don’t work out as we had hoped, people we love who don’t love us, dreams that crumble. Time catches up with us, and we realize what we haven’t done, what chances for kindness, for courage we have wasted, and too many of them won’t come again. We see glimpses of what we could have been, and weren’t.”
Squeaky was stunned. What was this life Henry was talking about? It was surely not the life he had had himself, inventing and making things, having a son who was the best lawyer in London, a nice house, people who trusted and admired him. What failure had he ever known?
Henry’s attention was on Crow. “But you have helped many,” he said with growing conviction in his voice. “More important, you have helped some whom possibly no one else would help. Don’t let yourself be crippled because it wasn’t everyone. Nobody succeeds all the time.” He smiled bleakly. “Think how insufferably arrogant we would become if we did. There would be no need for God.”
Squeaky smiled. “Is He going to pick up the bits we drop, then?”
“I don’t know,” Henry replied. “But I don’t mean to drop Lucien if I can help it. There’s always a chance.”
“You’re a dreamer,” Squeaky told him. “This isn’t your world.”
“Hell is everybody’s world, at one time or another, Squeaky,” Henry answered.
Squeaky blasphemed softly under his breath. “You’ve been here for days and you still don’t have the least idea! Lucien’s here because he wants to be!” He forced the words out between his teeth. He did not want to hurt this gentle man. He liked him, dammit! But somebody had to save him from himself.
Crow was staring at Squeaky.
“And you don’t need to look like that either!” Squeaky snapped at him. “He came here for pleasure, no matter what it cost, or who paid it. He wanted to live in a world where everybody flattered him and told him how handsome and clever he was. He wanted to believe the lies—so he did. He didn’t give a damn about anyone else, and now nobody gives a damn about him.” He looked at Henry. “He’s here because he chose it. And you can’t change that.”
“Of course I can’t,” Henry admitted. “But if he chooses to leave, perhaps I can help him believe that he can do it.”
“It’s too late,” Squeaky said brutally, not because he wished to hurt, but because he couldn’t bear the hope and despair that would follow. It had to end now.
“It’s never too late,” Henry said stubbornly. “Well, maybe it is sometimes, but not yet. There’s still something to fight for. You are free to go, of course, but I would rather you stayed with us, because we need your help, and your experience.”
Squeaky wanted to swear, but no words in all his wide vocabulary were adequate to suit his feelings.
“Well, I’ve got to stay, haven’t I!” he said roughly. “You haven’t got enough sense to find your way out of a wet paper bag!”
“Thank you,” Henry said gravely.
“I’ve been thinking.” Crow measured his words. “I’ve heard a lot about Sadie, because I asked about her. At least some of it has to be lies, but I can’t tell which is which. Sorting out the truth might be our next course of action.” He looked hopefully at Henry, then at Squeaky.
“So what did you hear?” Squeaky asked. “She’sa damn good whore, with T.B., and any other disease she might have picked up along the way. She had long, black hair and blue eyes.”
“She was tall and slender, with extraordinary grace,” Crow added. “And very disturbing eyes, actually, according to those who were not in love with her. One was green and one hazel.”
Squeaky shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“Unless it was two different women?” Henry pointed out. “Maybe it wasn’t even Sadie at all? Then Lucien would have had no reason to kill Niccolo.” A sudden hope lit his face.
“Lucien is vain, stupid, completely selfish, and up to his eyeballs on opium, drink, and anything else
Squeaky was stunned. What was this life Henry was talking about? It was surely not the life he had had himself, inventing and making things, having a son who was the best lawyer in London, a nice house, people who trusted and admired him. What failure had he ever known?
Henry’s attention was on Crow. “But you have helped many,” he said with growing conviction in his voice. “More important, you have helped some whom possibly no one else would help. Don’t let yourself be crippled because it wasn’t everyone. Nobody succeeds all the time.” He smiled bleakly. “Think how insufferably arrogant we would become if we did. There would be no need for God.”
Squeaky smiled. “Is He going to pick up the bits we drop, then?”
“I don’t know,” Henry replied. “But I don’t mean to drop Lucien if I can help it. There’s always a chance.”
“You’re a dreamer,” Squeaky told him. “This isn’t your world.”
“Hell is everybody’s world, at one time or another, Squeaky,” Henry answered.
Squeaky blasphemed softly under his breath. “You’ve been here for days and you still don’t have the least idea! Lucien’s here because he wants to be!” He forced the words out between his teeth. He did not want to hurt this gentle man. He liked him, dammit! But somebody had to save him from himself.
Crow was staring at Squeaky.
“And you don’t need to look like that either!” Squeaky snapped at him. “He came here for pleasure, no matter what it cost, or who paid it. He wanted to live in a world where everybody flattered him and told him how handsome and clever he was. He wanted to believe the lies—so he did. He didn’t give a damn about anyone else, and now nobody gives a damn about him.” He looked at Henry. “He’s here because he chose it. And you can’t change that.”
“Of course I can’t,” Henry admitted. “But if he chooses to leave, perhaps I can help him believe that he can do it.”
“It’s too late,” Squeaky said brutally, not because he wished to hurt, but because he couldn’t bear the hope and despair that would follow. It had to end now.
“It’s never too late,” Henry said stubbornly. “Well, maybe it is sometimes, but not yet. There’s still something to fight for. You are free to go, of course, but I would rather you stayed with us, because we need your help, and your experience.”
Squeaky wanted to swear, but no words in all his wide vocabulary were adequate to suit his feelings.
“Well, I’ve got to stay, haven’t I!” he said roughly. “You haven’t got enough sense to find your way out of a wet paper bag!”
“Thank you,” Henry said gravely.
“I’ve been thinking.” Crow measured his words. “I’ve heard a lot about Sadie, because I asked about her. At least some of it has to be lies, but I can’t tell which is which. Sorting out the truth might be our next course of action.” He looked hopefully at Henry, then at Squeaky.
“So what did you hear?” Squeaky asked. “She’sa damn good whore, with T.B., and any other disease she might have picked up along the way. She had long, black hair and blue eyes.”
“She was tall and slender, with extraordinary grace,” Crow added. “And very disturbing eyes, actually, according to those who were not in love with her. One was green and one hazel.”
Squeaky shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“Unless it was two different women?” Henry pointed out. “Maybe it wasn’t even Sadie at all? Then Lucien would have had no reason to kill Niccolo.” A sudden hope lit his face.
“Lucien is vain, stupid, completely selfish, and up to his eyeballs on opium, drink, and anything else
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