Suddenly, Walker realizes that he’s making mental equations, which he hasn’t done since his bar-fighting days, many years ago. But old habits die hard. And he knows that he could take on all three guys. Unless they have knives. And maybe even then. The skinny guys, Eddie and Stevie, they aren’t real eager to fight. If I take Billy out, they’ll run for cover.
So the fight, if it comes down to it, is going to be just me and Billy.
And that won’t be a fight.
That will be a pleasure.
֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍
Walker’s not the only one whose fighting instincts are measuring the subtle changes in the flow of power. Billy Barton feels it too. He knows that if he doesn’t do something to maintain his momentum, he could lose the upper hand entirely.
So he decides to take a chance. He swaggers up to Walker and says, “Well, whaddya think, fat boy?” Close up, Walker is even more impossibly large than he appeared to be from only a few feet away, and Billy has to tilt his head pretty far back just to make eye contact. It occurs to him that this might not be such a good idea. But what the hell.
“I got both of your women now,” Billy says, with a sneer, “and it looks like me and the boys are gonna fuck the shit out of them, pass ‘em around, have ourselves a good old-fashioned gang-bang right here in the middle of the fuckin’ alley. You man enough to do anything about it?”
Walker appears to be shaking violently, he may on the verge of losing control. “Please,” he begs, staring down at Billy. “Please don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all, Billy thinks, as he watches Walker struggle to control himself. This guy’s about to explode. Maybe I better switch to a softer target.
So he pivots away from Walker and takes a few quick steps over to Nathan, who is still wearing that same annoyingly pleasant expression. It’s like he’s a spectator, not a participant. It’s like he’s watching a goddamn movie.
“Hey, Stevie,” Billy yells over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Nathan’s. “I think I know why this guy’s smiling. He gets off on this shit. He likes to watch other guys play with his women.” Billy grins his evil grin. “That’s what turns you on, ain’t it, Pops?”
To Billy’s surprise, Nathan just smiles back at him, his eyes twinkling. “If you’re asking if I enjoy watching you cause pain,” he says, “then I must tell you that I enjoy it just as much as if you were causing pleasure. You see, Billy, it’s really all the same.”
Billy frowns. “Let me see if I got this straight, you fuckin’ weirdo. Are you trying to tell me that there’s no difference between hurting people and making them feel good?”
“Pain and pleasure are but different manifestations of the same principle, Billy. It’s really all up here.” Nathan taps his head with his forefinger. “It’s all an illusion. You’re not responsible for making anyone else feel pain, just as you’re not responsible for providing them with pleasure. Pain and pleasure both come from within. Each of us is responsible for…”
But that’s as far as Nathan gets, because just then Billy kicks him in the crotch. Hard. His leg parts the folds of Nathan’s robe. His heavily booted foot makes firm and satisfying contact with Nathan’s testicles.
Okay, smart guy, Billy thinks. Let’s see how much of an illusion you think this is.
2.1.7: Sturdivant
Nathan exhales with a sudden whoosh. He grabs at his groin and doubles over, his face contorted in pain.
“NATHAN!” Both girls scream in horror at the same time. They break free of their reluctant captors and race over to Nathan, their arms outstretched.
That’s it, Walker thinks. I’m not going to take any more of this crap. He can feel the anger rising in his throat, like something foul that he just swallowed. And he begins a grim advance to the spot where Billy and Nathan stand in the middle of the alley…
But as they all converge, a remarkable thing happens. Just as the women are about to grab Nathan’s arms to support and comfort him, just as Walker is about to spin Billy around and pound him into the ground, Nathan holds up a hand.
Walker, whose outstretched hand is already resting on Billy’s arm, comes to a sudden stop. The girls, just a few steps away, grab each other instead of Nathan. Everybody waits to see what’s going to happen next.
And what happens next is that Nathan straightens up and assumes a normal posture. As far as Walker can tell, Nathan’s pain has vanished, blown away like a dry breeze in the night. His eyes are clear – in fact, even in the dark, they begin to twinkle.
“Pain and pleasure,” Nathan continues, as if nothing had happened, “both come from within, Billy. No one can give you pleasure but yourself. No one can hurt you but yourself.”
“Oh, Nathan!” Sunshine yells. She and Chastity rush to him, they throw their arms around him, they’re sobbing so hard that it’s hard to make out exactly what they’re saying, but they seem to be asking if he’s alright.
“Oh, of course,” Nathan says, agreeably. “I’m always alright,” he points out.
֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍
“How the…” Stevie Hutchinson is stunned to the point of speechlessness. The man was bent over in obvious agony a second ago, and now he looks like nothing happened at all. He walks toward Nathan slowly, studying him carefully. “How… how did you do that?”
“As I said, pain is all in the mind.” Nathan speaks as if he’s teaching a lesson in a classroom, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “The pain is still there. I simply choose not to feel it.”
“But… but doesn’t it hurt? I mean…” Stevie shudders. “I mean, Billy kicked you pretty hard. It must hurt. It’s got to hurt.”
“Stevie, what are you doing?” Billy sounds dismayed. “You don’t wanna talk to him. He’s one of The Crazies, remember?”
“Yeah, but did you see what he did?” Stevie is awed and excited. “If you’da kicked me in the balls like that, I wouldn’t have been able to walk for a week. Holy shit.”
“Stevie, don’t be so fuckin’ stupid. He’s faking it, is all. I’ll bet he can’t even walk.”
Nathan smiles and begins to stroll casually from one side of the alley to the other, back and forth and then back again, with a positively boyish spring in his step.
“That’s unbelievable.” Stevie is totally awed. “Look at him, Billy. It’s like nothing ever happened at all.”
“Aw, c’mon, Stevie,” Billy says, tugging on his arm. “He’s hurtin’, believe me. It’s all he can do just to walk around.”
In response, Nathan breaks into a trot. Suddenly, he jumps and clicks his heels in the air. After he lands, he turns to Billy and Stevie and executes a graceful bow.
“Doesn’t that hurt at all?” Stevie is incredulous. “I mean, don’t you feel any pain?”
“It all depends on what you mean by pain,” Nathan explains, the pedagogue once again. “On a superficial level, the pain is very much there. In fact, just moving around is excruciating,” he admits. “But I have trained my mind to process pain as just another sensation. On a deeper level, I notice that the pain is there, but I don’t feel it in the sense that you might.”
“But if it’s so… what did you call it… excruciating?… just to walk around?” Stevie is puzzled. “Why’d you jump up in the air and do that little jig?”
Nathan smiles, and Stevie thinks that he looks just the tiniest bit sheepish. “Just showing off,” he says. And he throws his head back and laughs, a deep, hearty, belly laugh. It’s infectious. Walker smiles, then he begins to chuckle, and soon he’s roaring, his big belly shaking. The women hang on to him for dear life, and then they’re all laughing with unrestrained relief, hugging each other tighter and tighter.
“C’mon, Stevie,” Billy urges, trying to pull him away from Nathan. “Let’s get outta here.”
But Stevie will not be budged. “Could you teach me to do that?” he asks, when Nathan finally stops laughi
ng. “I mean…” – he swallows, hard – “…could you teach me how not to feel any pain?”
“Why don’t you come out to the ashram sometime?” Nathan suggests. “The Phillips place, as you call it,” he explains, in response to Stevie’s puzzled expression. “I’m not sure that I can teach you anything, but you may learn a great many things, if that is what you desire.”
“Stevie! Let’s GO! NOW!” Billy is pulling at his arm, and he sounds desperate. Stevie ignores him, shaking him off like he’s not even there. “You mean, I could just come out to the Phillips place?” He’s half excited, but half anxious; strange stories have been circulating through Sturdivant about the goings-on at the Phillips place ever since The Crazies moved in. “Like, it would really be okay?”
“Stevie…” Billy sounds frantic.
“All are welcome, Stevie,” Nathan says, affably.
“Stevie!!”
“Well, I think I could make it out there tomorrow,” Stevie says. He feels like he’s made a momentous decision. Consorting with The Crazies will mark him as a traitor in the eyes of many, if not most, of his friends, but this guy seems to be on the level. And if Nathan can really teach him how not to feel any pain… what a neat trick that would be. “Would tomorrow be okay?”
“STEVIE!!!” Billy screams. “It’s his eyes! Don’t look at his eyes!” He grabs Stevie and swings him away from Nathan. “Don’t you see what he’s doing to you? He’s… he’s hypnotizing you. He’s brainwashing you, Stevie. He’s doing it with his eyes.”
“Billy…” Stevie laughs.
“No, really, Stevie. Don’t laugh. I saw it on TV. He gets you with his eyes, he’s got some kinda power, and then he gets you to come out to his place, and then he takes all of your money, and then…”
“I don’t have any money…”
“And then he won’t let you go, Stevie, not ever!” Billy seems to be working himself up into a panic-stricken frenzy. “You’ll be his slave, Stevie, and you’ll have to do anything he tells you to do, even kill people, maybe, if that’s what he wants you to do. Let’s get outta here, Stevie, right now!” He tugs on Stevie’s arm, but Stevie yanks it away.
“Billy, you’re being ridiculous.”
“RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN, STEVIE!” Billy screams, backing away slowly. He glances over at Nathan, then he quickly turns his head and holds his hands up to shield his vulnerable eyes. “DON’T LOOK AT HIS EYES, STEVIE! RUN!” And he turns and lumbers off down the alley, into the darkness, screaming, growing fainter and fainter in the night, until they can just barely hear him – “…run, Stevie, run away, run away, don’t look in his eyes, his eyes…” And then he’s gone, leaving behind a surprisingly comforting silence.
“Stevie?” Eddie has trotted off behind Billy for a few steps, but he hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to abandon Stevie to the enemy. “Stevie, aren’t you comin’ with us?”
“I don’t think so, Eddie. Not right now.” Stevie smiles, reassuringly. “You go on. I’ll be okay.”
“I think you oughta come with us, Stevie,” Eddie says urgently, as he backs down the alley. “I really think you oughta.” His eyes dart over to Nathan, and, reflexively, he ducks his head and raises his hands to cover his eyes; then, a little embarrassed, he lowers his hands and looks back at Stevie.
“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll be along,” Stevie says. “You go on.”
“Stevie…” Eddie says hoarsely, one more time. There’s real terror in his voice. Then he turns and flees into the night.
There are a few seconds of silence as the remaining group watches Eddie run off down the alley. Then Nathan speaks softly. “Would you like to join us?” he asks.
Stevie is taken aback. Omigod, Billy was right – they are trying to make him join some kind of cult. “Gee, I don’t know,” he hedges, nervously. “I mean, that’s kind of a big decision, you know? And I don’t really have any money or anything to give you, so maybe I oughta think about it for a while, you know…” He trails off, aware that Nathan is smiling at him. No one has ever smiled at him quite like that – it’s a generous smile, and it’s completely accepting, and it’s a smile that’s very difficult not to respond to in kind.
“What I mean,” Nathan explains, “is: Would you like to join us for a bite to eat? We’re on our way to the Federal Diner.”
Something about this tickles Walker’s funny bone, and he throws his head back and howls with laughter. And then the women are laughing and giggling, and they run to Nathan and hug him, and Nathan is beaming, and Stevie has a picture in his mind of Billy running off down the alley, screaming, his hands over his head to protect him from Nathan’s deadly eyes, and he starts to laugh, and then the women come up and hug him, and one of them even kisses him on the cheek, and that’s great, and then Walker comes over and hugs him, and that’s not exactly great but it’s okay.
And suddenly Stevie feels very much like he’s part of some kind of group, like he belongs, like these people whom he’s known for maybe ten minutes are his life-long friends.
And so they all head down the alley toward Cohonsett Avenue, laughing and talking, a merry group.
“I… I’m not sure they’ll let me in,” Stevie confides. He’s hesitant to break to mood, but he has to share this important information with his new friends. “At the Federal, I mean. They weren’t real happy with me when I left a little while ago,” he admits, sheepishly.
“You don’t have to worry, Stevie,” Nathan says, with a quiet confidence that’s stronger than anything Stevie has ever seen. “You’re with me.”
And Stevie discovers a feeling that he doesn’t recognize at first, because he hasn’t felt it in years, at least not with this intensity. He’s startled when he realizes what it is. But then he smiles as he feels the warmth spreading within him.
For the first time in a very long time, and much to his surprise, Stevie Hutchinson is happy.
Transition
Book 2: Conflict
Part 2:
The Announcement
2.2.1: SMU
Jillian walks at least fifty feet past the makeshift display before it all clicks into place.
She’s strolling through Hughes-Trigg with Kimberly Overdorf, recounting her adventure in the spa at the Longwharf two nights ago. Kimberly is suitably attentive and appropriately impressed. She giggles at Jillian’s recounting of Scott Marcus’ lewd suggestions, and she even blushes a little when Jillian describes how she had pulled off her T-shirt – but maybe that’s only a trick of the light, because it’s hard to imagine Kimberly being genuinely embarrassed about anything.
“Oh, Jill, you must have been simply mortified,” Kimberly gushes, when Jillian reaches the part about her father walking up behind her. Her eyes flutter with distress; she touches Jillian’s arm lightly, as if consoling her. “I would have just died right there on the spot, just up and died. I’ll bet he was furious.”
By this time, they’ve actually walked out the doors and passed between the columns, and they’ve already started on their way down the steps. “Oh, he was pissed off, alright.” Jillian winces as she recalls her horror, her humiliation. “But you know Daddy, he got over it pretty quick. But, God, I can only imagine what he must have thought when…”
And then it hits her.
She stops in her tracks. She actually says it out loud: “Qen Phon.”
Kimberly is puzzled. “Ken who? Jill, what…”
“Qen Phon,” Jillian repeats. She seems to be slightly dazed. “Kim,” she says, “I gotta go back and check something out. I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.” She pivots sharply and begins to walk briskly back into the student center.
“Jill,” Kimberly calls up the steps after her. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“Nah, you go on,” Jillian says, looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll be along in a little bit.”
“What should I tell Dr. Schuster?” Kimberly is clearly concerned. “You know how he is when people are late. Especially fo
r tests.”
But Jillian is either out of hearing range or she’s decided to let Kimberly worry about handling Dr. Schuster.
Kimberly watches Jillian walk away for a few seconds. Glancing at her watch, she clucks her tongue in annoyance, whirls around, and heads for class.
2.2.2: SMU
She’s seen the crude, homemade display dozens of times, but it simply has never registered on her consciousness. The hand-lettered signs and the stacks of literature are stuck off in a corner of the student lounge, where they seem out of place and even a little forlorn. But the table is there so often – two, maybe three times a week, every week – that it’s become part of the scenery.
A young man – the same guy, Jillian’s pretty sure, who’s always there – sits hunched over the table, his head buried in a book. His features are unidentifiably foreign, vaguely Oriental – or Indian, perhaps? Or could he be a Chicano? Maybe an Arab?
Stacks of pamphlets and fliers litter the table, but Jillian gets the feeling that he doesn’t really expect anyone to approach him. In fact, as she thinks about it, Jillian can’t remember if she’s ever seen anyone else at the table at all.
Taped to the front edge of the tabletop, hanging down to the floor, a hand-lettered poster asks, “WHEN WILL IT END?” As Jillian approaches, she can see a collage of horrifying snippets of photographs beneath the lettering. About half of the photos involve confrontations between young people (students?) and black-dressed riot police (soldiers?). A terrified young girl kneels in the street, her hands clasped in the universal sign of pleading; a laughing soldier points a rifle at her chest, while another holds a small but deadly-looking pistol to her head. Three policemen viciously club a cowering and dazed young man, as blood streams down both of his cheeks. A soldier points a rifle directly at the camera lens; behind him, two other laughing soldiers have ripped nearly all the clothes off a woman, who covers her face with her hands in terror. Similar gruesome scenes are repeated over and over again. The poster is awash with miniature horrors.
Transition Page 15