22d • Snippets
Tracy firms up her identity.
From "The Butterfly Defect" a novel currently at 150,000 words that will never see the light of day.
In this scene, Tracy, having already been led to the dark side by Simon before he died, finds out what he left her in his will. And when she wonders what to do about it, she finds out even more about herself.
--------
The contents of the box revealed themselves to be eighty thousand pounds in cash, which Tracy asked Adam to bank for her, a tangled bunch of war medals, pouches of rare coins and a rust stained dagger with a swastika and "SS" engraved in the hilt. She recoiled at the last item. "Is that what I think it is?"
"It is. And it's illegal in the UK and most of Europe, being genuine Nazi memorabilia." When he saw Tracy frown, he added. "Oh, don't worry, it wasn't Simon's originally. He liberated it from East Berlin after the war. Nevertheless, you can't put it on the open market without risking a stiff penalty. But we have contacts if you'd like us to sell it for you?"
Tracy thought for a while. Her first instinct was to have it destroyed, but her inner, darker voice spoke up. To do so would be to invalidate whatever Simon had endured to acquire it. Maybe even death-defying efforts, for all she knew. And who was she to just write that off? If he'd wanted it destroyed, it wouldn't be here. But still…
"What would you think of me if I tried to make money from that?" she asked.
Adam took a large swig of whisky. "It's irrelevant what I'd think of you," he said, turning the dagger so it caught the light. "I suspect you know that. But you also might like to know that I wouldn't care in the least. See, this firm has quite a niche clientele, with Simon, and now yourself being prime examples. It's okay, don't be shy about it."
He placed the dagger back on the table and flicked it into a slow spin with a pudgy finger. When the spin slowed, then stopped, it was pointing right at her.
"You're special, Tracy. It's no surprise you and Simon found each other. We're a little special here, too. People have their own interpretations of morality. You, Simon, me and the other members of this firm share an interpretation that's somewhat distant from the middle of the bell curve, shall we say?" He looked up from the dagger and right into her eyes. "You've not only entertained Simon's butterfly collecting, as he called it, but you've enjoyed it too, yes?"
She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, but let him continue without argument.
It was about time she solved the crisis of self-identity that had been bubbling up inside her since she stole her first pound.
It was time to admit that she was a thief, a slut, and a sex offender, and maybe even a damn nympho.
She wasn't pure; she wasn't good. She was just herself. And it seemed she'd found her people. The kind of people who wouldn't recoil in shock and throw that knife into the nearest canal. The kind of people who would sell it and drink to their good fortune, and they wouldn't spend a second thinking about how they'd made money from Nazi trinkets. Those kind of people.
Her people.
6
6 comments
Tracy firms up her identity.
Suggested communities
Powered by