Cognati: An Inferno World Story
Copyright © 2020 Elizabeth Gray
Copyright © 2020 K Webster
Cover Design: All by Design
Photo: Adobe Stock
Editor: Emily A. Lawrence
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Dedication
About This Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Inferno World
Playlist
Acknowledgements
About Author K Webster
Books by K Webster
“I’ll either break your mind or I’ll break your spirit,
but rest assured that I will fucking break you.”
—Pater, Inferno by Yolando Olson
To my husband who loves me anyway,
even when my stories disturb the living hell out of him.
I’m alone. All alone.
Nothing but a bad boy trying so hard to be a good man.
It’s time to leave everything I know and find them.
My family.
Uncle Charles is a real man. A strong, commanding man. Someone who teaches his two children how they must present themselves in this hard, confusing world.
And he welcomes me with open arms.
His world isn’t like mine, though.
The rules are different.
Dark. Confusing. Twisted. Wrong.
But, still, I understand them.
Rather than shy away from his unusual teachings, I thirst for them.
Crave every lesson, each punishment, and all the rewards.
I’m where I was meant to be.
Most men want to be like their father when they grow older.
I want to be like Uncle Charles.
And when he is no longer able to teach, I have a few lessons of my own…
Cognati is an Inferno World story that follows a young man named Luke Greene, or later known as Pater, just after the book Sparks and before the book Inferno by Yolando Olson. This book is written to fit in her world and is based on the character she created but may stand completely on its own. However, you’ll most certainly want to dive into Inferno after reading Cognati to see what the devious, yet oddly charming Pater, is up to next…if you dare.
* * *
Luke
The black vinyl in my grip remains pristine despite the continuous abuse it takes at my hand. A learned behavior from my mother. Repetition is beautiful and necessary. It conditions the mind and the soul. Something as simple as a record that plays on repeat can teach the heart to beat the same way every day.
And that is what I do.
I beat in the same thump-thump-tha-thump way because she taught me to.
Steady. Steady. Steady.
The world around you grows unfocused so that what’s in front of you becomes clear as a shard of glass in your palm. Nothing else matters.
I stare at the record and smile. It’s her favorite one. There was a time when I’d even dance with her to our song. Hold Mom close and nuzzle my nose in her soft hair.
She’s too fragile now.
Too delicate.
At one time, she was in mind and spirit, and now she is in body too.
My heart breaks again and again and again.
As steady as the pounding of my heart.
The breaking is a constant and as repetitious as the breaths I take. The grumbles in my stomach. The weight that sheds from my emaciated body.
Every day is the same.
Though not for long. The neighbors have noticed my tricks and they’ve managed to have the water shut off. It won’t be long before the electricity goes too. I could go to the diner—Mom’s favorite one—and seek out familiar faces in hope of receiving their help, but I won’t.
“I’ll be back,” I promise Mom, toying with a strand of her long blond hair.
We don’t discuss why I’m leaving in the first place.
I’m a failure. I tried and I failed. Mom took care of me, but I’m unable to take care of her. I’m no man. Nothing more than a boy pretending to be one. Eighteen years on this earth and I have nothing to show for myself. I’m fading away and I can’t even care for her like she cared for me.
The bitter tears of disappointment burn in my eyes, but I blink them away to smile at Mom. She loves it when I smile now. At one time, my smiles reminded her too much of my father. But I’m not him. I’m my own man. Boy. One day I’ll be stronger and better than he ever could be. And then I’ll come back to her as a man. I’ll show her I have it in me. I can be a good man.
With a heavy sigh, I lift the wooden lid of the record player and secure it with the foldout bar. I place her favorite record onto the device and then lift the needle. Carefully, I set it down on the edge and then turn the power on.
Crackling.
Always the same.
It makes the hairs stand up on my arms and a small shudder of anticipation ripple through me. Then, like a sad sigh, the piano begins playing. Moments later, the voice of an angel sings out “Ave Maria” composed by Franz Schubert.
The stress and self-doubt bleeds from me. I’m reminded that I’m a good boy. I’m doing the right thing. Mom knows this. That’s why she doesn’t argue the matter. These days, her mind makes perfect sense. I understand her now.
“You shouldn’t dance,” I chide, noticing the playful way she holds her head tilted just so to one side. She’s missing the smile I used to love, but it’s not necessary in this moment.
A laugh escapes me. It’s been far too long.
“I could hurt you,” I explain, though we both know she’ll win.
She doesn’t let up and continues to look my way. Waiting. A good boy doesn’t disappoint his mother. Not anymore.
“One last dance.” I chuckle for both of us. “I’ll be gentle, Mom.”
Life has a way of sucking the soul out of you. My poor mother has been its victim for far too long. She deserves peace. I believe this because I’m a good son. A terrible son would wallow in the horrible things she did when she wasn’t well and argue that she deserves something awful. Those things are in the past. She wasn’t right then. It wasn’t her fault. I’ve forgiven her.
I kneel in front of her on the sofa and push a strand of her blond hair from her face. Easily, I hoist her frail body into my arms. She weighs next to nothing lately. I may be half starved, but I will always be able to carry my mother. It’s a son’s duty in life. Why we eventually grow to
be strong men.
The singer is belting out her beautiful words and I sway to the music with Mom in my arms. I kiss her forehead. I’m going to miss her so much.
We dance and dance and dance until the song ends. I’m conned into one more dance. This one is surely the last. I’ll need to leave soon. The hunger is a gnawing beast that eats me alive from the inside out and if I have any hopes of surviving so I can come back to Mom, I need to leave. To find him. To grow strong again.
The song ends and I sigh.
It’s time.
She’s quiet as I sit her down, this time in a quainter place than the sofa. Dark and warm. I don’t want to put her there, but we both know it’s for the best. There are people in this world who don’t understand love and the power it holds over people. I must protect her—protect the both of us—from what they might think.
I make sure to grab my only possession—a hand-me-down from my mother—and then Mom and I leave. We’ll make a stop by my favorite place before I go. She always wanted me to leave the house and see the world. I was too stubborn—too afraid to leave her. I’ve taken great strides in proving to her the man I can be. I explored and saw things. I’ll continue to see more. For her. The music continues to play from inside the house as I walk down the steps. It’s dark out and no one is watching me. Not tonight. They prefer to glare my way during the day.
“Tonight is ours, Mom.”
This pleases her. It pleases us both.
I walk and walk, winding through the streets of our neighborhood until I make it to the woods I sometimes visit when I want to scream at the world and need privacy to do it. Mom will enjoy the seclusion and the echoes of my screams that still haunt the forest.
Our trek continues until I’m dizzy and exhausted. I find a patch of soft earth beyond some bushes between two trees. It feels right here. We’re both quiet as I set her down. My fingers press into the dirt. It easily moves at my persistence. It wants to obey me. The thought thrills me.
Ignoring the bouts of lightheadedness, I dig with my cupped hands until I’m sweaty and trembling. I sniffle, hating that she’ll see my tears.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
I’m not so sure.
It’s a big world out there.
What if he doesn’t want me?
On impulse, I grab my only possession I’ll take with me. My mother’s Bible. I try not to dirty up the pages, but I’m desperate to find him.
Not my father. Trenton can rot in fucking hell for all I care.
Him.
Charles.
My uncle.
The picture flutters out and lands in my lap. I drop the Bible to pick up the photo. Mom was a nun. In the picture she can’t be any older than eighteen or so. Before she was pregnant with me. Beside her, the man sits stiffly with a regal smile on his face. On the back, written in her pretty handwriting, it says, “Siblings Charles and Taylee Greene.”
I never knew I had an uncle and I try not to be angry at Mom for not telling me. Sometimes being a man is discovering some of life’s mysteries on your own. This one, I found and when Mom had nothing to say about it in return, I let it go.
He’s family.
I need my family.
With a quick look, I memorize his face before tucking the photo back into the Bible. I wonder if he’ll accept me with open, waiting arms or if I’ll be turned away.
I would go to my father, but I know the latter is exactly what would happen. He’s turned his back on me once before, and I know now it will be no different. It’s his fault I have to leave my mother anyway. He made things…change.
No, the only option now is Uncle Charles.
“I know, I know,” I say playfully as I open the chest so I can look at my mother. “One last kiss before I go.”
She’s sad.
I’m devastated.
But this is life.
Living is hard.
Life makes men out of boys.
Stroking my fingers through her hair, I smile big at her. I hope it’s her smile she sees and not my father’s. It would be a lovely parting gift. Just this once. Just once I want her to see me as a reflection of her—the good her—and not the man who fathered me.
“I’ll be back,” I tell her for the millionth time, forcing a playful lilt into my tone so we both won’t be so sad.
She knows.
I keep my promises.
Caw!
Tearing my gaze from my mother, I glower at the black bird with beady eyes that’s landed on the other side of the hole.
“Shoo!” I hiss at it. “Go on!”
It glares at me. It’s starving. I recognize the ravenous look.
Not today, bird.
Not her.
She may be nothing but hair and bones and tattered clothes, but she’s still my mother.
Quickly, I fold her unmoving body back into the trunk and latch it closed. The bird caws again, but I ignore it. He can find a meal elsewhere. The hole is deep enough to keep my mother safe from birds and other creatures. Once I get her settled, I hum “Ave Maria” to her while I pack her into the earth with warm dirt.
My chest aches more than my stomach for once and it’s nearly crippling. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with my mother.
With dirty hands, I wipe away my tears and stare down at her grave. I bend and pick up my Bible before tucking it into the back of my pants. She won’t be lonely. Tonight I’m leaving the boy she loves with her. All that’s leaving is the man I am to become.
When I return, she’ll love us both.
The boy and the man.
“I’ll be back, Mom. You’ll see.”
* * *
Kristopher
I try to stretch my legs, but they’re too long now. Not like Karen’s. She barely comes to my shoulders these days. Twins are supposed to be identical—and I suppose we are—but we’re not identically shaped.
She’s small. I’m tall.
Her arms are twigs.
Mine are muscular from helping Pa with the household chores.
With a groan, I press my bare feet against the far wall and push to no avail. The cinder blocks are unmovable. I’ve tried. For many years I’ve kicked and clawed and punched. I’m only a young man. No match for concrete and mortar.
Giving up on getting comfortable, I draw my knees to my chest and tilt my head up to look at the black-painted door that covers one half of the ceiling. The other half sits a bright white bulb that illuminates my shame. I’d have better luck trying to kick my way through the wood door than the walls, but the last time I tried, Karen had to pick splinters out of my feet for days.
Truth is, I’m down here because I deserve it.
No one ever questions Pa.
Ever.
But sometimes, his answers don’t make sense. How am I to learn to be a dutiful servant of God if I can’t manage to understand his confusing rules? Most times, they contradict what I read in the Bible. I’ve spent long nights stewing over this.
My palm roams over the cement floor that’s also been painted white to match the walls. I run my thumb over a scratch in the paint. It’s difficult to angle my body in the small space, but I manage to twist until I can see the imperfection in the otherwise perfect room.
K + K = 1
I smile despite my predicament.
Karen leaves these messages knowing I’ll find them. It was dangerous for her to come down here without Pa’s permission. Still, I can’t fault her for her attempt to make me happy.
I am happy.
My twin understands me in a way no one else can.
With another swipe of my thumb, I admire her neat carving that only goes as deep as the paint. I wish to admire it for longer, but Pa is unpredictable. Sometimes I stay down here for days, taking my meals in the white room and forced to relieve myself in a bucket. Other times, he leaves me down here for minutes, only long enough to make me feel like a scolded child in time-out.
If he finds her sweet note…
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
I’m sorry, Karen.
My thumbnail tears and blood blooms a harsh crimson against the bright white flecks beneath the nail. I stare at it as it drips down the front of my white button-up dress shirt that now reeks of body odor. He’d been in such a haste to get me down here, he didn’t take the time to make me strip like usual, though I wish he had considering how hot I am. I’ve been down here for hours. It’s stifling in here.
Pa won’t be pleased I’ve ruined the white room or my white shirt.
Purity is important.
Purity is Godly.
Purity is necessary.
If I can manage to leave this white hell without his noticing, Karen will help me. She’s a master at removing stains. Pa requires that she launder our clothing and press them too. One of her duties as a woman.
Women care for inside the home and men care for the outside.
Two halves of a whole.
It simply works.
One day, we’ll go out into the harsh world and make it a better place when we find our own spouses. I’ll find a good job, take care of my wife, and raise a family with her.
I won’t have to go far.
My thoughts drift to Maude. A sweet redhead down the street. Shy and a face full of freckles. She’s so…interesting. I find that when Pa takes us to Mass, I care less about the sermon and more about what dress Maude Stevens is wearing. The green one is my favorite. It matches her eyes exactly.
A stiffening in my black slacks has horror washing over me. This is what got me put down here in the first place. My inability to control…that. I press down on the growing member between my legs and groan. Something bad shouldn’t feel good. Pa says it’s a sin to touch yourself. It’s for your wife one day.
But…
I close my eyes and rub the heel of my hand against the hard ridges. It feels too good. Like if I keep rubbing, something good will happen. I want that good thing so bad.
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