Like all the tales of ghosts and goblins and other such stories that children mature out of, the Academy was similarly held in the same mythical status by all the school-aged persons of Labor. It was a common term found in an idiom expressed whenever a child was disobedient: the Academy walls must have your name written upon them.
Although there was always the insubstantial threat of being dragged away to its dungeons, John had never known of any of his classmates, or anybody from the past few graduating classes for that matter, to be so dysfunctional that they needed to be sent there. There were stories of torture and deprivation, various abuses and even death to those that entered its iron doors. It supposedly existed in a cold and sterile, brick and mortar building that was erected somewhere just outside Labor’s Corral. It was not known whether it truly existed or not, but most of the youth believed that there was something out there, something to fear should they ever get too far out of line.
Struggling to pull his knees in closer, there was a sudden tightening of his shirt from around his ribs. Taking in even the shallowest of breaths became next to impossible. The crimson, mirrored image was falling away, and the ugly reflective surface was coagulating into a plastic-like dullness lacking any luster. The Monster’s grunting and panting was a sign of the strain his muscles were enduring as he lifted John to his feet.
“Time to stop playing games now, son. We need to be going,” he said.
The vise-like grip he held upon John’s shirt eased up as the Monster was seemingly satisfied that John was able to maintain his balance without any assistance. As the strain around his torso relaxed, John was finally able to take in that much needed air in order to gather his senses.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a figure standing behind the beastly man. Realizing that it was his mother brought him no comfort whatsoever, as the moment he made eye contact with her, he could see that she was staring at him with that same mask of insanity that the Monster wore.
Strangely, at such a miserable time, there were details of the woman of which John was able to absorb. Her blouse was an impressive sight: a common, gray-white secretary shirt that had the appearance of being sloppily decorated with a can of red spray paint. The underside of her chin and several areas of her skirt exhibited the same splattered pattern. From which wound of his she had ostensibly received this ghastly adornment John could not be certain. Was it from his head, his arms, or his back? It could have been from any one of these… but for now it didn’t really matter.
Her open hand lifted up high above her head, as if she was about to give a pledge. Without warning, it was brought down upon the side of John’s face with such an intense force that it sent salivated projectiles exiting from his nose and mouth, splashing upon the Monster’s shoes.
“You’re finished here,” she grumbled.
John’s underarms burned, as if hot coals were being forced into them, as his two tormentors took hold of him and dragged him to his room. When they released him he dropped to the floor, limp and pale. He could hear the Monster leaving, walking away, his footsteps audibly waning down the hall.
The sounds of someone rummaging through the closet outside echoed throughout the apartment as articles of clothing and stored items were being thrown around, crashing to the floor and walls. The man then returned, panting and enraged. With one final blow, a suitcase was thrown upon John’s abdomen causing him to curl up writhing in pain, coughing and sobbing.
“Pack your things. We’re leaving in 10 minutes,” the Monster spoke before exiting the room once again, followed by his sneering wife.
As she passed through the doorway, he could hear the steps of his mother pause as she turned back with an evil eye. The blackness of the world was closing in on him as she closed the door, saying, “Whatever you’ve not placed in the luggage will be thrown out.”
The loneliness that had blanketed his being when he awoke on the floor after an unknown period of unconsciousness was now more than he could bear. He wanted to let himself drift off to the long sleep of death. But as strong as his will was to make a final exit from the world, he knew that, just as in birth, it was not his to command.
As the frigidness of the hard floor began to seep through his shirt, stealing the precious heat of his being, he began the endeavor to move forward, to live, not for his own gain, but for Sophia.
His body could be broken and shattered, but there was something that existed within him that he knew could never be destroyed. With all the strength he could muster he took to his knees, resting his head upon his bed and weeping. He ran his hands across the familiar smoothness of his sheets with the full realization that it would be the last time he would feel the soft warmth of cotton for a very long time, perhaps, ever again.
“There must be someone who could help,” he sobbed. “Anyone. This couldn’t be all there is. There must be something more. Help me please, Great Savior… or You, the Great Unknown beyond my understanding! Please, help me. Please, help Sophia.”
The tension of John’s muscles began to settle. For some odd reason he gained a peculiar feeling of freedom that was suddenly overcoming his entire inner universe.
He was contemplating for a moment about the peace that had entered into his soul, when an acutely strange awakening brought him back into the sensual world. Within his palm he felt a hard, squared object. He had unknowingly moved his hand under his mattress, sliding it above the surface of the box spring. Pulling his arm out, he realized that he had happened upon an old, yellowed, folded letter from Sophia that he had hidden several years ago. Spreading out the note, he lifted it to his eyes and read:
John,
Should our Savior cease to shine, or to the Haven I must go to rest my body and mind, my love for you will never die. You will live with me beyond death itself. You will always be a part of me.
Yours forever,
Sofia
A tickling drizzle fell across his cheeks, as John’s tears dripped from the edge of his jaw line, falling upon his legs. He was joyful and terrified in his heart, neither feeling being more dominant. Folding up the letter he placed it into his pocket. The journey ahead was not going to be easy, but he knew he would survive no matter what was about happen to him.
Chapter Five
Fighting to keep the pace that his parents were dictating, John’s limped gait made his escort to the elevator one more torturous event that he had to endure.
Keeping watch from his peephole, Mr. Sanders knew from the fact that John’s parents, having not gone to work this morning, as well the severity of the beatings they had been giving to the boy, would make the Academy the most likely of places where the young man’s journey would end.
“This isn’t good. No, indeed,” he said.
Sofia’s eyes lifted with concern, “What’s not good? What do you see?”
“No good at all,” he repeated.
Attempting to gain Mr. Sanders’ attention seemed a futile task. He continued to stare at the floor, mumbling under his breath. He was too caught up in his thoughts to pay Sofia any mind. He glanced about the room as if searching for something. His eyes appeared wide and frantic as if he were trying to figure out a solution to John’s predicament.
Pacing about the room, the leather of his shoes creaked upon the hard floor with each step. In the still silence the sound was almost deafening. Mr. Sanders walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. He splashed some water on his face. Picking up a towel and drying himself off, he immediately turned back towards Sofia. With a smile and a snap of his fingers, he said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
As he proceeded out into the hallway, from down the corridor Sofia could hear the elevator door closing and the Monster’s voice, deep and muffled, was cut off in the process. The apartment door was beginning to shut when Mr. Sanders peeked his head back inside saying, “Don’t go anywhere, okay. Just wait here for now.”
He began to close the door once again, but hesitated, saying, “And, um… be ready
to move fast when I return.”
And with those words he winked his eye and walked away, shutting Sofia inside his apartment.
Gathering up the black box and all of its belongings, Sofia set it upon her lap, folding her hands over it. She knew that she had to patiently wait for him, to trust the old man.
The threshold leading to the hallway, worn and dreary, reminded her of the horrors of the reality of her situation. She could envision the Labor Security forces crashing through it, weapons drawn, the splintering metal and wood tearing through the space between her and them. Reminding herself that it was only a potential reality did not bring any consolation. It actually only existed in her head. Nowhere else, she thought, trying, to no effect, to assuage her fears.
Alone in the dimly lit apartment, Sofia’s silhouette was a flat, black substance cradled on a piece of old, wooden furniture with a lime green backdrop.
Chapter Six
The sterile, white car sat parked under a dim, orange light, just one amongst a scattered dozen of the identical vehicle in the underground parking structure. Seeing it was a relief to John, as his legs could scarcely carry him much further. The Monster was trying to get as much anguish out of him as possible. This was verified all the more in John’s thoughts, as his captor had chosen the furthest vehicle he could find from the elevator.
“It’s going to be a rough ride from here on out,” the Monster commented with his head held high. “No more fun and games for you.”
Glaring down out of the corner of his eye, he gave a snide smirk of success as he witnessed John moaning and grimacing in pain.
With only three cars to go before he could finally get some rest, there arose a familiar voice that prompted the three of them to put a halt to their trek. The voice reverberated off of the concrete walls and ceilings, disguising the direction from which it came.
“It’s about time you teach that boy a solid lesson,” said Mr. Sanders. “He’s been asking for a sound beating for quite some time, has he not?”
Turning back towards the elevator lobby, the Monster grasped John by the shirt collar keeping him from falling over. John’s mother smiled and said, “Hello, Mr. Sanders.”
Her eyes then cast upon John to whom she scowled and said, “Mr. Sanders is one of the finest men in the City. You could only wish to grow to be half the man he is. He’s given his whole life to the work we do here, never complaining, always busy.”
Mr. Sanders belched out a laugh, saying, “We are all great men when we work for the cause.”
Like the blind patriot that he was, the Monster took comfort in the words, and John could clearly see it written upon his face.
“Our boy has been caught performing some of the most heinous acts today,” the Monster said. “Would you believe that he’s been on the rooftops watching the Great Star rise and set?”
Mr. Sanders’ feet fidgeted in discomfort.
“You don’t say. On the rooftops, eh?” he asked, clearing his throat. “What, in Labor, could you be doing up there, son? You, um, shouldn’t be doing that. That’s not good. No, indeed.”
John caught a glimpse of the suspicious glance that shot from the Monster towards Mr. Sanders, but, it was obviously only meant to be seen by his mother. The odd lowering of his brow coupled with the peculiar squint was quite queer, as if he thought the old man was acting strangely.
The Monster spoke, “We’ve had enough of his rebelliousness. We’ve tried our best. But, he’s going to the Academy today where he’ll be straightened out for good.”
By the puzzled expression that Mr. Sanders face was exhibiting, John was unable to discern the meaning of the bizarre communication transpiring among the adults. He had never actually seen them talking together in the past, nor had he ever seen them interact in any manner other than dropping passing salutations to one another. They were at odds with each other, yet they were not.
“Oh, my,” Mr. Sanders said. “The Academy! You have been bad. Yes, indeed. Very bad, I must say.”
Gesturing with his hand to the Monster to step a little closer, Mr. Sanders took him by the arm, moving the man a few feet away from John and his mother. Huddling together, the two of them began to discourse in mumbles and whispers.
The audible murmurings taking place between them were mostly of a softer nature, but it was intermingled with several moments of course verbal encountering. Unable to comprehend any of their words, John could see that the conversation flowed back and forth equally between the two participants.
The old man’s hand gestures were subtle, refusing to give away any hints as to their topic of discussion. Suddenly the Monster burst out in laughter, patting his elder on the back. They both turned to John.
As he approached with a smile, Mr. Sanders said, “Come with me, son. I want to talk with you for a moment.”
Placing an arm around the young man, as if he were an old friend, Mr. Sanders led him back down the path from which he had come. Out of sight from his parents, he had brought the suffering boy back into the elevator hall.
A cloudy and disorienting effect was beginning to settle within John’s head as the pain began to wear deeper into his body. Feeling the weight of Mr. Sanders’ arm pressing upon his shoulder caused his stomach to churn. The old man, recognizing John’s frail condition, assisted him as best he could as he moved them towards the elevator’s retinal scanner. Looking back, making sure they were not being followed, Mr. Sanders peered into the security lenses.
It took a few minutes, but in a moment the door opened and John’s elder, anxiously looking over his shoulder, ushered John in to the elevator car. Nervously pressing the button to get the elevator moving to the top floor, Mr. Sanders began to grumble and curse under his breath as the doors refused to shut and the Monster’s voice, inquiring from around the corner, resounded with concern and distrust.
“Is everything alright Mr. Sanders?” the Monster called out.
The old man’s head protruded out of the threshold of the elevator, saying, “We’re doing fine. I’m just about finished talking with him.”
His shaking, wrinkled finger tapped upon the button once again, but there was no response. The doors continued to remain wide open.
With a frantic look in his eye, he pressed it several more times. But still the doors would not close.
“Alright, Mr. Sanders,” the Monster said with an obvious irritation in his voice, “we need to be leaving now.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Sanders,” John’s mother called out. “But we really must be going. It’s getting quite late.”
The brisk hustle of footsteps from within the garage began with a tone that meant business. Mr. Sanders moved John further back into the elevator, as if to shield him from an approaching storm. By the increased volume of the tapping of the shoes it appeared that his parents would be rounding the corner at any moment. The old man closed his eyes and began to speak in an eerie whisper to someone, yet no one else, besides he and John, was present. By the expression on his face and the tremble in his voice, it appeared that he was pleading for help. Unable to control his legs, John held on to the familiar, cold railing and slid to the floor.
The voice of the Monster was beginning to rise just beyond the entrance to the lobby when the vibration of the doors and the humming of the motors began. At the moment of the first motion towards closure, the Monster’s shadow became clearly visible, stretching forth with a ghastly display of elongated limbs protruding off of a thin trunk. The footsteps were now just within reach of the elevator car and closing in fast. The doors finally met, sealing the two parties one from another. Opening his eyes with a sigh of relief, Mr. Sanders looked down upon the broken young man, sickly and limp, at his feet.
“Okay, my little friend,” he said. “There’s no turning back now.”
With a pious lifting of the head, facing upward towards a sky of which he could not see, Mr. Sanders closed his eyes and said, “Yes, my dear, today I’ll be coming home.”
The screechin
g sound of the elevator doors opening from down the hall brought Sofia to an unnerving attention. Standing up and listening intently, she could make out the sounds as of an animal panting and struggling, which was fast approaching.
“Sofia,” came a soft, but strained, whisper.
Cautiously moving to the door, she pressed her ear firmly upon it, discerning the distinct groaning just outside.
“Sofia, open the door, it’s me,” the whisperer repeated.
Hesitating for a moment and thinking that, perhaps, maybe it was a trap, she refrained, not even daring to peer through the peephole for fear that the dimming light that was passing through it would give away the fact that she was actually inside.
“Sofia, please hurry. There isn’t much time,” the unfamiliar voice spoke with urgency.
With a trembling lip she closed her eyes, knowing that the Monster could be standing on the other side. Her mind began to wander as if she had lost control of her thoughts. Hovering above what appeared to be her body, she could see herself sitting upon the edge of a building, feet dangling above the streets below. The light of the Savior was caressing her face. And, although she was merely a spectator in this vision, there was a soothing blanket of heat passing through her on its journey towards her likeness. As a queer calmness began to grow deep within her, she settled her heart to accept whatever the consequences of opening the door were.
The lock’s bolt was cold to the touch. As she began to turn it, Sofia heard a distinct thud. Something heavy had fallen to the floor just outside. She placed a firm grip on the dial, turning it clockwise. The door suddenly opened. Stepping back and nearly losing her balance, Mr. Sanders fell into the apartment, stumbling over John’s body and catching his arm on Sofia’s shoulder.
The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey Page 4