The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  William and Caroline kept silence all the way and, even after they returned home, neither of them spoke a word. William sat in the kitchen, put his arms on the table and folded his hands, then began to stare off into space. He emerged from that torpor for only a fraction of a second, frowning at the sight of a slightly wilted seedling housed in a small vase near the sink. Caroline – who kept herself a few steps away, out of respect - looked at him from the kitchen doorway, pondering what to say or do. She preferred to be silent for a while to give William a few minutes to grieve on his own, to take that first step alone, without having to listen to unnecessary advice or, even worse, trivialities. Then, feeling tired, she joined him at the table and sat to his left, always keeping herself at safe distance. She was deeply hurt too, she loved Dominic and did not understand how it could have happened. However, she broke the vow of silence in the instant in which she recalled that it was essential to complete an important formality.

  «William, I'll call your boss later and inform him that you need to stay a few days home for personal reasons. Or do you think it's better to tell him the truth?»

  Caroline did her best to use all possible tact, whispering and weighing all her words. William did not reply, having chosen to sink into a soothing trance. The young woman then leaned forward and gently gripped his boyfriend's hand, shaking him from his numbness.

  «I'll take care of that», he finally said. «I can't take time off, I've just been hired. I'll work something out.»

  He was more rude than he wanted to be. Caroline closed her eyes and nodded silently. William then stood up and moved into his father's bedroom. He looked around a bit, like it was the first time he entered it. Everything he had always considered futile or taken for granted, suddenly became precious, unique. He randomly rummaged among the objects scattered on the bedside table or in the drawers. Dominic Deveux was fond of watches, preferably old ones. William noticed that his father had left his usual wristwatch next to the reading lamp. Probably in his haste to leave the house he had forgotten it. In a drawer he found an old yellow photograph, one of those that once were printed on photosensitive paper: it portrayed his father and grandfather proudly posing after having fished a medium-sized fish. His father was about thirteen or fourteen years old and on the back there was handwritten “The Kings of the Kastar river”. William slipped his fingers on the porous paper, following the shape of the letters: it looked like ink. He tried to sniff, but now it no longer smelled. The photograph had caught an unfamiliar glimpse of the river. In a different context, he would ask Caroline to help him identify the area where it had been taken: like most of the city, even the Kastar river had seen its appearance change a lot over the years; some older buildings had been demolished, others were brand new. In fact it could also be a known location, but that certainly was not an ideal situation to take an interest in such an insignificant detail.

  «Your grandfather was indeed a handsome man. You look a lot like him», said Caroline, who meanwhile had got closer from behind. William pretended not to hear that nice comment and kept on rummaging through the items. He felt compelled to investigate all the aspects of his father's life he had always neglected, all those details that were perhaps of little importance, or too small to pay attention to them everyday. And, to ease his guilt, he had to catch up quickly. He found an old communicator, probably the first he had ever given his father. He smiled. He managed to connect it to the power supply and began to peek at the contents: unknown names, old images, nothing particularly important. Only then did he realize that there were no photographs or mementos of his mother anywhere. Nothing at all. He had an impulse to re-check everything, but it would be useless: if there had been anything relevant, it would have caught his eye. He reflected on the possible reasons for that strangeness. Had his father tried to conceal the pain of his wife's untimely death? Was the grief too much to bear? They seemed the most credible assumptions. He could not remember if the relationship between his parents had been good or not, he was too young when his mother died and he and his father had rarely discussed her or the period in which she was ill. Although it had not been good, his father would still have to keep something, a souvenir of a nice moment, something to pass on to their child once he grew up. Instead, there was nothing, and he could not understand why. And now he deeply regretted that it was too late to ask anybody for clarifications. He would have to live with that uncertainty, that doubt, for the rest of his life.

  Caroline, meanwhile, made a new attempt to encourage him to open up, asking him if he was looking for something specific. William then stopped digging and leaned with both hands on the bedside table, bending his head down. A sob escaped him, but he immediately faked a cough to cover it up and hide his embarrassment. Shortly thereafter he considered he had enough of searching through drawers and furnishings: digging up old memories would not bring his father back to life and, on the contrary, it could bring new dilemmas which were better kept hidden in the folds of time. He went to sit on the bed and buried his face in his hands. Caroline sat beside him and leaned over a little to kiss him lightly on the temple. Not knowing what was appropriate to say, she merely whispered: «William, I'm here with you. You're not alone.» The young man then curled up in a horizontal position, resting his head on Caroline's legs, trying to hold back the tears. The girl stroked his hair, then whispered again.

  «William, I'll call my parents later and tell them I stay here tonight.»

  William Deveux waited a few seconds, then replied.

  «Billy. My father always called me Billy.»

  Chapter XII

  The hours of sleep were few and tormented by nightmares full of tentacled humanoids who wanted to grab her and drag her with them. With each interruption, Lucinda reached out and touched the nightstand beside the bed, looking for something familiar. Then, in the dim light of the Imperial Suite of the Leroux Palace, she realized she wasn't home and began to sob again.

  At the first light of dawn she thought she had enough of that agony. She got up from the comfortable king-size bed and briefly inspected the room, just to confirm what was already too obvious: Sarkov had not spent the night there. A guy like him certainly had no trouble finding another shelter in case of need. Perhaps he had booked another suite and slept there. However, it did not matter at all at that moment. Lucinda just wanted to calmly wash up and go home. She sat in the quiet of the shower cabin for a good half hour. That warm feeling of isolation gave her some of the comfort that, with the passing of months, she seemed to need more and more. It had taken a lot of days to recover from the quarrel - the hundredth one - with William, and now she was in the same situation. She began to doubt herself, that there was something wrong with her behavior, if she attracted disturbed people like flies to honey.

  Once the shower was over, she sat down in one of the armchairs for a few minutes to enjoy a last splash of luxurious life. She was still wearing the bathrobe, so she would probably wet the precious fabric of which the armchair was covered, but, after all, who cared: she would hardly return to such a chic and exclusive place. She dressed, hurriedly packed her travel bag and, after making sure she did not forget anything, left the room and went to check out, hoping not to see Zakhar Sarkov's arrogant face. It was not a big surprise to hear from a young concierge named “Michael” - as indicated by the nameplate – that Sarkov and all his partners had already left the facility. The guy noticed Lucinda's expression, so, a little embarrassed, he reported Mr. Sarkov's personal apology for leaving without saying goodbye, making it clear that urgent commitments called him back home. Mr. Sarkov, however, had personally requested the Leroux management to allow Lucinda to extend her stay as long as she wished, free of charge. In Lucinda's opinion, that somewhat sing-song tone and the rhythm of his voice resembled so much a rhyme learned by heart and repeated over and over again: it was obvious that Sarkov had given instructions to the employees of the hotel to take the initiative and try to exonerate him, justify any mistakes, therefore saving his
reputation. As before, Lucinda found the matter irrelevant: the working relationship – or rather, any kind of relationship - between her agency and Sarkov was over. The sum collected was more than satisfactory and the Georgian wouldn't likely submit a request for compensation just because the evening had not ended as he hoped. So Lucinda quickly saved the concierge's embarrassment by giving him a smile, and just wanted to make sure the drinks at the bar were included. «Of course, we are at your complete disposal, Madam», Michael replied at once. Lucinda did not wait to be invited twice and went straight to the bar. The concierge followed her promptly, bringing her luggage and adding that he wanted to personally accompany her. Lucinda's goal was to take advantage of the magnate's generosity to taste the most expensive delicacies the Leroux Palace's buvette had to offer.

  «Francine, Miss Merritt is our special guest. I'll leave her to you», Michael said to the bar colleague, almost giving her an order. The concierge then returned to his work, reminding Lucinda that she could contact him for any need.

  «What can I offer you, Miss Merritt?», Francine asked. Lucinda settled herself more comfortably on the stool and then made a careful analysis of the fine selection of drinks the bar could boast.

  «Hmm, what's your best champagne?»

  «The Kapper. Aged ten years.»

  «Well, I'll take it then», Lucinda urgently said. Francine poured her a cup and waited for the response.

  «Hmm, very good, indeed. Would you please pour another?»

  Francine agreed and then was about to put the bottle back in its place, but she was stopped by Lucinda who asked her to leave it on the counter.

  «Delicious. May I ask you how much does it cost?»

  «Three hundred credits the bottle.»

  Lucinda whistled. «So this is what Sarkov drinks, right?», she boldly asked. She saw the surprise in the bartender's eyes, so she rephrased in a more polite way. «I mean: does Mr. Sarkov usually drink it?»

  «Mr. Sarkov appreciates it, of course. It is a good product, without a shadow of a doubt. However, he most of the time asks us to let him find in his suite some bottle of Vernier-Fabbrini Riserva Speciale.»

  «Oh, and how much does it cost?»

  «Two thousand the bottle.»

  Lucinda laughed and, because of alcohol in her veins, started making harsh comments. «Zakhar, you pompous son of a bitch. There are people who die for starvation and you waste so much money on a bottle.»

  Francine felt uncomfortable and bowed her head. She then recommended Lucinda to eat something because drinking alcohol early in the morning could play tricks on her. Lucinda poured herself two more cups of champagne, polemically specifying that she wasn't hungry but, as soon as she was, she would immediately let her know. Then she got up and zigzagged her way to the toilet to empty her bladder. Upon returning to the room, she sat back down on the stool and gave a large sigh of relief. She felt a lot lighter and was ready for something stronger, so she pointed Francine a bottle of whiskey behind her. The young woman warned her about the alcohol content and Lucinda let herself go to an exclamation of reproach.

  «Shit, are you my new therapist? Come on, take that bottle, your Mr. Sarkov said I can take everything I want. Isn't it so?»

  Francine fell silent. Lucinda had been mumbling for several minutes. She got her shot of whiskey and swallowed it in one gulp. She repeated three times: “One more!”, to encourage Francine not to skimp on the shots. Alcohol lowered her inhibitions and, at one point, she lost control and shouted words of hate towards the Georgian tycoon.

  «Sarkov, a beast disguised as a gentleman!»

  Francine reacted promptly and pressed a button under the counter. Michael the concierge and a security guard came running. They saw Lucinda in a daze, picked her up and took her away from the buvette. The last words that Lucinda could remember of that day were those of Michael, who was angrily calling one of the Leroux drivers, ordering him to drive her home.

  After so many beatings, William was really down. In the span of a few weeks he had suffered for: the formalization of the charges brought against him by Minneman Company; the summons issued by Scarlet Militia; the plausible discovery of a conspiracy against unsuspecting citizens, which included him among the potential victims; yet another quarrel - once again because of him - with Lucinda Merritt and, dulcis in fundo, the strange story of Pilgrim's Refuge. It was really too much, even for him. It was extremely difficult for him to stay focused on any task for more than a few minutes. After a few days off - more or less justified - he had to reluctantly return to work. In the past he had often used work as a therapy to ward off bad thoughts, but now he felt too confused to handle things. He therefore made sure to avoid those tasks that were too demanding or compelled him to go on a mission, justifying himself with a backlog to be completed. Besides, Hutchinson had never caused him any problems in that respect and he doubted that he would do so right now. He had to disassemble the various problems into smaller parts and deal with them one at a time. First of all - and not only because it was the most recent thing in order of time – he had to find out what had happened at Pilgrim's Refuge, who were those two guys, Cassidy and Donald, why no one seemed to remember the very crowded party of the previous day, and especially the scuffle. And moreover, who the hell brought him back home and put him to bed, and why his body bore no sign of a fight. Many, way too many oddities all together. The only clue to start the investigation: a girl named Cassidy Davenport who loved performing at the “karaoke night”. And that day was a Tuesday, so he could not miss the chance to look into that matter. He clearly had no certainty that Cassie would show up at the club, yet it was an attempt to be made, also because, apart from the investigation, he found that girl very attractive and wouldn't mind having a chat with her. So, after work, he would go to Pilgrim's Refuge, but with a necessary intermediate step: he had been informed, in fact, of Kate Ramos' illness and, since Kate's house was on the way, he would stop by her. He loved Kate and esteemed her, he would prefer to visit her on another occasion and more calmly, but it was a pity not to take advantage of that favorable circumstance and thus fulfill his duty as friend and colleague. The unexpected could happen and it was not a good idea to postpone the visit and then risk to forget about it. He would seem insensitive.

  Since her mother's health had deteriorated, Kate Ramos had decided to relocate, leaving the center and moving to a small villa on the outskirts, not far from the Mackenzie Hospital (later renamed “Mercy Hospital” by College of Guilds), to live in a quieter area and have a faster medical support in case of need. As if that were not enough, medical care had become economically more expensive and they could no longer afford to live in the most exclusive neighborhoods.

  William found Kate struggling with the watering can. She had few plants, but she treated them with proper care. Kate was rather surprised when she saw her colleague enter the gate, yet she welcomed him with her usual alertness.

  «Deveux, there was no need to come here, I'm not about to die!»

  William was expecting the joke and countered with equal urgency.

  «The gloves and the apron suit you, Ramos. Why don't you come to the office dressed like this?»

  Kate gave a half smile and spread her arm to invite him in. She then showed him the way to the the living room and both sat on the armchairs. Kate wasn't used to receiving visits so she instinctively slapped the upholstery to remove any accumulated dust. William signaled to her that it was not necessary to take so much trouble, then he scanned the environment and congratulated his colleague.

  «Nice place», said William. «Relaxing.»

  «Well, honestly I would gladly go back to my old apartment downtown. The suburbs are not for me», Kate replied, with a hint of bitterness.

  «I like the green that is here, the Garmstein Park is not even far, you could take the chance to go jogging.»

  Kate grunted and with the movement of her hands reminded him of her silhouette.

  «Can you see me running in the
park? I'd collapse within the first quarter of mile. Even less.»

  «I'd be fine here. Seriously.»

  «Why don't you move then?»

  Kate immediately regretted being so impulsive. She forgot that William could not move anywhere.

  «Sorry, Bill.»

  «It's nothing, don't worry.»

  «Listen, do you have any idea if there have been other forced transfers lately?»

  «I don't know», William admitted in a more serious tone. «No such news came to me, and frankly, I don't care about it anymore.»

  «You're right», Kate agreed. «It's understandable. Besides, we can do very little about it. Hopefully things will work out in the future.»

  «Ah, well, if we wait for things to adjust themselves...», William concluded. Kate wasn't going to get involved in tough matters, so she preferred to digress, asking if he would like something to drink. William - since he expected a potential alcoholic evening at Pilgrim's Refuge - politely refused, without saying too much.

  Suddenly, Kate's mother, Maria Gomez, woke up and, in a trembling voice, asked her daughter who she was talking to. Kate hurried to reassure her, rushing to her room to let her know that one of her work colleagues had just come to see her. She begged her, therefore, to resume her rest, but Maria Gomez kept talking and exhorted her daughter to do the honors, offering the guest a glass of that liqueur which they kept in the cupboard for special occasions and insisting that the guest stayed for dinner. Kate would also have to bring him her mother's apologies for not being able to attend his kind visit as she felt too exhausted. Kate assured the elderly mother that she would fulfill all her requests and renew her invitation to return to rest. So she went back to the living room, with the shame painted on her face.