Chapter Twelve
Even though John had left the room, Harry still felt John’s hands on his bare shoulders, John’s mouth against his. And he was certain that years from now—decades from now—he’d still feel those things. As if John were a ghost instead of… whatever he was.
How could anyone look at John for even a moment and not see his soul? Even when he’d been hardly more than a skin-sheathed skeleton, his essence had shone in his eyes. He embodied more humanity than anyone Harry had met. When John looked at Harry, he didn’t seem to see a moron, a weakling, a pervert. John’s gaze could almost make Harry believe in himself.
But in two nights, Harry would be complicit in returning John to hell, and Harry was too dim to find any way around that. Sure, he could again tell John to leave, but he doubted John would listen. And besides, John had been right; the Bureau would track him down soon enough. Hunting monsters was what they did.
John had said that two days of joy were better than a lifetime of loneliness and sorrow. And maybe two days was all that a guy like Harry was due, so he ought to be grateful for even that much. If only he could do more for John.
Well, at least he could make the most of what they had.
He stood, letting the blanket drop to the floor. Wearing nothing but boxer shorts, he padded to the bathroom and tapped on the door, which was slightly ajar. When no answer came, he thought maybe John hadn’t heard him over the sound of running water. He knocked again, harder, and the door swung open.
John knelt naked on the floor, face buried in his hands.
“John!” Harry rushed in and crouched in front of him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
When John raised his head and looked at Harry, his eyes were dry but his expression bleak. “I’m nobody.”
Regret rocked Harry. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry. It doesn’t mean you’re corrupt like me, okay? You’re just—”
John’s laugh sounded almost like a sob. “The kiss was wonderful.”
“Then why did you just say you’re nobody? You’re not. You’re John. My friend, I think. And you’re really smart and—”
“Nobody.” John tapped Harry’s shoulder lightly before standing and turning off the faucet. Nearly full, the tub steamed.
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t have any memories from before I was created. You knew that. But I assumed I’d just lost them at death, like losing my pulse. I was wrong.”
“You didn’t lose them?”
John shook his head slowly. “I never had them.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m not a man who died and was brought back to some semblance of life. I’m….” He sighed. “A man died. Maybe several—I’m not sure whether all of this body comes from a single source. But whoever those people were, their souls, their selves, those are gone. Perhaps they’re enjoying an afterlife somewhere. I hope so, for their sakes.” His head drooped.
Slow as ever, Harry struggled to comprehend. Despite his confusion, he turned his attention to John and gently took his forearm. “Get in the tub, John. You can explain more in there.”
Although John still appeared miserable, he nodded once and slowly climbed into the roomy tub. He leaned his head against the edge, eyes closed, and let out a long breath.
Harry sat on the closed toilet. “Feels good, huh? I haven’t had much access to bathtubs since my parents threw me out. I’m lucky when I get a shower.”
“It’s lovely.”
John was lovely, although Harry didn’t say it aloud. He looked like an angel, maybe. Like a dream who’d stepped right off a movie screen. The scars didn’t detract at all from that.
After a few minutes, John opened his eyes. “I don’t know how to explain. I can’t find the right words. But I’ll try.” He lifted his arms out of the water, and he and Harry watched them drip. “This body was never mine. As I said, whatever people it belonged to are dead and gone. I was thrust into an empty patchwork shell. I’m a monster squatting in a stolen home.” He let his arms drop with a splash.
Harry scratched his head. “If that’s true, it’s not so bad. I mean, whoever used to have that body, he doesn’t need it anymore. You didn’t have any choice in the matter, but even if you did, you’re no thief. It’s like when I was staying at the March. People lived in that room before, but they moved out. As long as I paid rent, that place was just as much mine as it had been theirs.” He nodded as he warmed to his topic. “Or when I buy secondhand clothes. They’re mine once I hand over my money, and that’s not hurting anyone.”
John surprised him with a small smile. “My body as secondhand clothes. I like that. It explains the wear and tear.” He briefly traced the scar on his chest.
“That body might not be brand new, but you wear it mighty well.”
This time, John’s smile was big enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “You truly see me as… desirable?”
“Yeah.” That came out hoarser than Harry intended. He wasn’t used to admitting his feelings to anyone—not even when he was fucking them.
But then John looked serious again. “You shouldn’t. This body may not disgust you, but what’s inside should. I thought I’d once been human, Harry. I worried about what kind of man I’d been, but at least I believed I was a man. But now I realize I never was. I have never been anything but a monster.”
Harry was tempted to remind him of their earlier discussion, in which Harry had questioned the very concept of monster. He still believed it was just a word people threw at someone they feared or misunderstood. Being a monster didn’t depend on how someone was made—or who he wanted to go to bed with—but rather how he acted. For instance, a guy could be born the usual way but grow up to love booze more than his family, to abuse his child in every way imaginable. He deserved the label much more than a fellow created in a lab, who’d never harmed anyone.
But with rare insight, Harry understood that it wasn’t just the categorization that was disturbing John so deeply. It was the loss of a past he’d hoped he’d once possessed. And the loss of a future too—a future already made tenuous by the Bureau.
Harry couldn’t do anything about how John was created, and he was in a true bind over the Bureau as well. But he could offer some solace, at least.
He got off the toilet and knelt beside the tub, thankful for the rug cushioning his knees. Then he sank a hand into the water, grasped one of John’s, and fished it out. “Look at you, John.”
“What?”
“You called me strong for… for surviving so far, I guess. But look at you. Until you left that cell, you never had one minute of anything good. Nobody gave you anything but pain. But here you are, only a few days away from that place, and look what you’ve become. Nobody could blame you if you went wild like Frankenstein’s monster. If you killed as many of us as you could get your hands on. But that isn’t what you want, is it?”
“No,” John replied softly.
“You could have become anything, probably should have become an angry beast out for revenge. Instead, you’re… nice. Even after I told you how I’m going to use you. You’ve been kinder to me than anyone.” Harry had to swallow before continuing. “You’ve made yourself from scratch. And if those bastards give you half a chance, you’ll be a better person than any of them.”
Still holding Harry’s hand, John regarded him solemnly. Then the corners of his mouth rose just a bit. “You’re very wise.”
Harry barked a laugh. “No, I’m—”
“Wise.” John brought their joined hands to his mouth and gently kissed Harry’s knuckles. “And generous and kind. Thank you.”
Some of the weight lifted from Harry’s heart. He couldn’t fix much of anything, but he’d eased some of John’s sorrow, and that was an accomplishment he could be proud of.
“John? Let’s just forget about everything else for a little while, okay? Never mind the before or the after—let’s have now.”
“Also wise.”
“Good. So what do you want to do with the now? What do you truly want?”
John didn’t hesitate. “I want you.”