“Don’t!” Connor’s lower lip quivers. “Because if you say it, it’ll sound too much like a good-bye, and I don’t think I could take that.”
And so Risa doesn’t speak it aloud, but it’s there between them, more powerful than anything either of them can say.
She leans over, kisses him, then hurries to the door where Argent waits, his half-face red with fright. It’s just as they leave that Connor breaks down and utters the words he couldn’t bear to hear himself.
“I love you, Risa,” he says. “Every last part of me.”
53 • Connor
“I hope you’re hungry.”
Connor cranes his neck to see Divan coming into the room with a tray. Connor answers him with a glare.
“No, I suppose you’re not,” says Divan, “but I wish you to have this meal anyway. And I wish you to enjoy it.”
Divan sits in the room’s only chair, depositing the tray on a small desk and removing its silver dome, releasing a plume of steam toward the ceiling.
“Fine,” Connor says, “and then you won’t be able to unwind me for twenty-four hours, isn’t that right? I can’t be unwound on a full stomach.”
“Ah yes,” says Divan, unrolling silverware from a napkin, “the many rules and regulations of the Juvenile Authority. Well, we do things differently here.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The room now smells rich with butter and garlic. Connor finds his mouth watering in spite of himself, and he despises Divan even more for making his own senses rebel against him.
“Have you ever had lobster, Connor?”
“I thought they were extinct.”
“There are still private farms if one knows where to find them.”
Through the corner of his eye, Connor sees Divan perform surgery on a red shell, removing a fist-size lump of steaming white shellfish meat.
“You’re going to have to free my hands if you want me to eat.”
Divan chuckles slightly. “Freeing your hands would give you ideas, and ideas would give you hope in a hopeless situation. It would be cruel to give you hope at this point, so no, your hands remain as restrained as the rest of you.” Divan cuts the meat, then with a small fork, he proceeds to push a piece of the lobster toward Connor’s mouth. “I will feed you. Your only responsibility is to enjoy the experience.”
Although Connor keeps his lips pursed, Divan patiently waits, with the fork just above his mouth, saying nothing, just waiting. Like the unwinding itself, Connor realizes this meal is inevitable. After a few minutes, he opens his mouth, and allows Divan to feed him the most expensive thing he’s ever eaten.
“You need to understand I am not your enemy, Connor.”
That’s much harder for Connor to swallow than the lobster. “How do you figure?”
“Because in spite of what you cost me with Starkey, I have nothing in my heart but admiration for you. Nelson may have had a vendetta against you, but I do not. In fact, were you not worth so many millions to me, I would seriously consider releasing you.”
The idea of Connor’s unwound parts being worth millions is so unimaginable to him that he glances at Divan to see if he’s making a joke. But Divan keeps a straight face as he lowers another piece of lobster to Connor’s mouth.
“You seem surprised. You shouldn’t be. You’re a worldwide folk hero. In fact, your auction has garnered almost twice what I thought it would.”
“So I’ve already been auctioned?”
“It was finalized an hour ago. And to buyers on every continent.” And then Divan smiles, “The sun will never set on you, Connor Lassiter. Few people can say such a thing.” Then he strokes Connor’s hair like a doting parent. Connor turns his head, but that doesn’t stop him.
“I said you could feed me. I didn’t say you could touch me.”
“Forgive me,” Divan says, feeding him some vegetables that are all texture and garlic. “I feel a closeness to my Unwinds that I don’t think you could understand. Do you know I occasionally sit beside them, comforting them as they’re brought into the unwinding chamber? Mostly they’re inconsolable. But once in a while they will look at me with eyes of acceptance and understanding. There are few things more gratifying.”
“What about the others you auctioned today? Will the sun set on them?”
“Every Unwind divides differently,” Divan explains. “There were five today, and all sold quickly.” Then he adds. “The boy before you sold piece by piece to only three buyers. They’ll be reselling, of course, but as long as they pay my price, what they do with the merchandise is their business.”
Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath. He hopes Divan doesn’t notice it. He doesn’t—he’s more interested in the meal, as he feeds Connor another chunk of chewy white pulp.
“How do you find the lobster?”
“Like shrimp with an attitude,” Connor says, then adds, “but in the end, in spite of all its airs, it’s nothing but a bottom-feeder.”
Divan blots Connor’s lips with a silk napkin. “Well, even we bottom-feeders have our place in the ecosystem.”
Logically, Connor knows the longer the meal takes, and the longer he keeps Divan talking, the longer it is until he’s unwound. Yet he finds his curiosity about Divan to be real. How can a man do what this man does and believe himself to be anything but Satan incarnate?