The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  «Damn», he murmured when Lucinda was far away. «Damn me.»

  Lucinda rode the storm faster and faster, regardless of her surroundings. She accidentally bumped into one of the gardeners, who resented the fact that she had not turned to apologize. The sunglasses concealed a stressed and tired face. A treacherous breeze was blowing and it drove her to fold her arms despite the sunny day. She had almost reached the entrance when Gerald Malone vainly attempted to capture her attention.

  «Miss? Hey, Miss Linda!», he tried, but got no result. Lucinda's brain was disconnected from the rest of the community. He insisted again.

  «I have to deliver a message to you! A paper message! Damn it!», he swore, seeing that she didn't even turn. «I'm not even sure what's written on it», he grumbled. «I'm out of practice with handwriting.»

  He stayed a while with that note in his hand in the vain hope that Lucinda would come back and get it, then put it in his pocket and resumed pruning.

  William, meanwhile, wore out his shoes by going back and forth from one end to the other of the main avenue that split the park in two. He badly blamed himself and threw all kind of insults. His temples was violently pulsing, he searched his pockets for Sefinol and found a couple of emergency tablets. He was about to swallow them but stopped. He squeezed them tightly in the palm of his hand until his arm shook, then threw them vehemently on the pavement. «You made me your slave!», he barked at a silent audience made of sepia-colored leaves and shrubs with splendid inflorescences, despite the imminent autumn. He closed his eyes and began to breathe rhythmically, trying to cool off. A few seconds later he was sitting on the bench again, his head bowed and his face in his hands. He shook his head several times. «This will never end», he complained. «This will never end.» He was sweating and tried to dry off with the collar of his jacket. He remained anesthetized for many minutes, his brain inactive, unable to formulate any thoughts or make decisions. He also dozed off for five or ten minutes, mentally exhausted. When he recovered he felt awful, he struggled to his feet and went looking for the tablets he had launched far and wide along the avenue. He blew on them hoping to make up for the dumb thing he had done and remove at least some of the microbes. So he put them in mouth. The nervous tension caused him to retch, yet he managed to swallow. That morning had taken an unpleasant yet not unexpected turn, he thought. Trying not to go along with self-pity, he made one last effort and walked, staggering, towards the park exit.

  Gerald Malone knew little about William Deveux. In some rare circumstances he had noticed him in the company of Lucinda. He had never explicitly asked her about William, but he easily understood the nature of their relationship. Therefore, when he saw him approaching, he thought of seizing the opportunity and leaving him the note he had failed to deliver to the legitimate addressee.

  «Excuse me sir, I have a message from a... hey, sir? Hello?»

  As happened a few minutes earlier, once again Gerald unsuccessfully attempted to deliver the obscure letter. He spread his arms, disconsolate. A cloud blocked the sun's rays for a while. Very bad day, he said.

  Once he left Garmstein Park, William walked along Old Brooklyn, with the idea of going home straight away. He felt misplaced, uncomfortable. He thought of his father. He thought of Minneman. As good as he was at taking hits, some days knocked him out. He pulled out the packet of cigarettes again and lit one. Fuck. He would never contact Lucinda again. It would be foolish to insist. Better let her live her life. Better if everyone lived his or her own life. The promise he had made to himself, when he really realized of being sick, came to his mind: before the curtain falls, I will have my satisfaction, in one way or another.

  He passed near a café in Carsten Square. There was a lot of people standing, tasting pastries and drinks. From a quick glance he thought it had to be a grand opening. Most had a blueish drink in their hands, probably the house specialty or something. It seemed all of them were having a lot of fun. The pink fluorescent sign said “Pilgrim's Refuge”; unusual name for a place for entertainment. William walked through the crowd without stopping, avoiding people's eyes. He was forced, however, to interrupt his journey when a six feet tall young lady, a bit tipsy, lost her balance and used him as a mattress, leaning on his back.

  «Oh, I'm so sorry!», she grieved, apologizing a little too much because of the effects of alcohol. She had straight blond hair with middle row, emerald green eyes, a blue short skirt, white corset with buttons under a dark jacket and a patterned scarf.

  «I didn't step on your foot, did I?», she insisted, leaning against his chest to avoid falling and offering him the pleasant sight of her voluptuous breast. The sweetish aroma of her breath came to him, and William was inebriated for a moment.

  «It's all right, don't worry», he assured her with a slight smile. She rejoiced, once again with excessive emphasis: she lightly touched his short beard and then began to mimic a bird's flight, accompanying it with a resounding yoo-hoo! The other guests laughed out loud, along with her and even a bit at her, like she was the life of the party. Her pirouettes made her spread the blue drink here and there. Some customers shied away to avoid having to take an unnecessary shower. When she finished celebrating, she added: «Why don't you have a drink with us?»

  William - who was about to move on - hesitated. He watched the friendly company and wanted to take part. Fuck, he thought once again.

  «Oh yes, a drink is what I need», he decided.

  The girl raised her arms as a sign of victory, more and more euphoric.

  «I didn't catch your name», William stated.

  «In fact I didn't tell you!», she said, mumbling a little. «People call me Cassie, would you like to call me that way too?», she said, and without waiting for an answer, she performed another yoo-hoo!

  «OK, Cassie. Just wait here a sec, I'll be right back.»

  William headed for the bar to get something strong to swallow. When he was inside, a detail came to Cassie's mind.

  «Hey, it's not fair! You didn't tell me your name!», she shouted, struggling to keep her eyes open.

  William made a quick inspection of the building. It seemed very fashionable, with holographic projectors that recalled marine environments, a virtual dancer in one of the corners and a room that could resemble a privè or a tearoom. He then dodged other drunk subjects and walked up to the bar counter. A black girl with bobbed hair welcomed him. She wore a little name plate with “Abigail” written on it.

  «Welcome to Pilgrim's Refuge, what would you like?»

  William waved his forefinger back and forth, referring to that strange blue drink.

  «Everyone seems to love it», he noted. «What's that?»

  «The Liquid Phantom? It's our secret recipe. Once you get started, you just can't stop», Abigail joked, yet giving the impression she believed in the product she was selling.

  «Hmm. Let's see how good it is.»

  Abigail took a small glass from the curious shape, like the winner's cup, and poured him a couple of fingers. «Taste it slowly at first», she recommended. William obeyed and sipped with particular care.

  «Hmm. Sweet.»

  He clicked his tongue to better savor it.

  «I thought it was hard stuff. It seems light to me», he said. Abigail laughed.

  «Everyone says so at the first sip.»

  «Please, add some of that», William said, pointing to a bottle of tequila.

  «I wouldn't recommend that.»

  «Quiet.»

  William mixed his new signature cocktail and drank it all in one breath. It was like lightning running down his spine.

  «It feels much better now. Pour me another, s'il vous plait.»

  Abigail shook her head.

  «Slow down. This drink is like a rattlesnake.»

  William liked that metaphor very much.

  «You know, dear Abbie, maybe I really deserve to be bitten right now.»

  The cocktail was starting to kick in, he felt more relaxed and a little confused.
Abigail made him another one, then took care of other customers.

  William raised his glass and toasted himself, no one was paying attention to him at that moment. After the second drink, his vision got a little blurry. He turned to the other customers and spoke without any inhibitions.

  «Hey, this shit is good! That's why everyone drinks it!»

  The others laughed at him. His legs got a little shaky.

  «I almost forgot! I have to bring one to my new friend!»

  He waved his hands to draw Abbie's attention and asked her to pour him two more drinks. Abigail stared at him with a serious look and remained motionless. «Dude, if you have three drinks in five minutes, you'll be down for the count.»

  «Man, what are you, my social worker?», he said, lurching. «Give me two», he repeated, showing her his both forefingers.

  «May I have your card, please?»

  William snapped.

  «So that's the point! You want to see if I can afford it!»

  He rummaged in his pockets and took out his payment card. He threw it towards her with a certain disdain. One of the customers had watched the scene and approached William to try to calm him. Abigail stopped him, explaining that everything was under control.

  «Everything's in order. Mr. Deveux asked for another drink and we'll give it to him.»

  William glared at the nosy customer, while Abigail took another glass and filled them both with the same alcoholic mixture. He grabbed them with greed, sketched an ironic bow and boldly headed outside, swaying, to rejoin his new conquest.

  He looked in all directions, but Cassie was nowhere in sight. Let's hope she hasn't already left, he thought. Things were getting interesting and he would not mind to know her a little better. After walking in circles for a while, he found her next to a hedge, intent on flirting with a guy. They seemed to get along rather well.

  «Hey Cassie, I brought you a new drink, it's the bomb! This is my invention!», William interrupted them.

  «Oh thank you, my mystery man.»

  Cassie left her partner in the middle of the discussion and went to pick up the new supplies.

  «Hey!», the guy complained. «I was there first!»

  «Oh Donald, sorry, I'll be right there!», Cassie justified herself. She took the drink from William's hand, kissed him on the cheek, and went back flirting. William spread his arms, disappointed. He looked at the small glass with the handles and swallowed. Who gives a fuck? He turned around and headed for the source of pleasure for one more supply, bumping into smug people, who were happy too see that he joined in the fun. That time he met little resistance in Abigail who poured him two more cocktails without flinching. Some customers were whispering to each other and observing him sideways. «What the hell are you looking at?», he roared. He picked up the new drinks and went back hunting. Meanwhile, Cassie and Donald had raised the level of intimacy, but that did not disturb William at all, who came back to them with stubbornness.

  «Cassie, come toast with me!», he proposed, clinking the glasses. Cassie complied again and they drank the cocktails together. Donald then approached the couple, with a mean look.

  «Don't you understand you're getting in the way?», he said, giving William a shove that made him lost his balance. Cassie couldn't help laughing. William stood up with an unbelievable leap, considering what he had swallowed. «You picked the wrong day, man», he replied, throwing himself like a fury on Donald. He began to hit him from every direction, in a fit of rage. He felt the blood burning in his veins, a sensation he had experienced too many times in the past. Cassie's face switched from joy to dismay in a few moments. She got scared and burst into tears, while the other guests merely arranged themselves in a circle around them, without interfering. «William stop it, I beg you!», someone shouted from the back. He stopped and looked around. He looked lost and in confusion, as if he did not remember what he was doing. He got back on his feet and, observing the customers around the perimeter, he noticed the horror painted on their faces. He then turned his gaze to the ground and saw Donald's lifeless body, with his face strewn with bruises and bloodstains, and stained and full of ecchymosis were his hands too. «You killed him!», someone else shouted. A growing symphony of complaints, sobs and screams was raised to the sky. William fell silent and backed away slowly, not understanding what happened. He felt his strength fail and the sounds got more and more muffled. The sunlight became blinding and he was flooded with a sensation of scorching heat. He fell to the ground, exhausted, and everything became confused. He thought he saw Cassie calling him by name and felt an intense burning in his chest; then nothing else, only oblivion.

  How much time passed? A few seconds? A few minutes? William could not open his eyes, like he was dizzy with a high fever. Blurry and fragmented images alternated in his mind, memories of the past and other episodes that he did not remember having lived. He kept hearing voices calling to him, but he did not know who they belonged to. A violent and dark force seemed to keep him stuck, incapable of the slightest movement. All around was quiet and silence. He could just hear a slight buzz, to which was added a short, thin sound that repeated itself at regular intervals. He tried to get up, but barely managed to wiggle his fingers. He had drunk, he had met a girl, then Lucinda. Or maybe earlier? It was enormously difficult to scan the short-term memory to rearrange the sequence of events. He felt no pain and did not know whether to consider it a good thing or not. He was probably still alive, but he could not be so sure. All in all, that state of apparent drowsiness was not so bad. He felt very tired, physically and psychologically, yet he had to make an effort to come to his senses, to try to understand, to assemble the pieces of the last - how many? - twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight. It was damn complicated to measure the flow of time in those conditions.

  He had a vision of his mother, in a beautiful green dress with a wide white hat. He did not often think about her. There were very few memories of her he could link to everyday situations. The only really vivid moment in his mind was when she combed his hair. She hummed a very comforting, sweet tune. It always made him sleepy, like a warm embrace. Her smiling eyes gave him the feeling that nothing in the world could harm him. Unfortunately, the image of her had faded away with time and William was saddened by not being able to focus her face at times, having to help himself with some old photos.

  Suddenly a glimmer crept into his half-closed eyes. The light had a circular shape, like a neon. He struggled to blink and try to open his eyes. Was anyone watching over him? Maybe two people. However, it was all very quiet. The more he tried to open his eyes, the more they bothered him and the contours became less clear. After a while it became all dark, but he had the feeling of regaining his strength. He tried to clench his fists and managed to do it with some force. Slowly he managed to lift his eyelids and visualize things not far from him: arc-shaped objects with pairs of lights at the ends. An adrenaline rush made him take a leap and stand upright, stunned and even more confused: that was his chandelier! «This is my house!», he said aloud. He scanned the surrounding environment only to confirm what he had already understood. The bedside table, the chairs, the shelf with his paper books. Yes, that was definitely his house. How did he get there? He continued to observe the room, massaging his face a little to help his awakening. What time was it? The sunlight seemed intense. He looked at the clock: 9:27. Morning! It couldn't be the same day: he had reached Garmstein Park around half past ten, he allowed himself a margin of error of half an hour, no more. He made a check: it was Sunday morning, he had slept almost twenty-four hours! The details of the previous day were a bit upside-down, yet the pictures of a scuffle were well impressed in his mind, although he did not recall the circumstances. He had to be wounded, otherwise he could not explain why he lost consciousness. He was shocked and almost disappointed when he noticed that his clothes were perfectly intact, there were no traces of blood, nor did they seem damaged or torn. His jacket was even hanging on the coat rack! He performed a self palpation tha
t led to nothing else: he was fine, no damage. He even felt rested. «How the hell did I get home?» He got up and stood in front of the mirror: his face was okay, too; it wasn't a pretty sight, maybe, but it was okay. In short, everything was perfectly in order, except for an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth. He went into the living room and sat down at his computer. There was a half-full bottle of water on the table; he emptied it to wash that awful taste out of his mouth. He brooded over it, trying to make something resurface from the chasm in his mind. He began to summarize calmly, point by point. First of all, he had gone to Garmstein Park, that was clear. He had met Lucinda. He pursed his lips, remembering what had happened. It wasn't that, however, the moment of remorse, he had to reconstruct the big picture first. After they had parted, he had started to wander. A large crowd came to his mind, there had certainly been a party. Blue. Yes, he had drunk. He had probably lost consciousness due to alcohol. He felt a strange anxiety. A girl. Yes, attractive among other things. Man, he liked her a lot. Cassie, she said her name was Cassie. Had they had a thing? William didn't remember, but he doubted it. In any case, he wanted to see her again. Then there was the other guy, Ronald, maybe. Who could he be, his boyfriend? Maybe not, some details led him to reject that thought. They had met there, at the club. Jealousy. Yes, they had fought a duel like those of the past, competing for the privilege of courting the girl. A duel between gentlemen? No, now he was starting to remember. There had been nothing chivalrous in the savage battle he had incited. Unfortunately, he had beaten him with extreme violence. Donald, maybe it was Donald, not Ronald. A crucial detail for him to try to find out what happened later on and if that guy was okay. Hoping that someone, meanwhile, had not alerted the militiamen. The risk was big. It had not been a simple dispute. As the minutes passed, the red color of blood on Donald's battered face was becoming more and more intense in his memory. He did not deny that it was a cowardly and opportunistic reasoning, but he had too many irons in the fire and had no desire to face other issues, especially legal ones. Now he clearly recalled the roar of the crowd, the terrified faces. The thing could not have gone unnoticed, yet he was at home, comfortably seated, and no sign of militiamen. Indeed, there was a pleasant peacefulness. Was it possible that nobody warned them? That no militiaman was around there at that time? And here is why that line of reasoning automatically led him back to the initial dilemma: if he fainted due to the deadly mixture of alcohol, emotional tension and exhaustion, consequent to the burst of blows he had inflicted on that poor man, how did he get back home? If it was true that the militiamen had not been informed of what had happened, who did bring him home? And above all, why didn't he show signs of struggle, neither on the skin nor on the clothes? The only way to try to shed light was to go back to the place of the crime. Easier said than done, he did not even remember the name of the pub. Certainly it was located near Garmstein Park, he had got there on foot, after not more than a ten minutes walk. He made a quick search in the global network. Here it was: the Pilgrim's Refuge. There was a lot of advertising banners which invited everyone to attend the inauguration on October 8th. Saturday, in fact. He did not have much of a case, yet he had to follow that trail.