Soteria- The Crisis Forge

by Roberto Arcoleo

  “I am here to see the Doctor,” he said.

  “Oh, you must be Mark,” she replied. “He is expecting you.”

  Chapter 7: Only A Very Lonely Man Would Take Such A Risk

  It was a serious room, for Dr. Matthew Abernathy was a very serious man. His walls were a pale gray and lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books. Two large windows draped with amber colored curtains framed a stately mahogany desk. In the center of the room, an imposing chair rested on a Persian rug. Once a patient asked if the chair was his throne. As he would, Abernathy peered over his wire-rimmed glasses with a raised brow.

  The air conditioner at his home had broken that day, and he felt relieved and refreshed to come into the coolness of his office. He was wiping the sweat from his forehead, sitting at his desk, sorting through his papers organizing the day’s schedule. It was a busy day, a teaching day, and he was questioning how he could fit in a new patient.

  An old friend, Dr. George Bolinsky, head of the Physics department at Columbia, had referred someone. He was mildly intrigued by the upcoming meeting; the patient, a19-year-old student who had just finished his Doctorate in Astrophysics, was also pursuing a PhD in Romantic Literature. Abernathy had heard rumors about this protégée swirling around campus, this young man of varied and exceptional potential. Bolinsky’s note was cryptic. It simply read, “I am sending you my most brilliant student. He says he needs help. I don’t know why.”

  Its tone awoke a curiosity in him; why such a brief message? Is Bolinsky up to his old pranks again?

  Bolinsky was the only person Abernathy could call a friend. He missed the conversations they once had, but he knew that Bolinsky had been troubled of late. Government research grants had kept him increasingly away from academia, and though his research continued to be groundbreaking, its covert nature had begun to alienate other university departments. Just like him, he thought. Always mysterious, always with a joke, always surrounded by odd types. I do miss his sense of humor; maybe this will be an interesting diversion. The buzzer rang. Martha called, “He's here!”

  “Send him in in two minutes.”

  He separated the papers in front of him into four neat piles and picked up his notebook, his mind still full of the day’s agenda, he walked across the room to his chair and slipped into his traditional pose as therapist. He opened his notebook and clicked his ballpoint when he heard the door open. Martha entered first, followed by the young man.

  “Here is your new patient, doctor,” she said and turned to leave.

  “Thank you, Martha,” he replied, as she nodded and exited the room.

  He was tall and thin, and his androgynous frame moved with an effortless grace. Then Abernathy noticed his eyes. They looked like the Aegean Sea under the blaze of a summer afternoon. His hair was dark but subtly highlighted as if bleached by the sun. His complexion was simultaneously peaked and rosy. He appeared as unnatural as a retouched photograph in a fashion magazine. His stare was transfixing. Abernathy winced as if he sensed an intruder within his psyche.

  Mark looked at the doctor, aware that he had announced his presence.

  Abernathy fidgeted in his chair and thought, who is this young man?

  Mark had not yet decided how much he would reveal, but he knew nothing could be gained behind a mask.

  Apprehensively, Abernathy rose and greeted his new patient; he spoke in his usual voice of authority as he rushed to regain his composure. “So, you are Mark. How do you do? Please, sit down.” Mark took his seat and looked directly into his eyes. They remained silent for a few moments. Abernathy’s anxiety grew, and he began talking in an effort to find reprieve. “Our mutual acquaintance, Dr. Bolinsky, told me that you wanted to talk to me.”

  After a moment Mark replied softly, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Dr. Abernathy. I know you are a special – deemed brilliant by many – and a person with perceptions and intellect beyond the ordinary. I know you already sense that I am different.” Mark’s eyes fixed directly on Abernathy’s. “I chose you for a reason,” he said. “And I hope you will not fear what might seem strange, even absurd. I hope you are a man willing to see a larger picture, for it will take some time to explain myself.”

  Abernathy was puzzled by the disturbance in his mind. It must come from Mark somehow. Shall I confront him, or shall I let this play out? Abernathy poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the end table near his chair. Suddenly he recalled Bolinsky’s involvement with secret defense grants. Maybe this has to do with some sort of research! Is he testing one of his special projects? Or is this just a bit of his twisted sense of humor? Unsure but curious, he tried not to show his impatience and unease. He awaited Mark’s next words, but there was only silence.

  “Well,” Abernathy said with a smile hinting a bit of annoyance, “I don’t frighten easily. Anyway, you came to me for help. So, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s complicated. Explaining myself is difficult; there is much more to me than you can see. I will share all in time. For the moment, I must ask you to be patient. It is too early for me to reveal everything… But yes, I do need help. I must resolve what is going on inside me. I have an extremely important mission to fulfill – a mission upon which could decide the fate of humanity. If I am to succeed, I must be focused, my determination unfaltering. But my mind is in turmoil. For the first time, I am in a cloud, a fog. I am completely and utterly distracted.”

  “The fate of the world, hmm?” Abernathy thought, my god, Bolinsky has gone too far. Either this boy is completely psychotic, or this is a really bad joke. If not, sending me a young man with this degree of illness without proper notice is very inappropriate.

  Mark continued, “I wish I could explain everything, but even if I wanted to, not even I know all the details. They’re shared with me in just bits and pieces. What I do know is that I have a task that is larger in scope than anything you can imagine.” Mark pondered… I only wish I understood it all myself.

  Perplexed, Abernathy listened in disbelief, but he could see that the young man was distraught, and said, “Please continue…I’m listening...”

  Mark hesitated and then started to speak, “I... I’m…,” and then in a determined tone said, “I’m preoccupied with Professor Bolinsky’s wife, Gabriela!”

  Surprised, Abernathy responded, “You’re preoccupied with Professor Bolinsky’s wife? And the fate of the world hinges on this? Please… Really…what is this is all about?”

  Abernathy had known Bolinsky’s wife for several years. Bolinsky was now a man of 50, and some years ago he had married a 23-year-old English PhD student. A beauty, she moved with the grace of a dancer, 14 years younger than the professor at the time, he recalled the marriage had been the talk of the faculty. She was from Barcelona, had just finished a biography of Pablo Neruda, and everyone thought her a rising academic star.

  He remembered her voice. It was lovely, and she often spoke in parables, her melodic cadence could instantly captivate an entire room with stories, that were second only to her charming wit. This delusional young man had clearly been entranced.

  “Yes… Gabriela,” replied Mark. “I have become obsessed with her, and I believe she has feelings for me as well. I know Dr. Bolinsky is your friend. Is that a problem for you?”

  “No,” replied the doctor. “It isn’t. My main concern here is you. Have you entered into a relationship with her, and how long have you had these feelings?”

  “We’ve hardly ever spoken. It is not just the fact that she is married. There are other problems…many other problems.”

  Abernathy said, “And what are those?”

  “Well, there is my brother.”

  "Oh… there’s another one of you? Hmm, is he in love with her too?” Abernathy knew he might have let a hint of sarcasm pass his lips, but he was starting to get annoyed.

  “No, no nothing like that. It is hard to explain. It is about who I am and what I have to accomplish here.”

  “Accomplish here?
Where is here? Accomplish what? Let’s discuss this so I might understand.”

  “I’ll tell you everything in time…,” Mark replied. “And… When you’re ready to hear what I have to say.” He looked out the window. All of a sudden, growing somber and speaking softly, he said:

  “Each with undeviating aim, in eloquent silence, through the depths of space, pursued its wondrous way.”

  Abernathy’s frustration grew, and unaware of his expression he started rolling his eyes. “That’s Shelley, isn’t it? Why are you quoting Shelley?” Bolinsky has taken this humor too far.

  “Gabriela loves Shelley… ‘A wondrous way’ is who I am… Maybe not in the way Shelley was thinking, but in ways you will soon come to see. Gabriela is the main reason why I came to see you. But my purpose precludes everything. I need to know the meaning of why these sensations have overtaken me… I can’t be distracted like this. My mission is too important.”

  Abernathy pushed the point. “Your mission?”

  Mark hesitated and sighed. He wondered if he had made a mistake in coming.

  “Dr. Abernathy, you must understand, I have only been aware of emotions as a concept; as if I had been watching the world from a window, but now these feelings have begun to flow through me like a torrent. All these experiences are new to me. You must believe that in the most literal sense possible, I have never experienced anything like emotions before.”

  Mark looked directly at the doctor. “I need clarity, desperately. Please, you must help me.”

  Not knowing completely why, something in Abernathy began to listen differently. “So, what do you want to talk about first? Your feelings for Gabriela, your brother, or this mission? Where shall we begin…?”

  Mark hesitated and spoke, “I feel so alone at times… Walking in a world that cannot see who I truly am. I know you often feel alone, never completely understood. In a strange way, I thought we may have shared similar experiences. This is why I chose you.” He looked into Abernathy’s eyes.

  Abernathy nodded. He felt empathy, a strange kinship. “Please continue.”

  “You will understand it all in time,” said Mark, reading the doctors thoughts. “You must meet my brother Jason… But you have to trust me for now.” He leaned forward, putting emphasis on every syllable. “You must be patient.”

  “Mark… I am doing my best.”

  Mark spoke again, “Forgive me… I’m worried that even having this conversation with you could bring problems.”

  “Why are you unsure? Who or what are you afraid of?” He is a paradox, what is he really after? Abernathy was still uncertain whether to move the pawn or the queen. He waited for Mark to speak again, but no words came.

  “I am sure you came to the right place, and I want to help you. In the meantime, would you consider some medication for your anxiety?”

  Mark responded in an annoyed tone, “Medication won’t help me. You are beginning to disappoint me, doctor. Don’t you see I am not just another patient? My brother and I will affect your world as no one ever has. I know this sounds crazy to you, but it is true.”

  Abernathy looked away for a moment, confused, trying to make sense of what he was hearing; he was overwhelmed and captivated, swallowed by it all. Every cell in his body told him to flee, but instead, he said, “I want to help you.”

  At last, feeling a glimpse of hope that Abernathy might be able to comprehend him, Mark responded, “That’s good, because I need you.”

  “Our time is almost up. Shall we save this for our next meeting?”

  “Fine,” replied Mark, and he got up to leave.

  “Please see Martha for your next appointment. I think you should come at least twice a week.”

  “Will you see Jason, too?”

  Abernathy paused, that brother again?

  “Sure, I could meet him. Let’s talk about it next time.”

  Mark responded, “He can be a bit intense.” A childlike smile appeared on his face.

  “Intense? In what way?”

  “You will see,” Mark replied.

  “Ah… So that’s something to look forward to.”

  Abernathy followed Mark’s exit with his eyes, but he did not rise from his chair as he normally would after a session. He remained frozen, fixed, as he watched Mark walk to the door. He felt limp, as if he had just spent an hour in a hot bath. His muscles were unresponsive, yet his intellect was excited beyond words. When the door closed, he stared at the empty chair in which Mark had sat. For a moment he thought he saw an afterglow of the young man’s presence. Something was there. Nothing that one could quantify, but something – an impalpable energy. It faded slowly like the bubbles in a dying glass of seltzer.

  Chapter 8: The Apartment

  Jason and Mark’s New York City apartment was a one-room studio in a tenement building located in the East Village. Their third-floor flat had only two small windows that looked out over an alley in the rear of the building. The halls were filled with a mixture of odors of ethnic cooking accompanied by the loud voices of mothers screaming at their children, voices declaring their rural heritage from Eastern Europe. After midnight, you might hear a husband staggering home drunk singing songs from his Polish village, all while smoking hippies’ stereos blasted sounds from The Rolling Stones and their water pipes sent the perfume of hashish into the air.

  On warm nights, open windows let in the cries of the lusty cats roaming back alleyways. On the sidewalks below, under the glow of the dim street lights, the chants of drug dealers, mostly teenage boys with glistening ebony faces, melodically rang out the menu of the latest flavors of uppers, downers, hallucinogens, and opiates to craving ones who sought them out,

  Whaddya want, whaddya need?

  They would whisper in low, soulful voices:

  I got smack, I got speed, whaddya want, whaddya need?

  These voices, and the sounds of Latin salsa clashing with hippie rock, regularly lasted until 3 a.m., making a good night’s sleep a luxury. It was not uncommon to climb over piles of bodies passed out in the hall or to find these sounds converging well into the next morning, wearying sleepless neighbors. But sleep was not a concern for Jason and Mark; they’d never slept a day in their lives.

  Theirs was a spartan apartment, designed only for keeping up appearances: a single bed with a worn blanket, a beat-up table scavenged from the Salvation Army, and two dressing closets were all the furniture the brothers owned. The kitchen was bare, save for a few glasses and dishes that they never used. The walls were gray and very much in need of a paint job. The only real indicators of life were the electric guitar and amplifier in one corner and the hundreds of books, stacked in piles like ant mounds about the room.

  Physical surroundings were of little interest to the brothers. Walking into the studio meant stepping into a realm that no human could see; the room, when called upon, became a portal, a bend of space and time into which the twins alone could enter. This small apartment is where the ends of space could meet, and energy flowed so powerfully that, could it be seen by humans, it would be incomprehensible. Out of empty space, fiery red and yellow streams of color would appear, intense and fluctuating as space was ruptured. And then, as quickly as it came, it dimmed, vanishing into a quiet hum. All this occurred without a mouse perking an ear, for nothing was ever heard outside these walls.

  Mark was often anxious before entering the portal. As he entered, Jason would emerge. This transition was a continuous dance, for the Council dictated that only one brother should walk the earth at a time. Mark often worried he might never wake from the portal state, but after a moment he always fell easily into the warm embrace that emanated from within it. During their time in the portal, the Council would communicate with them, educate them, and enhance their abilities. Each time, they would awaken stronger, more powerful, and more knowledgeable than before.

  Although they were completely aware of each other’s existence, Jason and Mark only lived in the same time and space within the moment of transiti
on, the nanosecond in which one passed the other. At this moment, as time seemed to pause, they shared with each other their singular experiences, fostering a collaborative existence that thrived on their independence. Each felt the other’s every thought, every pleasure, and every pain as one might experience a passing landscape in the corner of one’s eye on a speeding train. Meanwhile, they waited, the question of their destiny pulsating in the background of their minds, softly tormenting each of their psyches.

  They lived in this limbo of learning, acquiring as they waited, seeking knowledge, appearing as humans to the outside world. They grew with the power of gods living beneath their skins, reveling in the wonders of this planet they now called home. Yet they knew less about themselves than even the primitive humans with whom they engaged.

  Mark’s thoughts raced through these apprehensions as he looked around the rather dusty apartment. Knowing that one day he and Jason would walk the earth together was an everlasting source of anticipation. They had depended upon each other for all these years, and he hoped the consolation he now sought from the glimpse of Jason during this last transformation would not disappear. The weight of sensibility always seemed to fall on Mark, for it was Jason who often ran wild with his actions, ignoring orders to remain hidden from human understanding. Now it’s Jason’s turn to criticize, thought Mark, hardly ever instigating but always worrying about his brother’s actions. What could be more reckless than to fall in love with a human!

  Mark lay down on the bed. The room swirled with throbbing colors. Vibrating and shifting bands of energy surrounded him and passed through him. He surrendered to the warmth of its intensity. Elation overcame him as his essence melted into the energy. He became one with it as he passed into the portal. Like always, Jason’s eyes caught his for a moment as they floated past one another, and he slowly drifted away.

  Chapter 9: A Night of Music