“Yeah, but I tried already. The craphead at the gate wouldn’t let me leave. So, I gave up. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by running off.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“My gut? My gut gets me in trouble a lot. Patti’s mad at me, because that’s all I do. She says I don’t think.”
“She sounds like a wise lady, Max.”
“I suppose — hey! How do you know my name?”
“There’s not much that happens here in Agarha I’m not aware of.”
They stopped. “You’re the old guy Zoe talked about, aren’t you?”
“I guess. How many old men have you seen here?”
“You’re like wise and stuff, right?”
“I’ve been called such back in the day, except always with ass at the end of it.”
Max laughed, easing his angst. “What do you think I should do? You know, about the women.”
“It’s not for me to decide. You have to make your own choices.”
“I can’t. Every time I do, I muck up.”
“Max, you’re a bright boy. I think your gut instinct is more about telling yourself what you need to do. You only get in trouble when you hesitate to question the reason why.”
“What about the other one? I don’t think she wants me to leave.”
“It’s not her choice, is it? It’s not like she’s your mother.”
“No, but she sure acts like it.”
“Make your choice. Zoe is a big girl. She’ll understand.”
“But —”
“Hey, I’m a smart old man, remember? If you can’t take my advice, who can you?” He pointed at a door. “You mind opening it for me?”
Max swung the door open to expose a long dark tunnel. “This isn’t the infirmary.”
“No. This route runs parallel to the way you came in. Halfway up it runs into the other one. Make your choice.”
He patted the boy’s hand and left him there to grapple with the insecurities that have plagued him his whole life. Max was more jumbled than ever.
What should I do?
His gut said, go.
He hesitated, but for once he consciously listened to his instincts. Taking the hidden path to the surface, he prayed that he wasn’t too late.
Chapter 23
Making a deal with the devil
A block from the brownstone, Max cut the bike’s engine and coasted to the front stoop. He knew better than to use the door. Just like with the Lounge, there was more than one entrance — some that were only known to him.
He entered through the secret panel under the staircase. The lights were off and the air passive. He detected a soft rhythmic thumping coming from upstairs. Not concerned for his safety, he flew to the second level.
In the partial darkness, he discovered Scar’s body on the floor just inside the doorway of the study. Lamplight from the room draped a pastel shroud over the corpse. Max stayed in the shadows as he checked for signs of life. The man’s death filled him with dread.
He couldn’t call out to her for fear of jeopardizing her safety if she was in hiding. He eased into the room, mindful not to disturb the dead. He went to the desk and enhanced the light. When he turned, he saw Patti splayed on the chaise. He fell to her, hoping beyond reason she was still alive.
“Patti! Patti!” he cried as he examined her. It was as he feared. Pulling her into his arms, he shook her body. “No.”
Blood-tears flowed. This is it. There’s no making this right. What have I done?
He held her close and collapsed into desolation. If he could have laid beside the evidence of his worthlessness and wasted away until joining her in death, he would have done so freely.
It was in this same room, on this same lounger, when he was a child in need of consoling, he could come and find her arms always inviting. He would lie with her and listen to her sing melodies to scare away the monsters chasing him. Patti’s comforting hug always did the trick. Those monsters never found him so long as he could rest his head on her bosom and hear her heart beat to the song’s tempo.
One big bright moon
shining in the room.
Hello there
Hello there
With two little mockingbirds
singing outside pretty words.
Tweety tweet
Tweety tweet
Above three cute kittens
licking their dirty mittens.
Purry purr
Purry purr
Inside four scampering mice
play in their cubby thrice.
Squeaky squeak
Squeaky squeak
Counting five gentle goodnights
for one sweet little kiddie
cuddling softly with a loving mommy.
Nighty night
Nighty night
The fond lullaby did not bring him solace, only more anguish. He rocked her in his arms and hummed the song.
Kroll waited in a black corner, quietly observing. Max’s torment was a concept he could not identify with; it was an unknowable mystery to him. Yet, he saw the boy’s pain as valuable.
Humans are easily controlled when they are at their most vulnerable.
His movements were fog and no average man would detect him unless he permitted it. He chose the right moment to reveal his presence.
Max rested Patti on the cushion. Fueled by wrath, he lunged. Anticipating the violence, the demon froze him with a slight gesture. Max knelt on the floor, unable to move.
“Typical human reaction, allowing emotion to guide you.” He released the boy from the psionic grip.
Undeterred, Max slammed him against the wall. With one hand clutching the throat, he lifted the villain off the floor with herculean might. “I’ll kill you!”
The assassin didn’t resist, allowing the fury to surface. If he had not formed an energy barrier against the crushing grip, he surmised the boy could have pulled his head off with one firm tug. But, hesitation restrained the vicious attack.
Kroll gasped for air. “Then do it... you are many... things, but you... not... a killer.”
Max’s fingers tightened around the windpipe. He wanted to kill, but the more he willed himself to destroy the murderer, the more his better angel held him back. He released the demon and stumbled to the desk, hating himself for not being able to avenge Patti. “Go ahead and get it over with,” he pleaded.
“I am afraid you misunderstand me,” Kroll said, massaging his throat. “Why would I waste someone such as you?”
“What?”
“You are a realist, Mr. Zander. That is a rarity in today’s society.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“I believe you and I can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“I’ll never make a deal with you.”
“No? Think. What is it you covet the most? A new life elsewhere? Wealth perhaps? Maybe freedom to go where you want without restrictions and to do whatever you desire?”
The temptations were not finding a buyer.
“All this I can give you. You are a man of no loyalties. These people who have involved you in their conflict mean nothing to you.”
Max wished it was true. He wanted to hate Pavel and Chacon and their damn crusade without remorse. He wanted to hate Zoe most of all.
“Are they worth your energy? Does your false bravado and chivalry matter to them? You have so much to lose by refusing my offer, yet so much to gain by helping me this one and only time. All I want is the girl. Would that ease your conscience?”
“Why do you want Marta?”
“She is a tragic pawn in this sordid affair. I am offering you a chance to correct your mistakes and receive compensation for it in return.”
Max dropped beside the chair and held Patti’s cold hand between his own, as if he could bring heat back to it.
“I understand the reluctance. You cling to an outdated notion of compassion. It is admirable. However, consider why you should
stay faithful to those who have deceived you. Where was their loyalty? They never bothered with such steadfast principles themselves. When it came to you, they lived by the ambiguities of their falsehoods. Are these the people you wish to protect?”
The demon knew he had him.
“Did Patti share the same notion of honor as you do? I think not. She was pragmatic. She negotiated for both her life and yours, even going as far as to sacrifice others in the process. It is a shame I was too late to save her. The bounty hunters had extinguished her light before I arrived.”
Was any of what the assassin was saying true? He didn’t know what to believe. The world was upside down and turned inside out. Nothing made sense.
“Am I too late to help you, Mr. Zander? Or will you accept my offer and help save innocent lives?”
Max’s misgivings waged a bitter war. He tore at the emotional barricade forming inside him. Through the veils of grief, he acknowledged that this man stood before him with a hand outstretched, offering a way out of Hell. He rose to his feet with shame crippling his spine.
“Yes. I accept.”
“Very good.” The words sounded evil coming from that mouth.
Kroll touched Max’s shoulder, triumphant in the corruption. Through the jacket, he could feel the monster’s cold flesh. Patti’s dead body was warmer than this soulless creature.
He handed Max a small pen shaped device. “When you find the girl, activate this beacon.”
“What’s going to happen to the others?”
“They are criminals and justice will prevail. Why should you concern yourself with their fates? Your reward and absolution is worth this sacrifice.”
“And Marta? Will she be safe?”
“I give you my word; I will take care of her.” Kroll walked out of the study and into the shadows of the hallway. “I await your signal.”
Max returned to Patti. In death, she appeared at peace, and ignorant of his disgrace. He held her hand against his lips. He questioned if she would condone or condemn what he was about to do. She was many things in life, but who was she in the end? She died protecting him, that much was clear. But, who was the taker of her life? Were Cho’s men to blame? Or, had the assassin lied to him? No matter how he tried to spin it, there was no getting out of this mess with a clean conscience.
She wasn’t around anymore to chase away his monsters. He kissed her one last time and folded her hands together on her belly.
He left the brownstone by way of the front door. He got on the bike, looking back only once. He rode off, never to return.
Chapter 24
Second chances
The everyday activity of a child playing without need or reason was a concept unfamiliar to Marta. Her papa had structured her life for academics and other pursuits of the intellect, leaving little time for frivolous endeavors. She learned to speak a dozen languages before her sixth birthday; and by the time she was eight, she could dissertate the prophetic works of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Not many her age could debate the follies of Zeno’s paradoxes in relation to Denair’s monoverse causality.
But, she could.
Still, none of those lofty accomplishments, while praiseworthy, were essential to her life as she found it on this day. Something had been missing. It was a simple element others took for granted, such as frolicking with no reason or purpose.
Her gentle innocence secured her acceptance and she quickly made friends with the Agarhan youngsters. To them, she was just another kid running across the green field. The little ones begged for her consideration, which she gladly gave.
She was alive.
Emil ambled along the outer ridge of the field with his mind adrift. The sound of his daughter and her new friends laughing attracted his attention. He stopped and observed their fun.
Happy children were a rarity in his domain. Not long after Romania’s destruction, when the remnants of his people gathered in scattered refugee camps, there was no joy among their children. He remembered Adi as the dirty child. She didn’t play. She didn’t smile. She simply survived from one moment to the next. To see Agarha’s children frolicking, unearthed sentiment he had forgotten. It drove home the Old Man’s wisdom from earlier in the night.
Marta is not an end to a means. She is a child.
He didn’t know how to process that truth. She was capable of incalculable power and if there was ever a chance to stop the Alliance, it rested with her. But, she wasn’t a weapon. These children understood that fact.
“She is a child,” he said aloud. “This is where she needs to be.”
He glanced around to see if anyone heard him talking to himself. Either no one cared or he hadn’t spoken loud enough for anyone to notice. Relieved of potential embarrassment, he carried on.
The Old Man found him sitting at the bottom of the stairs near the bunker’s entrance, ignoring people and trying to stay out of the way of night workers going about their routines.
“This place is nothing more than a network of forgotten tunnels and caves,” he said, taking Emil by surprise. “But, to these children, it’s a playground.”
“She’s been a prisoner her whole life. Hiding down here is nothing new.”
“Yes and no. I admit it’s not the ideal home for a child to have. Living here alters your circadian rhythm and plays tricks with the illusions of night and day. But, at least we have families, structure, and some resemblance of a society. I created Agarha to replace what was lost to us.”
“I made a terrible mistake taking her from the only home she has ever known. At least in Nerees’s tower she was safe. She will be happy here. She has to stay.”
“What about you?”
“I can’t. There’s a war up there, remember?”
“Of course, you must choose your own path.” The Old Man hobbled away. “Can I make a rare suggestion? Go to her before you leave.”
Marta’s playmates had moved on to greater adventures. They wanted her to go with them, but she bowed out to take a well-earned breather. Alone on the grassy field, she stared up at the artificial sky and enjoyed the tranquility.
She had been aware of her shameful secret her entire life. In her hermetic sanctuary at Jaures Tower, she could keep it in check, because she was always alone.
When Markus would visit her, she tried her best to control the impulses, but sometimes she couldn’t resist and would read his thoughts by accident.
Upon discovering her psychic trespass, he’d say, “Mon chéri, it is rude to eavesdrop. One’s mind is a private affair. If the world learns of you and what you can do, they will take you from me.”
Being in Agarha challenged her in ways she wasn’t prepared. With so many people in such cramped proximity, her urges tugged at her self-control. The effort was becoming impossible. Her mind demanded to explore. To nullify the pressure, she tried something radical — surrendering.
At first, the thoughts and emotions from dozens of individuals flooded in as a series of jumbled voices. She concentrated to separate the distortion into distinct patterns, but it made the noise worse. Only when she stopped trying was when the chaos became decipherable.
She listened to a man complain to himself about the potato crop’s condition. There was a woman thinking of an interlude she had with a married man the night before. Those were the easy ones. Many of the other voices made no sense to her without a reference to go on, but she listened anyway. She browsed the samplings of fear, love, happiness, anger, and satisfaction. A little morsel from each mind imprinted a shade on her consciousness.
As she surfed between thoughts, one wave in particular grew louder than the rest. It belonged to a man; a sad man.
I don’t know what to say to her, he thought in a mental tongue other than English.
It was curious, because she understood his thoughts without knowing his language.
How do I tell her, I am her father?
She recognized him. From their first encounter, she had been able to hear his mind louder than anyone els
e’s. It was the General, and she accepted the fact he was thinking about her. She opened her eyes. Emil was close by. How long had he been waiting there? He seemed uncertain and was about to leave when she looked his way.
“Don’t go, please.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s too late,” she said without realizing how the remark could be misinterpreted. She changed her tone. “You’re not. Will you sit with me?”
For a brave man, he received her invitation with adolescent nervousness. Sitting on the grass, he left what he considered an appropriate space between them. He was content and didn’t say anything to spoil the mood.
“I like it here. I’ve never seen grass before. Have you?”
It was a silly question, because she knew the answer by seeing his mind form the images before speaking the words.
“Yes, back in my country before the war.”
“Please, tell me.”
“We had meadows that ran for kilometers over rolling hills. They were so green it looked as if an artist had painted them. How do I explain it? You see this grass, but how can you truly admire its color without seeing it under a real sky? The hue of grass and the evergreen of a tree leaf are nothing without a blue sky or a white sun illuminating its translucence. My people would take trips to visit those fields and have picnics out in the sun or sometimes under the shade of those trees. I wish I could say we appreciated that beauty, but I would be lying. No one thinks about such things when they have it.”
“What is a pic-nic?”
“A picnic is when you pack a box with food and go sit on the grass and enjoy it. You usually do it with someone special.”
“It sounds fun.”
“It is... was.”
“Do you often think about those fields?”
Every day, is what he wanted to say. “Sometimes... usually when I dream. I can see them like they were.”
She saw those fields too by looking with the senses of his recollections. They were more beautiful than how he described. She imagined herself among a grove of trees, listening to birds singing fanciful songs. The sun peeked through white fluffy clouds high on a backdrop of deep blue.
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