Awakening, 2nd edition (31 page)

The second was no longer a man when he exited through this door. He was the Obey or , the Crushed , the Destructed. He was a slave. His desires became irrelevant next to the desires of his master. His own thoughts gave way to attempts to guess the thoughts of his master. And his dreams disappeared forever. From that moment on , he could dream of one thing only—of life without his master. Dream, but never act.

In this casual, not in any way remarkable room, two people had transformed into Master and Slave. Each one had taken his place , just as legions of other people had done since the dawn of humankind. Never mind that these two words evoke gloomy olden days . Never mind that modern Western society prefers to refer to these concepts as artifacts of the Dark Ages or even use them as labels for certain sexual preferences . Never mind all that. Nothing had changed so little between the Dark Ages and today ’s bright reality as these two roles. The mere denial of these two concepts is nothing but a result of rather successful attempts by today ’s masters to divert the attention of their future slaves away from their real goals.

Whenever two people come together, a struggle for power emerges sooner or later. Whe n ever a struggle for power—real power—takes place , a master and a slave emerge sooner or later.

Suddenly, he realized this with shrill , all-illuminating clarity. You can live for years in blissful ignorance. But sooner or later you will enter a room like this. And there you will become a master or a slave. There ’s no middle ground. And you only get one chance to make the choice. Once a slave, always a slave. Once a master, always a master. Having become a slave , you will remain one , ev en if your master dies. Having become a master , you will remain one , even if your slave perishes. And if you have a master , you are to remain a slave even if you acquire slaves of your own. You will be a highly ranked slave. There ’s no middle ground. No middle ground . . .

The door squeaked. Michael lifted his head.

“Left my jersey here, ” Kevin informed him , smiling affectionately. “What about you—waiting for someone?”

Michael gazed at him silently. Kevin frowned.

“Is everything all right?”

Michael didn’t respond. He simply looked fixedly at Kevin. Looked with the indifferent curiosity of an entomologist who had just came across a decent, but by no means rare, specimen for his collection. Kevin smiled again and looked around perplexedly as though expecting to find a gesticulating practical joker behind him . Then the smile slowly left his face.

“What is it, Mike?”

Michael cocked his head to the side and offered the same cryptic silence in response. Kevin looked around once again.

“Mike?”

He might’ve just as well spoken to the wall. Kevin made a step towards Michael. Then he stopped.

“Another test?” he asked with uncertain ty.

The silence told him that no reply was forthcoming this time , either . Kevin shook his head.

“Whatever. Don ’t know what you ’re up to, but you ’re on your own.”

Michael, it seemed, didn’t mind that arrangement. Kevin shrugged and headed for the chair, throwing around suspicious glances. Having picked up his jersey , he was about to say something, but changed his mind and went back, after throwing a last leery glance at Michael who was as motionless as a stone Buddha.

“At some point I would appreciate an explanation, ” said Kevin dryly as he reached the door and was halfway through it.

“Did they die on the spot?”

Kevin slowly—very slowly—put his right foot back.

“Who?”

“I’m sure you know, ” said Michael as if this phrase were preceded by a normal conversation.

“What’s it to you?” Kevin returned to the room. Now his face was completely free of any friendliness.

“Just curious.”

“It’s not a good subject to be curious about, ” Kevin said slowly.

“You said you ’ve been alone since then.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then you haven ’t had a decent ear to chew on. Go ahead, this is your chance.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I’ve told you already, ” Michael said patiently. “Out of curiosity.”

“Out of curiosity, ” Kevin echoed, looking at him steadily. “Out of curiosity . . . o kay.”

He abruptly lowered himself to the chair next to him.

“Here’s a curious fact for you then. The boys indeed died on the spot. My youngest was mutilated almost beyond recognition. They tried saving Scotty, but to no avail . He was dead before the ambulance took off. It was hopeless . . .”

He swallowed convulsively and stared unseeingly at the floor.

“Molly lived for another two days—c urious, isn ’t it? She couldn ’t speak, but she remained fully conscious. And she had this tube—”

His hand circled an arc in the air.

“She was able to understand everything. And she knew the boys hadn’t made it. They told her. Some moron did. I didn ’t want her to know, but it was too late. They told her everything. Everything. Quite curious isn ’t it? You ’ve asked for it, so I ’m sure you ’re enjoying the story. But wait, it ’s getting even better. I sat by her bed knowing she ’d be gone in a day or two. Though they didn ’t want to tell me that. They pitied me. Funny isn ’t it? Me. They pitied me . But they had no problem telling her about the boys. But I knew anyway. Isn ’t that curious?”

His voice was getting more and more choked .

“I sat by her bed for two days. Two days, one night. And the only thing they kept doing to her was changing her IV. You see, there was nothing else they could do. Even th o se two days—that was longer than she was supposed to stay alive. They thought she ’d be gone in a few hours. And then she—”

Kevin slowly lifted his head.

“She—,” he broke off, staring at Michael.

Michael was smiling. Smiling as if he were watching a great comedy.

“What?” Kevin ’s face turned into stone. “You ’re laughing?”

Michael grinned.

“Not at all. Just enjoying the story. It is quite entertaining. Please don ’t stop, go on.”

“You—, you—, ” Kevin raised his palms outward and looked away in disgust as if refusing to believe his eyes and ears. “You ’re really sick, you know that?”

“Don’t worry, ” encouraged him Michael. “Keep going. So what happened to poor Molly on the third day? Did angels take her? Or did she beg you to forgive her?”

Kevin sprung up as if propelled by a springboard.

“You bastard!” he hissed, his breathing suddenly heavy. “You ’re going to pay for this! If you think—”

“Sit down,” Michael ordered in an unfamiliar voice.

“What—If you think you ’re going to boss me around like that—”

“Sit down.” For some reason the quiet words sounded unusually clear and weighty.

And suddenly Kevin obeyed. He sat down again and froze, glaring at Michael from beneath frown ing eyebrows.

“Save your indignation for tomorrow. You may need it.”

“Who do you think you are to talk to me like this?” Kevin asked in a hoarse voice.

Michael ignored the question.

“What’s the big deal, Kevin? What did you expect to draw out of me with this story? Some sympathy?”

“You—” Kevin shook his head with a grimace of loathing. “Sympathy? Forget sympathy. You could at least show some basic respect.”

“That’s what I ’ve been doing, though there hasn ’t been much to respect. Otherwise I would ’ve stopped your lovely performance long ago .”

“What!” Kevin jerked forward as if trying to spring to his feet again.

“Sit down,” Michael repeated for the third time. “You ’ve done enough jumping for today.”

“What gave you the right to talk to me like this?”

“You did when you began acting.”

Kevin’s face changed color.

“On what grounds—”

Michael didn’t let him finish.

“On sufficient grounds. First, back on Monday you didn ’t know what was coming so when you talked to someone on the phone you said your daughter was a hell of a teenager to control. I doubt that was a call to heaven. No . Stay where you are . Second, had this story not a product of your imagination , you wouldn ’t have tolerated my smile even for a secon d. Third, had it been the truth, you would ’ve never asked me what gave me the right . . . You would ’ve slammed the door or made me take my words back. Not enquir e about my reasoning. By the way, now yo u ’re genuinely concerned and even hurt. Everything before that was a farce. A well -delivered farce. Now—”

“Enough!” Kevin blasted out , his fists clenched.

“Chill out,” Michael said condescendingly. “You can act quite decently, but you don ’t know when to stop. The show is over and you better get used to it. Relax, you may hurt yourself. You should be trying to make me pity you instead. You ’re a pro at that, aren ’t you? Try telling me why you had no choice but to come up with this lie. Tell me about your real miserable situation. Cry. Just make me feel sorry for you. You ’re so good at that— Sit! Sit. Good. The only problem is that you haven ’t had any time to think this through and you just can ’t put on a good show at such short notice. You realize d that I didn’t care for your story, but you didn’t know how to act. You didn ’t expect this to happen. A slight doubt—that you could ’ve dealt with . But not this, not what I ’m giving you now. You ’re at a loss. But that ’s all right, you can ’t foresee everything. It ’s okay. Now you can relax, ” Michael made a soothing gesture.

“Stick to what you ’re really good at. You don ’t use your fists that much in real life, do you? But you ’re brilliant at making people feel sorry for you. I ’m serious, you really are. Good, I see that now I have your attention. So make yourself comfortable and listen. Don ’t worry about leaving . I ’ll tell you when you can go.

“Making people pity you is the way you get things done. Works like a charm with your management and colleagues, doesn ’t it? Works just as well with women . . . Don ’t twitch, it ’s true. You know it and I know it. And now the only thing you want is to make sure no one else knows the truth. Can you imagine Joan ’s face once she learns that there was no accident? And Molly . . . The poor woman never died since she never existed in the first place. Or d id you use your wife ’s real name? Nah . . . that ’d be too much even by your standards. Or think of Stella. How she would react to the news. She was so receptive to your hints, so moved, so saddened. And she’s not the only one—even some men had wet eyes . Brandon was really feeling for you.

“Imagine what ’s going to happen now, once everyone learns that all the gory , bloody heart-chilling details were not hing but a load of crap. And the reason you ’ve done it . . . was it out of desperation ? Was it to save someone ’s life? Hardly. You ’ve put on a well -calculated show, a truly Oscar class performance just to make us weep and give you our precious votes . And it worked. You should ’ve stopped there. Why in the world did you decide to go to Alex and snitch on me?”

“It was Alex who came to me, ” Kevin said gloomily.

He wasn’t objecting anymore.

“Did he really, ” Michael said, his voice even and indifferent.

It was obvious that he wasn’t mo ved by the news.

“Anyway, being a snitch may be bad for your health. Didn’t they teach you that in school? Not the teachers of course. The students. Back then you were already doing it, weren’t you? Or did Alex scare you? Don ’t be afraid of him. He ’s not the one here to be scared of. Anyway, I appreciate the show. You can go now. Make sure to get some rest —you have another show coming up tomorrow.”

“What do you need from me?” Kevin asked in muffled voice, looking to the side.

Michael, it seemed, wasn’t surprised at all to hear the question.

“For now, do no harm.”

He rose unhurriedly.

“I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

And without waiting for a reply, he left the room.

Could it be that he isn’t back yet? Or did he already go to bed?

Joan knocked again on the door with the dim brass number. He didn ’t show up at the bar, there was no sign of him in the games room . . . Asleep? It ’d be a bummer to let this chance fly by. Making more noise is not an option, neither is coming here again. And tomorrow it will be too late. It ’s now or never , as the famous song puts it. Oh well—The door flung open.

“You look fabulous tonight, ” Michael informed her, emerging at the doorstep.

Isn’t he supposed to be at least a bit surprised? It ’s almost like he ’s been expecting me to show up. For a second Joan felt uneasy looking into the impenetrable dark eyes.

“How can I help you ?” the owner of the deep eyes enquir ed.

She was just about to reply, but he spoke without waiting for an answer , “Where are my manners? Would you like to come in?”

She felt better. He’s quick. And . . . common. Nothing unusual about him. A common man, behaving just like he ’s expected to behave. Look, he ’s already sat up and pricked his ears. Of course, he wasn ’t expecting me. He ’s just quick, that ’s all.

The odd uneasy feeling faded.

“Sure,” Joan said, stepping in confidently and ignoring Michael ’s first question.

It was fairly dark inside , the only light coming from a floor lamp and small desk lamp.