Ah, Six said.
It's easy to become a monster, Joseph replied. Easier for some than others. You can get a taste for it. Righteousness makes it simple. But it's a thin line.
Much like the one I am walking.
Yes, he said. Let's take care of that. How's the pain?
Better, now that I have gone deeper. I apologize for your hand.
Do I still have one?
I hope you like surprises.
Joseph laughed, and it took him off guard. He had never felt so comfortable with another woman; he had never felt so at ease revealing himself, as though her eyes were the same as his, without fear or judgment. He tried to imagine losing that. He could not. It did not bear thinking of.
You lied, Six said, suddenly. You have only helped two?
You will be three, he said, and dove into her heart, searching for a memory to save her life. He felt Six try to follow, and he held out a mental hand, tugging her alongside him as he sped through her life, tasting her spirit. No two souls were ever alike—a handful of snowflakes might have more in comparison—but Six was utterly unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Her memories of life were stark and cold, with moments of fierceness interwoven like charms.
But he did not find anything to save her life. Nothing that created a visceral reaction. Not enough to burn out the poison hunting her spirit. He could taste the first tendrils of it, snaking from the darkness beyond her thoughts. Moving faster than he had imagined. If he waited much longer, there would be hooks involved, tearing her apart. Stealing her heart. Making her empty.
No, Six said. No, Joseph. There must be something.
You have to fight, he told her desperately. You're a fighter, Six. You can do this. Find something inside of yourself that's worth living for. Hold on to it.
He felt, inside her mind, the memory of a window. A window with a view of a wall, and beyond that, rooftops and trees and sky. Freedom, he heard inside his mind. And then, beside that window, he felt another memory, this time, of him. Six's first memory, their first meeting, seeing him walk into the room at the massage parlor. He tasted her appraisal of his eyes, his face, and though it was a thrill to know she had noticed him even then, what made his heart ache was that in her deepest unconscious, she equated him with her symbol of freedom.
Is that what you are? Six asked him. My freedom?
You tell me.
No, she said. No person is freedom. But maybe you are a path.
Then use that path. He wrapped himself around her spirit, holding her. Fight.
But instead of fighting, he felt Six grow more solid in his mental arms, and he matched her transformation until he could pretend he was searching her mind in the flesh. Like walking in a dream and feeling the ground beneath his feet; only, he suddenly found himself in that office with the window, standing beside Six as she stared through the glass. They were both naked.
Six, he said, and she turned just enough to kiss him. A hard kiss, hungry, melting right through his soul, scorching his heart. He pressed her against the window, cradling her head in his hands, and he could feel her skin ride against his own, smooth and hot. He grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, swinging them both around to the desk until he could lay her flat, pushing apart her thighs, moving between them. Six did not hesitate. She reached down and slid him into her body, raising her legs so that her knees practically touched her chin and her calves rested on his shoulders. Joseph gripped her hips and began thrusting hard.
And then, quite suddenly, they were no longer in each other's minds but on the bed in his room, and instead of being naked they were both in clothes, wrapped around each other, thrusting and grinding. Joseph did not stop. He began tearing off his clothes, as did Six, buttons popping, pants shoved off and caught around ankles. Joseph pulled down the front of Six's bra at the same time he entered her, and the sight of her breasts and the sensation of that first slick stroke almost sent him over the edge. She strained against him, crying out, and all he could do was marvel at the fine, strong lines of her body, the feel of her moving beneath him as he obeyed her urgings and thrust faster, harder, pounding into her as she wrapped her legs around his back, fingernails clawing into his skin.
Joseph had no warning before she turned them, but suddenly he was on his back and she was on top, and that was fine because she lost the bra, and the sight of her bouncing breasts made him so hot that when he touched them he almost lost it for a second time.
Six leaned forward on her palms, thrusting hard. Then she stopped, abruptly, and slid all the way off him. Held herself there as they both panted, Joseph grappling with her hips, and then came down so hard—like that first thrust all over again—that he shouted and sat up, wild, grabbing her around the waist and hips, lifting and squeezing as she moved against him, faster and faster.