me. I don’t think that’s a good sign.
Melt flicked his empty flask across the room. It sounded like a tin can as it bounced across the floor. He reached a hand around to the back of his belt, and pulled out a pistol. Malcolm tensed up and immediately tried to knock it away with his wind manipulation, but Melt had a good grip.
“Easy, now,” said Melt. “Wind Runner, I’m going to tell you something. You gotta learn that you can’t always win. The most important thing you can learn in life is that you have to know how and when to lose. Cause sometimes… it’s too fucking pointless.”
“Melt!” shouted Malcolm. He pulled at the handcuffs as hard as he could, his wrists chafing as he desperately tried to slip them loose.
“Key is taped under the chair,” said Melt. “Along with a note. Give it to Greenthumb.”
Melt brought the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The crack of the gunshot was deafening, and red and white bits blasted out the back of what was left of Melt’s head. He fell forward, blood still pumping out of his mouth and shattered skull, spreading across the wood floor, staining the edges of Malcolm’s feet.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Jesus fucking Christ, Melt.”
CHAPTER 31
It only took Malcolm a minute or two to find the key on the underside of his chair. Part of him was frustrated that he hadn’t thought to feel around there earlier, though he knew that it was just his regret manifesting as guilt. He couldn’t have stopped Melt from doing what he’d done.
He was waiting for a champion to show up. I bet he was glad it was someone like me, someone with at least a little empathy for monsters.
Malcolm stood outside the cabin, feeling an odd mixture of uncertainty over what he should do next. Was he supposed just leave Melt’s body where it was, dripping blood onto the floor of a cabin in an abandoned summer camp? It seemed so cavalier, so empty and heartless. But what else could he do? He reported to Savior, not to the normal authorities.
He took a minute to wipe the soles of his shoes through the grass, trying to get rid of the blood staining them. It didn’t really come off, and Malcolm decided it wasn’t that big of a deal. Melt was dead, his shoes had a bit of blood on them. The world would keep on turning.
Malcolm looked around and eventually found a dirty tarp to cover Melt’s body. He resolved to come back, sooner rather than later, and give Melt the burial he deserved. He’d been a good man, and even as a demon, he’d kept a strong grip on his conscience. Thinking about it made Malcolm think of Danny, and the struggle his brother had been through, trying to transition back to living a life that didn’t involve killing and destruction.
“You weren’t such a bad guy, Melt,” he said, looking back through the cabin’s door. “No. You did the best you could.”
The night air had a chill to it that found its way under his clothes, and it made him feel restless as he headed back toward Vanderbrook. The note Melt had entrusted to him felt like it was burning a hole in Malcolm’s pocket, so he headed to the hospital before returning to Tapestry’s house. The sun had set completely by the time he’d arrived, and he was certain that it would be past visiting hours.
Luckily, Malcolm remembered the floor and number of Greenthumb’s room. He spent a minute staring up at the hospital’s windows until he found the right one, and then carefully maneuvered up to it using wind manipulation.
Greenthumb was still awake, and immediately turned to stare at him when he started tapping on the window. The bedridden champion smiled as he recognized him and gestured for him to come in. The window was unlocked, though sliding it open while simultaneously keeping himself in place with the wind was more challenging than expected.
“Hey,” said Malcolm, as he slipped inside.
“Wind Runner,” said Greenthumb. “What an unexpected surprise.”
Malcolm nodded, suddenly feeling unsure of what to say.
“Savior sent me after Melt,” he finally said.
Greenthumb nodded. He was looking better, but he had lost weight and his usual ruddy complexion was pale.
“I assumed as much,” said Greenthumb. “It was past time for Melt to be put down. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble for you.”
Malcolm shook his head slowly.
“Don’t worry,” Greenthumb added quickly. “I would have done the same thing, and so would have Melt, if the tables were turned. Monsters can’t be allowed to roam free.”
“He did it himself,” Malcolm said. “He… shot himself.”
Greenthumb looked puzzled. He tapped a finger on a gaunt cheekbone.
“Strange,” he said. “If that was what he intended, I’m surprised he waited as long as he did.”
Malcolm drew the note out of his pocket and passed it over to him. Greenthumb examined it as though it were evidence from a crime scene.
“Interesting…” he said. “Melt was always the sentimental type, despite his less than charming disposition. What a shame.”
Greenthumb set the note on his bed table. It was as though Malcolm had handed him a flyer in the street, or a piece of junk mail.
He’ll read it eventually. I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t…
“You look like you have a question for me,” said Greenthumb. “Please. Tell me what’s on your mind, Wind Runner.”
“How do you do it?” asked Malcolm. “I mean, I know that’s an open ended question. But you’re… unaffected by this. How the hell can you be so… casual?”
The word Malcolm wanted to use was detached, or perhaps even cold. Greenthumb wasn’t emotionless, Malcolm knew that from watching him interact with his girlfriend, and occasionally Anna. But when it came to his job, he was an unflinching machine.
“I wish there was an easy answer that I could give you.” Greenthumb smiled ruefully. “The world… doesn’t make sense. Especially when viewed through the eyes of a champion. You have to learn to adapt to that senselessness.”
Malcolm folded his arms. He wanted a better answer than that.
“How did you manage it?” he asked.
“I found things to hold onto,” said Greenthumb. “People to hold onto. People that need me to be… strong, for them.”
His smile took on a sudden vulnerable quality.
“I was not a strong man before I became a champion,” said Greenthumb. “Sometimes, what we are is just what’s needed at the time.”
Malcolm considered his words.
“Are you going to read the note Melt left you?” he asked.
Greenthumb shrugged.
“Would you, in my position?”
“He was your partner,” said Malcolm.
“I might read it…” said Greenthumb. “But understand that if I don’t, it’s because I need to be able to choose not to. Sometimes strength is about making the choice that lets you stay strong.”