The Mortal Religion

by Marc Horn

  ‘Goodnight, Elizabeth.’

  41

  I wake. The sun is bright, illuminating the curtains. Victor is not where I had left him. I sit up and see that he has toppled forwards onto the floor. I turn and acknowledge the terror in Elizabeth’s eyes. The rigor mortis phase has passed. ‘How long has he been on the floor?’ I ask, but decide not to remove the tape from Elizabeth’s mouth in order to understand her answer. I let her mumble away as I make my way to Victor. He lies stomach down, his limbs positioned as if he had died whilst jogging, and his revolting body fluids have seeped into my carpet. ‘This is your fault,’ I say and then hastily fetch a chair from the dining room. I place my hands under Victor’s arms and lift his floppy body. Clumps of hair from his head break free and stick to the floor. Three of his finger nails follow suit. Maggots writhe in the morning light, deprived of their dark, warm meal. I screw up my face at Victor’s rotten smell as I slide him onto the seat. I hold him against the back of the chair with one hand and then apply the tape to his body, working it around him, his arms and the back of the chair until he is tight against it. I pull the tape off his forehead – it had remained there when gravity had broken its adhesion to the wall – and replace it with a fresh piece, fixing it once more to the wall so that Victor faces Elizabeth. Satisfied, I walk up to her and rip the tape from her mouth.

  She sucks in large gasps of air and then retches. ‘He-he-he is... I think he is...still alive!’

  ‘Really?’ I say, discouraged.

  ‘His-his-his nails are growing.’

  ‘No, his skin is retracting, but is that really relevant, Elizabeth?’ I stare at her. She looks uncertain, cautious and timid.

  ‘I just-I just thought...when he fell...’

  I rub my eyes. ‘What about his face? Have you anything useful to say?’ I am tired of this self-pity. And I am anxious to move forwards. In fact more than anxious, I am desperate.

  ‘I am used to it now,’ she replies.

  ‘So what do you see when you look at him?’

  ‘I see a person... an acceptable person...’

  I look at her suspiciously. ‘Then why are you so scared?’ I ask. ‘Why are you not…euphoric?’

  ‘Because I am worried you will get caught.’

  I grit my teeth and move to within inches of her face. ‘That is trivial! It is of no importance whatsoever! It is insignificant next to what I have discovered! Let it sink into your thick skull that anything other than this discovery deserves no recognition!’

  ‘Okay, Chalk.’

  ‘Can you not see that he is harmless and beautiful?’ I point at him with my arm. ‘We have spent our lifetimes searching for this, and now, Elizabeth, now, Victor has provided the solution. How perfect is that? Can you not see that this was his purpose in life? He contributed nothing else, only suffering to his fellow man, but now he demonstrates how to end all suffering!’

  She smiles. ‘I know.’

  I turn and look at Victor. ‘Forget about the decay. Imagine that he is alive, speaking to you, or passing you in a crowd.’ I close my eyes as a blanket of warmth smothers me. ‘He cannot harm you. He cannot, nor does he desire to. He will not judge you, exclude you or condescend you. He is peaceful, content and driven by equality.’ I gaze at the hollows that once contained his eyes and which now crawl with maggots. ‘You understand, Elizabeth, don’t you, why I had to do this to you?’

  ‘I do understand, Chalk. And I am...proud of you.’

  I turn and grin at her. ‘Us, Elizabeth, us... I could not have done this without you. You helped me reach this high. You helped me create The Mortal Religion...’

  ‘The mortal religion?’

  ‘Yes, Elizabeth,’ I confirm, choking with pride. ‘Religion is about personal beliefs and values. But, unlike the others, our religion succeeds in providing a beautifully fulfilling earthly life. Mainstream religions are dwindling as people do not care about the afterlife – they want happiness now, while they live. But as we both know, their concept of happiness is warped and self-important. And that is solely because of their eyes...’ She nods in agreement. I reach into my drawer and then open my hands in front of Elizabeth. She starts a little. ‘I find it incredible that the root of mankind’s suffering lie in these two orbs.’ Victor’s blue eyes seem greyer. ‘Ending our own pain was always within our grasp, from the dawn of time, but we had to wait thousands of years for me, Chalk Cutter, to realise it.’

  ‘You have got what you always wanted, Chalk. Everyone will love you for what you have discovered.’

  I feel a tear form in my eye. As I untie Elizabeth, I say, ‘I had always known this was the solution. As wise and endearing as you are, Elizabeth, your preaching could not change people. We have to give them something to respond to, something visual. Everything is visual to them.’

  ‘That’s right, Chalk.’

  ‘It is just the initial shock that challenges us, Elizabeth. Seeing what we believe is wrong. We have to circumvent that.’

  ‘We can do that, Chalk. We have come so far, that will be easy.’

  I smile. ‘Then you are ready, Elizabeth.’

  ‘Ready?’ I nod, full of emotion. ‘To leave?’ she asks.

  ‘To unburden yourself.’

  She stares emptily at me. Once again I reach into the drawer and then I hold the scalpel’s glistening blade in front of her. ‘Take it, Elizabeth.’

  Her trembling fingers curl around the handle. I let it go and she takes hold of it. ‘Consider how we categorise other animals. For example, a fox is cunning, a mouse is quiet and an owl wise. We expect each of these animals to conform to their stereotype without deviation. But we have not yet categorised ourselves. “As selfish as a human” is appropriate, I feel.’ Elizabeth stares at the blade. ‘We both knew this was inevitable. There is no other way. We have to lead by example. We cannot expect people to make a sacrifice that you and me would not.’

  She swallows. ‘I know, Chalk.’ Her voice is weak and broken.

  I hold out Victor’s eyeballs. ‘They are not pretty, Elizabeth. They are slimy and grotesque. And they are inherently evil.’ I place the eyes beside me on the bed. ‘This is our visual message, Elizabeth. It cannot be ignored. It will be everlasting.’

  ‘How-how...’ She takes a deep breath. ‘... How do I do it?’

  ‘It is a simple procedure. You have to dig your fingers into your eye socket, around the orb, then pull it out far enough that you can insert the blade behind it, and then slice through the muscles that attach it to the skull.’

  ‘And what then? Will I not...bleed to death?’

  ‘No. I have dressings to stem the flow of blood. They are there in the drawer.’

  ‘But what about the pain, Chalk? It will be agony.’

  I shake my head. ‘You are distracting yourself, Elizabeth. You are thinking like them of yourself. This is the future. You will be in harmony with everyone and in time mankind will evolve accordingly and babies will be born without eyes. We do not want them, they are evil.’

  ‘And you will do the same, Chalk?’

  ‘Of course I will!’ I shout. ‘But I am prepared. You are not. You still fear it, so I must be here to help you through it.’

  Elizabeth moves the blade closer to her left eye. ‘I am scared, Chalk, I am so scared.’ Tears rush down her face.

  ‘Do not be scared, my beautiful friend. Be cleansed. Be excited. Be free...’

  Still she hesitates. ‘I don’t want to let you down, Chalk...’

  ‘Listen to me,’ I say. ‘The World Health Organisation has said that by the year 2020 severe depression will be the world’s second biggest killer. The life we have experienced up until now is cruel and it is only going to deteriorate. You and I can stop it. We can make the world a wonderful place.’

  ‘I know that, Chalk, I know that. But I just-I just can’t stick this knife in my eye. It’s self-preservation, Chalk, I just can’t do it, I am so sorry.’ She reads the disappointment on my face. ‘You-you do it, Ch
alk. Take this knife and cut out my eyes.’

  She hands the blade to me. My mouth parts and my eyes glaze over. I had not foreseen this. My insides churn violently. I have to do this, but I feel reluctant. The scalpel shakes in my hand. ‘Look at the popularity of self-defence,’ I whisper. ‘We are so scared of each other that we have to learn how to defend ourselves from our fellow man. That is where we are in this world...’ I am not talking to her, I am talking to myself. ‘You know I am doing the right thing, don’t you? It is the right thing to do, isn’t it, Elizabeth?’

  ‘Of course it is, Chalk. It is absolutely the right thing to do...’ The tears stream down her face.

  ‘I am not mad, am I?’ I look at her and have to promptly shut my eyelids to ignore her blinding beauty.

  ‘No, you are not mad,’ she replies, ‘you are a prodigy, you are what is best in a person, and I...I am so proud of you.’ She reaches out and strokes my hair.

  I sob, bow my head and then claw my fingers around my left eye and yank it away from its base. I scream as I saw away at the muscles. But I can bear the pain, I can bear it. After all, it is the final pain. I saw until I saw at thin air. I can hear Elizabeth screaming. I look up. My field of vision is less than it was and in my hand I hold my bloody left eyeball.

  ‘Oh, Chalk! Chalk! Stop! Please stop...’

  The pain is intense but I have to take more. I hold the scalpel tightly in one hand and then with the other I roar as I drive my fingers into my right eye socket and with all my might pull the orb away. I scream so loud that I can no longer hear Elizabeth. Everything has become surreal – I do not see where my face is pointing at. I see the bed where my loose eyeball is directed. I work the blade through the muscles and then I am blind. The pain is too much but I manage to smile. I can feel blood pouring down my face. I press the palms of my hands tightly against my eye sockets but they quickly fill with blood. ‘Elizabeth, help!’ I scream, but she does not respond. ‘I need dressings, I need dressings quick or I’ll die!’ I crawl forwards towards the drawer, sweeping my hands across the bed to orientate myself. I knock one of my eyes onto the floor. Then I feel several dressings on the mattress – Elizabeth must have thrown them on the bed. I jam the dressings into my eye sockets. ‘Jesus!’ I scream. ‘I need an ambulance! Elizabeth, I need an ambulance! Jesus Christ! I’m going to die! I’m going to die!’ I roll onto my back and then fall off the bed. Where is my Elizabeth? She must have gone to fetch help. I roll onto my back to elevate my wounds. But I am in too much pain to keep still and then realise it would be better to sit. I have to make it harder for my heart to pump blood to my wounds. I crawl forwards, careful to keep the dressings firmly pressed against my face, and then use my elbows to feel for the side of my bed. I hit it and then raise myself using my elbows and thighs and sit down on the bed. I am wobbly and disorientated. The dressings are soaked through with blood. I can feel myself shutting down. I am losing too much blood, am experiencing too much pain. Thank God Elizabeth did not do this. How could I have even considered causing her this much pain? I did not know though, I did not know it would be this unbearable. But even if I had known, I had to do this to myself. My teeth are gritted and my muscles tensed to help me bear the pain. But I...

  Voices. Several voices. Some stern, some calm and some angry. I think I am alive. I hear ‘Sick fuck,’ and ‘Let the fucker die’. I feel a blow to the ribs. ‘Stop that now! We have a duty of care! Do you want to lose your job? Better still, do you want to go to prison?’ I am unclothed. I feel cold and weak. Devices are attached to me. ‘Have you ever seen anything like this? He’s kept him ‘ere for days!’ I miss bits. The talk I hear is disjointed and sporadic. ‘Who is he?’

  ’What? You mean you don’t recognise him?’ Laughter, maybe forced, maybe fake...

  I am outside. I can hear cars and people. People gasping. They have seen what they will become. I want to smile but I cannot move a muscle...

  42

  ‘Where am I?’ I ask.

  ‘Hell.’

  I hold out my hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Satan.’

  I am punched hard in the stomach. It winds me and I drop to the floor.

  ‘No one tell you you were coming here, freak?’

  I struggle to catch my breath. It takes a minute or so before I can speak. ‘They told me... I was going to prison.’

  The man tries to lift me to my feet, but is not strong enough and I have to assist. Once upright, my collars are gripped and cigarette-tainted breath invades my nostrils. ‘You’re in Hallam’s prison... I’m gonna destroy you.’

  He spits in my face. I lift my hand to my face and wipe away the saliva. Some of it hit the special glasses I wear to minimise the pain. Without them light causes a burning sensation, but I don’t care about that. ‘Normally I never judge by looks,’ I say, removing the glasses.

  Hallam pushes me back against the wall and knees me in the genitals. It is very painful. I roll onto the floor and clutch my private parts. ‘Don’t you ever take those glasses off. Understand, freak?’

  I croakily laugh. Life is so easy now. I cannot see anyone. I don’t have to endure reactions and rejection. I am equal. Nothing can weaken that relief.

  I am kicked in the face. ‘Laugh at me again and I’ll nail you to that wall.’

  ‘Jesus, Hallam,’ I say, my head throbbing as I slowly turn onto my side, ‘you’ve got some serious issues to deal with.’

  ‘You’ve got the nerve to say that to me when you’re looking like that?’

  ‘I don’t know what I look like. I can’t rely on observations like I used to.’

  ‘You’re hideous. You’ll spend the rest of your life alone. You’re an animal and you’re gonna get treated like one.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to rehabilitate me?’

  ‘Fucking freak.’

  I hear a sturdy door slam close and heavy bolts slide into place. No chance of escape then. I grit my teeth to help me bear the pain. So this is what ball pain feels like. I have read stories that depicted quite colourfully the agony of such an injury, and I can now confirm that they are accurate. But to both my advantage and disadvantage I have much to distract me from the pain.

  I am at last comfortable in my own skin, that is the positive, and that must not be underestimated. I have always dreamed of feeling this inner peace. And I would be perfectly complete if I was not haunted by Elizabeth.

  The so-called justice system culminated with the judge branding me a ‘callous monster’. My barrister had claimed that I had temporarily lost my mind after suffering a lifetime of victimisation, but, while giving my evidence, I rubbished this mitigating factor, proudly announcing that I had been in total control when making every decision, and stressing with utter conviction that I regretted not one of them. This broadcast was badly received, but I did not care. I gave an accurate account of the events and my thought processes and justified everything I did. I finished with the prediction – later evaluated by them as a ‘disturbing delusion’ – that Victor and I had set in motion a new religion that would surpass its competition, and added that the process of unburdening oneself would soon become commonplace within society.

  I can partly accept ‘monster’. That means an evil, inhumane person whose behaviour terrifies people. Such a perception is obvious when formed in their uncured minds. I do not take kindly to ‘inhumane’ nor to ‘callous’. Callous means hard-hearted, showing no concern for the feelings of others. Both ‘inhumane’ and ‘callous’ were chosen with direct reference to my treatment of Elizabeth. How blind of them.

  I was not permitted to hear the testimony Elizabeth gave in person. Tragically, I have not heard from her since I unburdened myself. Both prosecutor and my barrister quoted sections of her testimony. I learnt that the first thing Elizabeth did after leaving my house was run to a phone box and call for an ambulance. She did not ask for the police. The London Ambulance Service called them due to the nature of my injuries and the evident risk to them. How can this be disregarded? I
f my treatment towards Elizabeth had been so horrific, then why was my welfare her immediate priority?

  They assessed her as brainwashed, and claimed that her state of mind could not be relied upon at that time. They reached the conclusions they wanted to reach, whatever evidence lay before them. References to the fear Elizabeth had spoken of had hurt me, but I knew it was a necessary and unavoidable part of the journey. Time and time again they had ranted on about their hopes that Elizabeth would make a full recovery and separate herself from the alarming influence I still had on her. I had on one occasion interrupted them and shouted out that she had been cured and had developed an immunity to society’s evil, and that nothing they could do would change that.

  They had prescribed various treatments and therapies for her that they were confident would succeed. That the effects of brainwashing were temporary had comforted them...

  I push myself onto my knees and carefully sit with my back against the wall. Elizabeth is not brainwashed. Yes, that had been my initial intention, but I had grown to love her because of who she chose to become. She was not the product of a successful brainwashing. She freely chose to become who she became. She is a beautiful person. But why has she not contacted me? It has been weeks since the unburdening. I know she would not have been permitted to visit me in hospital, as that was prior to the trial and she was a prosecution witness. Not even my parents had visited me. And the armed police who guarded my bedside would not communicate with me. Apparently they were armed because death threats had been made towards me.

  But what about after the trial? She could have contacted me then. Surely the therapy has not succeeded? No, it could not have done. She is too strong for that. But I cannot help but think the worst of her decision not to communicate with me. She is my best friend, my only friend and I love her dearly. It is us against the world. I feel so sad and want so badly to hold her in my arms as I did after I thought she had escaped that time. Like then, I would let nothing separate us. Who is looking after her now? All the wrong people, people who will harm her. ‘Oh, Elizabeth, please let me know that you are safe...’