The Devil's Fate

by Massimo Russo

  “Did you like it?”

  Norman felt he had been turned to stone. All he could do was nod as his heart burst with emotion, drowning any chance of speaking. He looked at his son with the admiration due a genius. But deep down, he was aware that love comes in all shapes and sizes. He could scarcely believe his ears.

  “You’re very clever, you know. Did you write it all by yourself?”

  “Yes. I was thinking about how much I love Mom and Grandpa. And you too, if you want.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. You can love me as much as you like. Hey, you know what we’ll do? When we see each other again, you can let me read all the other poems you’ve written and, if it’s OK, I’ll let you read mine. That way you can tell me if you like them. What do you say?”

  Will looked at him, joy shining in his eyes.

  “Do you mean that? You want to see me again?”

  “You bet, young man.”

  The boy threw his arms round his father’s neck, shedding the embarrassment that had held him back. Norman was caught off guard again. But for the first time, he was filled with an emotion he could only have described if he had known heaven.

  “I see you’ve already made friends.”

  Jonathan had crept up to them silently and spoken the words softly, shy of spoiling the magical atmosphere they had created. Will moved away from his father and eyed him with satisfaction.

  “Grandpa! Norman said he wants to see me again!”

  “I’m glad. I never doubted it for a minute. But you have to say goodbye now. Mom is waiting for us.”

  “OK. Can I say goodbye to my bird friends?”

  “Of course you can, my boy. But don’t be long.”

  Without replying, Will ran off towards the sound that was calling him.

  “Are you happy you’ve met him, Norman?”

  “I think it’s the most fantastic emotion I’ve ever felt. But I still don’t see why I’ve had to wait all these years to meet him.”

  “The answer’s in your heart. Don’t blame others when it’s not their fault. Julia tried to talk to you, but you were obviously too busy thinking about more important things.”

  Feelings of guilt flooded Norman’s mind, revealing images from his recent past that confirmed his father’s opinion. He had thought of many things, except how to make the woman he loved happy.

  “I can see him again, can’t I?”

  The old man smiled at him and called to the boy.

  “Come on, Will, it’s time to be off.”

  He looked Norman in the eyes and his feelings were evident in the intensity of his gaze, full of hope, as he had always been throughout his life.

  “Have faith, Norman. Your heart needs it. And so does Will’s.”

  The child hugged his father goodbye and took hold of his grandfather’s hand. Gloom still colored the day and became grayer with each step Will took away from the eyes of a man to whom he had gifted the joy of meeting him.

  Chapter 19

  Alex was not one for talking. He preferred listening. He was interested in all kinds of topics and in a different way each time. He tried to identify with others, as if he were taking part in their discussions, almost feeling their emotions and fears. He often went to the bar and ordered his favorite beverage, and it never ceased to amaze him how many people divulged their secrets over a drink. One confided to a friend that he had betrayed his wife. Another declared his feelings to a girl after describing the fabulous dreams in which tiny angels told him it was time to say “I love you”. Others chatted about business, from small investments to enormous sums shunted from one side of the globe to the other for the sole purpose of making more money. Sometimes they made a killing, sometimes they failed. He could tell from their faces when he saw them months later at the same table ordering the same drinks.

  But if there was one thing he could not stand, it was gays. They disgusted him. He found it impossible to fathom their nature or even their lives. If he had the power, he would burn them alive. He had only met a couple in the bar where he spent most of his days. He recognized them immediately, as if he had a sixth sense. Repulsion often blinded his vision and he had to go outside to breathe some fresh air and control his anger in the hope that the “itch” would pass on its own. He had almost always been that way.

  He lived with his mother and she looked after him and protected him from all the ills the world can bring to one whose mind is tuned to places normal people know nothing of. He never replied to those who mocked the scar disfiguring his face, a reminder that his was not the affectionate father he had hoped to have; he merely flashed a malevolent glance at them and the twelve-inch knife he carried about him. The owners of the bar had known him for years and gave him a hand by distracting any unfortunate fellow foolhardy enough to be deceived by his short stature and docile appearance and confront him.

  His aversion to homosexuals had been inculcated by his mother, who was for ever telling him it was a sin to circumvent or corrupt nature. His father had done the rest, pushing his brain to the brink of collapse by taunting him daily about being a sissy incapable of doing the simplest job. Every morning, his father had dragged him out of bed at four o’clock and made him run up and down the stairs until he could hardly feel his legs. It would have been easier if he hadn’t had to carry a ten-pound sack of potatoes on his shoulders and a dozen encyclopedias in his arms.

  “That’ll build your muscles up and blow the cobwebs away, you ugly faggot! And knock all that crap they teach you in school out of your head. Filthy bastard. You know you’re a bastard, don’t you?” Such were the words he yelled and a soldier’s response was expected in reply.

  “Yes, sir! I’m a bastard!”

  “And what’s your mission, soldier?”

  “To kill the enemy, sir!”

  “And who is the enemy, soldier?”

  “Damned faggots, sir!”

  “I didn’t hear!”

  “Damned faggots, sir!”

  The various punishments he had rigorously been subjected to had given him amazing strength, but had also had the adverse effect of pitching him into the black depths of an abyss. Not a night went by without nightmares too dreadful to describe. He woke with a start, cursing hell for still not taking him away. Most of the time he would calm down, thanks to the psychotropic drugs his mother regularly dosed him with. But there were times when his brain toyed with his perception, painting frightful monsters that guzzled on his legs, arms and above all his penis. Once he was so scared that he trembled for a whole week, while his mother plied him with the only effective cure she knew and injected him with a mixture of drugs and morphine. The end-result took him close to madness and back in time to when he was a boy playing with his best friend in his miserable little room. His friend’s name was Sam, and although he was older, it had hardly mattered because he had made Alex feel the desire to get well and be happy.

  One afternoon, his father was in such a rage that he had burst into the room where the boys were playing draughts, untrammeled by the bulky clothes that suffocated thought in the heat. He had almost beaten Sam to death as Alex tried with all his might to stop him. Then fate had done its duty and shown him the way to end all the abuse he had suffered. The open window overlooking the courtyard had invited him to push his father out and the four yards to the ground had finished the job. He had died instantly and taken his brutality with him. Alex never saw his friend again, and spent the next five years in a mental hospital before returning home to his addicted mother.

  That particular morning, he left the house early to take a walk in the park before going to the bar. In the distance, he saw a child and walked toward him, intrigued by the gestures he was making. It looked as if he was talking to the birds, because each movement of his hand was answered by a different chirp. He had been watching him for several minutes when a man holding a briefcase arrived. He tried to listen to their conversation, as he liked to do, but they were too far away. So, he hid between the trees and silently dr
ew closer so that he could overhear them. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy take a sheet of paper from his pocket and begin to read. He had no idea what the words meant, but the sound of them gave him goose-bumps. He began to weep for joy. All his terrible memories were erased for a moment by an unfamiliar feeling of peace. For the first time in his life, he recognized happiness and decided to follow it.

  Chapter 20

  “Your son’s a lovely lad, isn’t he?” Luc’s voice came as a shock. Norman whirled round and saw a man duck from behind a nearby tree.

  “You! What are you doing? Are you stalking me now as well?”

  “It’s for your own good, to show you a truth that no one wants to tell you.”

  “Truth? I only want answers!”

  “No, you don’t, old friend. You need to be illuminated.”

  “I don’t know why, but every time I talk to you I get a strange feeling and then bad things always happen. So, this time I’d be better off leaving.”

  Norman turned on his heel and stalked off, probing the air for confirmation that he had made the right choice at least this time. He was at a loss to know what to do or what would happen, but he had an uncontrollable urge to hide in a corner to think over everything that had happened that day. There must surely be a thread connecting all the events. There had to be a reason why his life was being derailed. And there had to be a reason for meeting his son that day in particular.

  “He didn’t tell you he’s ill, did he?”

  The sound of his footsteps stopped abruptly, ousted by the echo of the words pronounced by the man he was trying to get away from. He rounded on him with a menacing and incredulous look.

  “And just who is ill?”

  “Will. It’s serious. Your father wanted you to meet him before he takes him on his one-way journey.”

  His mind refused to take it in, replacing it with the love kindled in him by a child he hadn’t known existed.

  “You’re lying!”

  “Why should I lie? I’m here to help you.”

  “And this is how you help? Who are you?”

  “I’m the light that brings solace to those who’ve lost it; I’m the one who trusts in his neighbor so that he can become a better person and who helps the weak conquer fear.”

  “And that’s supposed to help me? How? What’s wrong with Will?”

  “Fate enjoys playing games, don’t you know that? And when it finds an amusing one, it doesn’t let up. You should see it when it calls on chaos and tells it how to make its pastime even more of a blast. In your case it was a stroke of genius to inflict on your son the only thing that might dispel the doubts that cloud your mind about truth. He’s got the same defect you had as a child. His heart is packing up and he only has a few days left to live.”

  Norman shuddered and a stab of anguish more acute than any he had previously known pierced him to the quick. His body felt as if it were being squashed by a weight that would make him faint and free him from a pain that was too great to bear. He kept his face impassive as he searched the man’s eyes to see if there was any hope in a death sentence issued too casually to be assimilated and accepted unquestioningly. His heart was racing, as if trying to flee from such a powerful emotion. His head was pounding, stopping him from leaving the dark pit he was lost in. The only words he was able to stammer were incomprehensible to him too, but Luc knew it was a cry for help.

  “That’s what I’m here for, my friend. Trust me and everything will work out fine.”

  As had happened before, and without understanding how or why, the man managed to transmit the peace Norman needed. He set aside all the negative sensations that had engulfed his body and mind, and sieved those words for the hope that would bring him a little relief.

  “What have I got to do?”

  “That depends on how far you’re willing to go.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Your heart knows the answer to that. And you’ve always listened to your heart. You remember the name O’Neal, don’t you? Of course you do. He’s the one who stole your life. He’s the one person who knows your secrets and fears. And he’s the one who can save you.”

  “O’Neal? How can that bastard save me?”

  “Only a few people in the world have hearts that are compatible with yours and Will’s. One of them is Mr. O’Neal. You have the chance to settle the score with that imposter once and for all. It’s up to you. You’ll have to deal with guilt, fear, anger, horror and logic. But in the end, everything you think will always bring you to a single fork. Either you take the path leading away from reality and use the money to disappear and make a new life for yourself, or you choose to see reality for what it is and steel yourself to defy fate, killing it if necessary, but with the knowledge of doing it out of need, revenge, to change it! If you choose the first option, you’ll live a peaceful life to all intents and purposes, but you’ll wake up every morning knowing that the man who stole your dreams is living with the heart that could have saved your son. And eventually you’ll rue the day you didn’t do what was right. The second path will take you to hell, but you’ll get back what’s yours. It’s your choice.”

  Without another word, Luc was gone, leaving Norman with the knowledge that from that moment on, his life would change; whether for better or worse would be his decision alone.

  Chapter 21

  The meal was excellent. Eating in an Italian restaurant was like making love for Tommy Queen. The pasta served in an aubergine and ricotta cheese sauce made his mouth water far more than other dishes with more renowned and aristocratic titles. None of those had the power to take him back to the old days when ingredients were more important than impressions. The wine he had selected was no great vintage, but gave peace of mind nonetheless. The day had been favorable and everything was going according to plan. The project he had been working on without respite for three years was of prime importance. Naturally he was exhausted, but the privileges enjoyed by men of power bestowed moments of rest and relaxation that other human beings could only dream about.

  The place was emptier than usual, a sign, perhaps, that Tuesday evenings brought little business to restaurateurs. But that was fine by him. He ate his favorite meal to the sound of classical music that gave comfort to those who needed it. The door opened, inviting a man and woman into the room. Tommy watched them come in and then refocused his attention on the wine he had been sipping. His phone rang, but he would never reply while he was dining, even if the Pope had been calling.

  “You know it’s rude not to answer when someone calls, Mr. Queen?”

  The man he had seen entering a moment ago had approached him and fixed him with an inquiring look as befitted the question. The woman sat down next to him, unleashing all her powers of seduction. Her hypnotic eyes had a surreal beauty.

  “And who might you be?”

  “I’m your guide.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t need any guide. Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re in too weak a position at the moment to be able to influence the events that are taking place.”

  “Sorry? Which events?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Do you really think that someone who introduces himself as your guide isn’t fully aware of what the man you’re trying to impress has done?”

  “I don’t believe I follow you.”

  “Believe isn’t the verb best suited to your person. Want would be more appropriate. You don’t want to follow me.”

  “Well really! What do you want from me?”

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “Listen up! My bodyguards would be much happier to keep you company than yours truly.”

  The woman began to speak, showering so much attention on him that he melted.

  “Come on, Tommy. Do you really believe you don’t need help?”

  Her hand grazed his pelvis, probing his very core with its temptations.

  “Stay cool, honey. We’re here to broa
den your mind. We’re your friends.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Daisy. And tonight I feel really lonely.”

  Her warm lips brushed Tommy’s, and he was overcome by sensations that were, for him, completely novel.

  “Now I have your attention, Mr. Queen, I’d like to ask you to analyze the facts.”

  “Which facts?”

  “You’re a powerful man, Mr. Queen, but your ambitions have, let’s say, run slightly aground recently. You have certain privileges, of course, pots of money and women galore. But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

  “You seem to know a lot about me. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

  “A name is nothing more than a label to stick to a face in order to remember it. But, if you really insist, you can call me Luc. Knowledge is something else entirely. Nobody knows that better than you. Men fear the unknown and what it can do. Do you really want to know me? If you do, forget everything your eyes have shown you and look deep into your soul to uncover the desire that wants to make you understand your true nature. You’ll have to give in to pleasure and make it a goal. You’ll have to learn to have faith.”

  “You ought to be a politician.”

  “Oh, but I am a politician. And a soldier, a general, a lover and a god. But most of all, I’m truth, pure and indestructible.”

  “Which truth?”

  “The one you’ve been seeking for a long time. The one you think you’ll find in the head of an autistic child.”

  Disbelief sent a shiver down Tommy’s back and into his heart. One of his men was evidently double-crossing him.

  “That’s what this is about then? Who are you working for? You’ll never get that formula! The man who ordered me to find it is more powerful than you could ever imagine!”