Arena: Part One

by D. Michael Withrow

  When Colston had finished eating he asked to be excused. His father waved his hand as if swatting a fly away as he took another gulp of amber liquid. After taking his dishes to the sink he now had to determine the best way to get past his father to gain access to the staircase and make it to the relative safety of his room. In the end he decided to just march past him as quickly as possible. His father was quick though for someone that should have been passed out given the amount of liquor he had consumed. He grabbed Colston by the arm just as he passed him. He pulled the boy by the arm until he was just inches from his face. The smell of alcohol stung Colston’s eyes and almost caused him to cough in his father’s face. “You get that fucking freak of yours to fight or I will have him killed,” he said. “I’ll kill him myself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good,” his father said, then pushed him away so hard that the boy fell to the floor at the foot of the stairs. Colston rose and climbed the staircase calmly. He did not want to get beaten for running up the stairs as he had in the past. He was also careful not to slam the door to his bedroom. And he remembered not to lock it. Nothing would infuriate his father more than if he tried to get to him and found his door locked.

  He took his shoes off and lied down on the bed to stare at the ceiling. Memories of his mother, and how things had been when she was still alive, washed over him. He remembered times when the three of them would go into the city for movies in the park or festivals with so much wonderful food and music. But then the Parvors Rankus came. The virus had ravaged his mother’s body in a very short period of time, leaving her as little more than a shell at her death.

  The tears came without sound. As he lied there crying he imagined what it would be like when he was old enough to strike out on his own. The thought thrilled and frightened him all at once. He would need a plan or he would end up a debtor like so many others. That thought frightened him more than his father did. Surely there must be a way to gain his father’s approval. A way to make him love him again. Perhaps Cole was the answer. If only he could make the man into a great champion, then his father would surely be proud of him. The boy fell asleep with sounds of the arena in his head. The crowd was on their feet cheering wildly. They were cheering for Cole, and for him.

  The room was dark when Colston woke suddenly. A loud sound of some kind had awakened him. He lay there clutching the covers and holding his breath, waiting for the sound to come again. When it did not come he got out of bed and tentatively opened the door to his room. A dark form lay at the top of the stairs. It did not stir when he called out to it. There was broken glass and bourbon all over the floor. Colston went back and put on his shoes before going out into the hallway to assess the damage. He climbed over his father to go downstairs to get the broom, dustpan and mop. Climbing back over him with all those in his hands proved much more difficult. When he got the glass swept up and the bourbon mopped up he woke Marjorie. He needed help with his father and she was the only one living in the house strong enough to do it. Together they wrestled him into his bed. That’s when Marjorie noticed the cut on his father’s cheek. “Better call Doc Shraver,” she said. “That too deep to ignore.” So at 2:47 in the morning Colston called their doctor to come over to the house and seal up the wound on his father’s face.

  Doc Shraver was a free man that his father employed for the purpose of maintaining the health of his fighters, often times having to deal with wounds that the fighters sustained in the arena. While a trained surgeon by trade he was more often subjected to sealing up cuts and performing physicals for the fighters. Only on rare occasion would he have the opportunity to perform surgery due to a stabbing or a very deep cut sustained in the arena. But his father paid him well and that seemed to be all the professional satisfaction that the man required.

  “You’d better go before Doc gets here,” Colston said to Marjorie.

  “It be all right Colston. I ain’t afraid of Doc Shraver.”

  “No, but I don’t need my father hearing from Doc Shraver that anyone else saw him this way.”

  She thought about this for a moment. “You right,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” As she went to walk past Colston she stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. “You a good son for taking care of your daddy this way,” she said. “Lord knows he don’t deserve it.” And with that she walked away leaving him standing by his father’s bed in the darkness.

  By the time the loud knock came at the front door, Colston had almost fallen asleep at the foot of his father’s bed. He rose and descended in the darkness to let the doctor into the house. When he opened the front door the doctor entered, pushing past him to make his way inside. “Where is he?” His voice boomed in the silence of the house. “In his room,” Colston whispered. The doctor turned and made for the stairs. Colston chased after him, climbing the stairs two at a time, quiet as a mouse, while the doctor’s heavy boots clunked down on the wooden staircase, echoing throughout the house. They made their way up the stairs and down the hallway to his father’s bedroom. Once inside Doc Shraver turned on the light, almost blinding Colston. “Is that really necessary?” Colston asked.

  “I have to see what I’m doing if I’m to do my job.” He sat down on the bed beside his father and began inspecting the wound. “This will require a local anesthetic,” the doctor said, again his voice booming in an otherwise silent house.

  “No,” Colston said. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Oh, so you’re the doctor now, are you?”

  “No, but I know my father and what led up to this. He’s so dead drunk that he couldn’t possibly feel it.”

  The doctor eyed Colston for a moment as if he had never seen the boy before. He looked for a long moment before taking in a deep breath and letting out a long sigh. “I’m sure you’re right son,” was all he said before turning back to the man passed out on the bed. Colston stepped closer to watch what he did. “First we have to clean the cut,” the doctor said. “This is so it doesn’t get infected. Also, there is an antibacterial agent in the compound that I use to rinse the wound.”

  Colston watched as the doctor expertly rinsed the wound using a device he had seen him use many times in the past. “What is that,” the boy asked.

  “It’s a wound kit,” he said. “It allows me to clean or seal a wound depending on the mode that I select.” The doctor showed Colston the virtual buttons on the side of the device. The wound kit not only released a rinsing solution in the mode the doctor was currently using but it sucked up the bloodied solution once it had done its job. Once cleaned the doctor swiped his thumb over another button on the device. “This is the sealing mode,” he said. “An adhesive will be used to glue your father’s cheek back together. This is the painful part and why we usually like to use a local anesthetic, which this device is also capable of providing.” He pointed to the button for the anesthetic. It took only a few minutes in all but Colston had no doubt that an expert touch was required to use the wound kit. It was obvious that Doc Shraver had done this a great many times before.

  Doc Shraver put the wound kit in a bio-hazard bag and sealed it before placing it back in his doctor’s bag. He stood to leave but lingered for a moment. “Your father will be quite sore in the morning,” he said. “I could inject a time-release pain killer to help him through it if you like.”

  “No thank you,” Colston said. “If he never feels the consequences of his actions, then how will he learn not to do them again?”

  Doc Shraver smiled at this. “Indeed,” he said. “Indeed.”

  6

  The next morning Colston woke to the sounds of a household already alive with activity. He knew immediately that it was later than his usual waking hour. On his way to the bathroom to shower he noticed that the door to his father’s bedroom was still closed. It was still closed when he came out and made his way downstairs for breakfast. Marjorie was there but she had finished cooking for the morning. The mother and daughter from the day befor
e were there cleaning up the kitchen. Colston walked over and gave Marjorie a hug. “Lord child ain’t you the sweetest thing? Let me make you something to eat. What you feel like eating this morning?”

  “Is there nothing already made,” he said. He didn’t want to wait for food to be made. He wanted to be gone by the time his father woke up.

  “I got some bacon and eggs left, if that’s all you want.”

  “That’s fine. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

  “You gotta eat if you wanna keep growing the way you doing now,” she said. “Oh, supposed to tell you something. Mr. Jacob be looking for you earlier this morning. Said to come see him soon as you can. Something about the big man.”

  “Cole,” he said, as much to himself as to anyone else.

  “That his name?”

  The girl looked over at Colston every few minutes. Once she caught his eye she smiled at him. Colston tried smiling back with a mouthful of bacon and eggs. Once he finished eating the girl came over from the kitchen area and took his dishes from him. “Hi,” she said. “My name is Anna.”

  “Colston.”

  “I know who you are,” she said. “I work for you now.”

  “You work for my father.”

  “Anna,” her mother said. “Bring me those dishes.”

  “I’ve got to go. Maybe we can hang out sometime.”

  “Sure,” was all Colston could think to say.

  Anna smiled before turning to walk away. Colston stared after her as she brought his dishes to her mother.

  “Don’t forget about Mr. Jacob,” Marjorie reminded him. “He been waiting for you.”

  As Colston walked out the door he turned to see Anna watching him. He waved and she smiled again. He found himself smiling too as he ran out the door toward the ludus.

  Jacob was in the pit standing over one of the fighters with a weighted training sword in his hand. The fighter laid on the ground, his mouth was bloody and he was breathing heavily. Jacob did not seem winded at all despite the fact that he must have been close to sixty years of age with half his life already gone. The other fighters stood around in a loose semicircle watching the lesson unfold. “And that is why you don’t stick your face out in front of your sword,” Jacob said. When he noticed Colston he nodded and gave him the one minute finger. “I want to see you all pair up and practice what you just learned.”

  When the men had dispersed Jacob came over to Colston who stood under a covered walkway by one of the protectors. “Your big man asked for you this morning,” he said. “It seemed important to him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He’s in the infirmary getting checked out by Doc Shraver,”

  “Thanks Jacob.”

  The boy ran from the pit to the infirmary. When he got there he waited to catch his breath before entering. When he stepped inside he saw Cole getting his vitals taken by a machine in the corner of the room. The machine was able to scan him and deduce height, weight, eye color, blood type, blood pressure, pulse as well as every other physical detail imaginable, to include analysis of all internal organs and their functional levels. The fact that they had such a machine was proof of how well they had done in the arena over the years. The boy wandered over and looked at the readout over Doc Shraver’s shoulder. 7’3”, 453 pounds was all he saw before Doc Shraver stood up and walked away, carrying the report with him.

  Colston stared at Cole. It was hard not to. He was wearing only a pair of briefs now and the boy saw for the first time the true size of the man. His thighs were as thick as most men at the waist. While his chest was as thick as a steel drum. His hands were large enough to palm a man’s skull and his own head was easily twice the size of the doctor’s. He was the most massive human being the boy had ever laid eyes on and he was staring back at him now with a dull, almost medicated, look about him.

  “What’s wrong with him,” Colston asked. “He looks drugged.”

  Doc Shraver turned to look at the boy. “I gave him a sedative before we started the examination process. It took triple the normal dose before it had any effect on him. Quite remarkable actually.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because of his size of course.”

  “No,” Colston said. “Why did you sedate him?”

  “Oh, well… The same answer I suppose. I was a little concerned about having someone that large, someone we were unfamiliar with, let loose in my infirmary.”

  “But that’s why we have protectors.”

  “I don’t want those soldiers of fortune shooting up my infirmary if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Sure Doc,” Colston said. “But how long until it wears off? I need to speak with him.”

  “An hour or so. He can talk now though if it’s important. Just don’t give him any complex math problems.” He winked at Colston and went back to the report he had been studying.

  “Are you finished with him?”

  “Uh… sure,” he said. “He’s all yours.”

  It took six protectors to get Cole on the gurney. Colston followed them to the cell where Cole was being kept. He waited until they had unloaded him and left before trying to speak to him.

  “Cole?”

  “Hmm…”

  “It’s Colston,” the boy said. “Can you speak?”

  “Shleepy.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that. Doc Shraver sedated you.”

  “Mmm…” was all that Cole said in return.

  When Colston went to leave he heard the bed creak under Cole’s weight. He looked back to see Cole sitting up in bed with the same dazed look he had had while in the infirmary. His eyes were glassy and the lids were heavy. It looked as though it were all he could do just to be sitting up. “You remind me of my boy,” he said. “Though he was much younger than you when…” He paused for a moment before continuing. “…when he died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He had such a good heart,” Cole said. “He was always trying to help out me and his mother. Even though he was still too small to do much. Such a good heart.”

  Colston waited. Whatever the man had to say, he knew he had not yet said it.

  “And my wife,” he said. “She was like an angel. We grew up together. She was my best friend. And now they’re gone and nothing can bring them back.”

  “I’m…”

  “Is it true what they say,” Cole interrupted. “About all fighters being convicted killers?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat quietly for a moment as if he were thinking this over.

  “The only man I ever killed was trying to hurt my family. I guess the law didn’t see it that way.”

  “But didn’t you get a trial?”

  “I’m sure I did,” Cole said. “Of course I was in the hospital so long that I was in no shape for it. I never even heard the verdict. As soon as I got healthy they shipped me off to be sold like a piece of livestock.”

  “For your debt,” Colston said more to himself than to Cole.

  “Yes, my debt. Once my home and all my possessions were auctioned off there were still plenty of medical bills to be paid. They should have let me die. But they would rather see a man made into a commodity.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Our fine government. They’ve turned this country into a nation of flesh peddlers.”

  “You must hate me,” Colston said.

  Cole looked at him for the first time since he’d stirred. “No, I don’t hate you. Nor do I blame you. You were born into this as far as I can tell.”

  They were both quiet for a time. Colston gripped the bars as though he were the one inside the cell trying to get out. Cole’s story had touched him. The man did not deserve to be where he was. “I wish…”

  “I know,” Cole said. “Me too. But I didn’t ask you here to tell you my sad tale.”

  “Then why?”

  “I want to fight.”

  “But why,” the boy asked. “After everything you’ve told me I would think tha
t fighting would be the last thing you’d want to do.”

  Cole looked at him again. Despite the sedative there was something in his eyes. A kind of fire. Then Colston understood what it was. It was hatred. Hatred for the men that had killed his family. Hatred for the system that had turned him into a debtor. And perhaps even hatred for being kept alive.

  “I want payback,” Cole said. “In the only form allotted to me at the moment. You said it yourself. I want a chance to inflict suffering on men like the ones that killed my family.”

  “I will do my best to make sure you’re ready for them when that time comes. That’s all I can do.”

  “I know,” Cole said.

  7

  Both man and boy were startled when the door at the end of the corridor flew open. Mr. Carlson was standing in the doorway with half a dozen protectors behind him. It was immediately obvious to Colston that he was drunk again, or perhaps still drunk from the night before. His cheek was red and puffy where Doc Shraver had sealed it. His eyes were filled with rage. “Time for your giant to fight Colston.”

  “But…” Colston said. “He’s been sedated. He can’t possibly fight now.”

  “Oh he’ll fight all right. It’s time to see if we got what we paid for with this one.”

  His father charged down the corridor and backhanded Colston when he reached him, sending the boy to the floor. In an instant Cole’s arm was through the bars and his hand wrapped around Mr. Carlson’s throat. He lifted him off the ground until his feet were flailing against the bars of the cell. His father’s hands clawed at Cole’s in an effort to get free from his grasp. One of the protectors joined Mr. Carlson in trying to free him from the giant, but to no avail. Suddenly a blue ball of energy flew through the bars, striking Cole in the chest. Both men fell to the floor with Cole getting the worst of it. Mr. Carlson was on all fours with his head hanging down, coughing and gasping for breath. Cole had fallen to the floor, twitching and writhing from the pulse rifle’s charge.