Provex City

by Michael Pierce

  Jeremy walked up to the door and knocked. He stepped back and waited. The door became translucent, which I guessed was our cue to enter. Jeremy led the way.

  The foyer was similar to Jeremy’s in style, but dwarfed his in size. I thought I was in awe before, but it was nothing compared to the awe I felt for the majestic living space before me.

  “Welcome, nephews!”

  The man descending the staircase was perfectly postured, moved with fluid, graceful movements, and looked vaguely familiar. He had flowing black hair and a trimmed beard. His black dress clothes accentuated his broad physique. As he drew closer, I noticed his crystalline silver necklace and cufflinks; he looked like casual royalty.

  “It’s good to see you, Jeremy. And this must be the infamous Oliver. I’ve waited a long time to see you again. You look so much like your father.” The man stopped for a moment, stood before me, and was either examining my features or searching for a reaction. “You probably don’t remember me. My name is Kafka Lorne.” He came one step closer and extended a fierce, tattooed hand.

  Something inside me screamed when I heard that name. Memories of the man from my nightmares flooded back to me. I couldn’t breathe.

  The bogeyman is real!

  “Where’s Nicholae?” Jeremy asked Kafka, while he and I shook hands.

  “Oh, he couldn’t make it today,” he said and flashed us a brilliant smile, ten times more infectious than Jeremy’s. “I guess you’re stuck with me instead.”

  19

  Nicholae?

  “What do you mean he couldn’t make it?” Jeremy’s voice wavered.

  “Nicholae sends his deepest apologies. He was called away and will be back soon. For now, let us sit and talk. Relax and enjoy the family accommodations. Probably a little nicer than you’re used to, am I right?”

  I nodded.

  “Come in and have a seat. Soak up the view; it’s breathtaking,” Kafka said, inviting us into his living room. The sun touched the horizon and set it ablaze. “Jeremy tells me you took an Incarnation pill.” Kafka sat on a couch across from us. He crossed his legs and extended his arm along the back of the couch.

  “I guess so, I don’t remember,” I said.

  “It must be hard to learn that there is so much you don’t remember. This whole experience here must be something else.”

  “It has been. I guess I was hit by a car and spent the past few days in the hospital. It’s still hard to believe this is real.”

  “That makes for a harsh welcome,” Kafka said and turned to Jeremy. “You should have helped young Oliver transition into this plane a little safer.”

  “I’m sorry; Cias wasn’t there to help me when he finally transitioned. I wasn’t expecting him so soon.”

  “I guess we shouldn’t underestimate our innocent Oliver,” Kafka said, turning back to me and repositioned his body on the couch. He stretched his arms over his head. “Would you boys like a drink?”

  Jeremy and I both nodded and two wine glasses appeared on the coffee table in front of us.

  I reached for my glass—not fully expecting it to be real—and took a sip. My lips puckered at the strong, dry taste of the red wine. Jeremy sipped from his glass casually, seemingly used to the bite.

  “You’re probably not familiar with the Lorne name,” Kafka said.

  I shook my head.

  Kafka extended his right hand over the table and dropped his wrist to show a tattoo of a wolf head on the side of his hand. “This is the official brand of the Lorne family. You get it when you become a Lorne.”

  “Aren’t you born into a family?”

  “You are born into the Lorne family, but you are also chosen. We are wolves among sheep. Show someone this tattoo, and they know exactly whom they’re dealing with. Everyone knows the name Lorne in this plane and above. It is the most recognizable—”

  “What do you mean above?” I asked.

  “Oh, this is not everything. What you see around you is just the tip of the iceberg. There are two more planes of consciousness above this; each one more impressive than the last. This is a special family, and we travel all throughout the planes, enjoying what each one has to offer.”

  “Is that normal?” I asked.

  “Not many people know other planes exist. Most people live in their plane and accept this is life. The people in each plane have been conditioned to accept that their reality is the only reality.”

  “But you don’t have a famous name where I come from?”

  “That’s true, that’s the one plane we haven’t made our mark in. But we will. The time is coming for the Lorne family name to be synonymous with success in all planes.”

  A glass of wine appeared in front of Kafka. He leaned back into the couch and raised his glass, “Here’s to success.”

  Jeremy and I raised our glasses to Kafka’s toast, and then we all drank.

  “Please, tell me about my father?” I asked.

  “Your father, Nicholae—my little brother—is a good man. He runs his businesses much like I do: very ambitious. I know how much he loves you both and your mother, Helen. Don’t blame him for leaving. He did what he had to do. There was an uprising that threatened our family. He took extra precautions to keep you safe.”

  “But why did he leave us? Couldn’t he have come, too, and kept us all safe?”

  “I’m sure he could give you the best explanation. But he had a responsibility to be here. One day you will understand that kind of responsibility, the kind that makes you into a man.”

  “But he never even visited—”

  “There is always a reason and I will allow him to illuminate you on the inquiry. All I can say is that I believe him to be well intentioned. He did what he thought was best,” Kafka snapped.

  A noise came from the foyer. I looked over, but didn’t see anything.

  “That’s probably just Glenda, my housekeeper. She’s always working behind the scenes.” Kafka took another sip of wine and quickly returned to a relaxed state.

  “Why have I dreamt of you as a bogeyman?” I asked bluntly.

  “Do I look like the bogeyman to you?” Kafka laughed.

  “No,” I said sheepishly. “It’s just the name has haunted me my whole life and I have no idea why.”

  “I’ve been called many things. I’ve been called Satan and I’ve been called a savior. I no longer listen to my critics. I have better things to do with my time.” Kafka leaned forward and looked me straight in the eyes. “Learn to think for yourself. Don’t let others form your opinions for you, not even the people you love. It’s not only foolish, it’s dangerous.”

  Another subtle noise from the foyer caught my attention, and Kafka reacted immediately. “Glenda, if I have to come to you, it will be an unpleasant conversation indeed.” His voice was sharp and foreboding.

  I repositioned myself awkwardly, with a growing tension in my stomach.

  “How is Daniel these days?”

  It took me a moment to reply, since I was still having a hard time associating Daniel as Mr. Gordon. “He’s my history teacher,” I finally said.

  “I should have guessed.” Kafka sat silently for a moment and his eyes suddenly brightened, “So, that’s why he sent Daniel.”

  “What?”

  “He’s been training you.”

  “Training me? For what?” I asked.

  “Jeremy, did you know about this?” Kafka asked.

  “I knew Daniel had taken a recent interest in him, but—”

  “And you didn’t tell me? He hasn’t been a guardian, he’s been a mentor. A trainer.”

  “For what?” I asked again.

  “To come back here. I knew it was true. I knew it!” Kafka sat forward again with a fiendish grin. “I have something to show you boys. Come with me.” Kafka abruptly stood up and stopped. “But not you.” He pointed to the empty space just to the right of me.

  Glancing over, I saw the murky, vapor figure of TJ positioned beside me.

  Jeremy tog
gled between Kafka and me with a befuddled expression on his face, obviously unaware of the uninvited guest.

  “Oliver, your friend is not welcome to come with us,” Kafka said. “Don’t test me.” He snapped his fingers, and TJ dematerialized into a waterfall of gray sparks trickling to the floor.

  My strength was fading fast.

  Kafka ushered us back into the foyer. “We’re going upstairs,” he said and gestured for me to lead. “Jeremy, grab my coat, over there,” Kafka said, pointing toward an adjoining room.

  Kafka followed me up the stairs. There were doors lining the hallway, and on the far end was a staircase that ascended further.

  “To that staircase and up,” Kafka instructed.

  I hesitantly went up the staircase and listened to the heavy footsteps behind me. At the top was a translucent door. I stepped into a great empty room completely enclosed by glass. The room was the entire crest of the building with a 360 degree view of the city. Twilight was nearly gone.

  Kafka stepped through the door and turned. “My coat,” he demanded.

  Jeremy stood at the doorway and handed Kafka the long black overcoat.

  “Thank you, Jeremy. Your presence is no longer required. You flushed out the game.”

  I saw Jeremy immediately glance at me.

  Kafka folded his coat over his left arm, subtly flicked his right wrist, and Jeremy suddenly flew backward through the doorway and down the stairs. The door became opaque.

  I finally saw Kafka for what he was—a bogeyman—and I stood timidly before him.

  “This is the Lorne Tower Observation Deck. I like to come here at sunset and see what is mine,” he said, walking to the edge while slipping on his coat.

  The glass walls and ceiling vanished. We were now standing on an open roof. A fierce wind screamed across my face. My hands shivered and I folded them into my armpits.

  Kafka slowly walked around the perimeter of the building, circling me like a hungry predator. His eyes, brightened by newly pronounced crimson flecks—penetrating eyes from the most frightening of nightmares—were glued on me. “You’ve hidden from me for a long time. I’ve been a patient man, waiting for this day. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m no threat to you.”

  “I know you’re no threat to me! You’ve lived so long in that godforsaken plane that you have no idea what you’re capable of. I will not allow you to grow into a threat—Zachariah.”

  “What?” I looked around and saw no one else on the roof with us. “I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  Jeremy banged furiously on the door from the inside, which I could barely hear above the wind.

  “Nicholae was smart to give you the pill so you wouldn’t do anything stupid before you were ready. But I guess he miscalculated. He underestimated jealousy.”

  Jeremy fell to the ground in front of the door, which had become translucent again.

  “Maybe Jeremy would like to say something,” Kafka said as Jeremy scrambled to his feet. “Don’t give me that look. Who is really more naïve, you or your brother?”

  “I trusted you!” Jeremy screamed. Jeremy seemed to be fighting an impulsive urge to lunge at Kafka.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, boy.”

  “Jeremy, what’s going on?” I asked, remembering what TJ had said, and dreading what Jeremy was about to tell me.

  Kafka’s coat and hair billowed in the wind. He put his hands on his hips in amusement. “Go on, Jeremy, tell your little brother.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Jeremy said, trembling.

  “Oh, it’s exactly what you think. As you may already know, Jeremy is not a Lorne. And he wanted to be part of the Lorne family so desperately he was willing to betray his only brother.” Kafka smiled. “Does that sound about right?”

  “That’s not true!” Jeremy screamed.

  “How does it feel, Zachariah? Does it hurt to hear that your so-called brother handed you over to me for his own advancement? I just love his treacherous ambition. All that’s missing is the ceremonial kiss on the cheek. And he was naïve enough to think that I would reward him for his service, beyond the royal accommodations.” He turned back to Jeremy. “What are you to me? You are nothing! You are the son of a maid and a traitor! That disqualifies you from ever being a Lorne!”

  My head was swimming, and I had never felt so alone. I had no one left. After envying Jeremy my entire life, I now saw his real agenda.

  I backed up a few steps, but didn’t want to get too close to the edge of the building. One strong gust of wind would throw me over, not that falling off the building would put me in any worse danger.

  “Zachariah, perhaps I’ll let you kill Jeremy before I kill you.”

  “I won’t kill my brother! And I’m not this Zachariah person!” I yelled. My legs felt like putty. I didn’t know how I was still standing. The knots in my stomach were so tight they were nearly ripping through themselves.

  “It’s very convincing, but luckily I wasn’t reborn yesterday. I will kill you right this time. I thought the blade had killed you last time, but perhaps it was the fall. I will not be so careless again. This life will be your last!”

  “You killed Zachariah?”

  “I did what was necessary.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeremy staring at me, petrified and confused. “And you killed Cornelius!” I yelled. The only time I had heard the name Zachariah was in my dream of the castle. While most dreams vanished, this one seemed to stick with me like a repressed memory. The other name I vaguely remembered from that dream was Cornelius, the man who had been horrifically burned alive.

  The comment took Kafka off guard. He looked over at Jeremy, who seemed to have no idea how to respond. “What are you talking about?” Kafka asked.

  “I saw you kill Cornelius.”

  “No, that’s not possible. I barricaded the room. There was no one else there.”

  “You threw him into the fire.”

  “How do you know about that?” Kafka demanded.

  “I guess my memory isn’t completely gone,” I said, startling myself.

  “I have underestimated you again, Zachariah. It’s time to end this. Jeremy, you get to watch!” Kafka charged me. I was unable to back up any further without falling over the railing.

  “My father will save me!” I yelled, not knowing what else to say, trying not to cry. Nothing I had been taught prepared me for this moment.

  “Your father doesn’t even know you’re here.” Kafka’s insidious sentence stole all hope from me. I glanced at Jeremy in a desperate plea for help. Tears welled up in his eyes, causing mine to do the same. I didn’t know how to say goodbye.

  Kafka reached me in a flash. He snatched me by the neck, effortlessly lifting me off the ground. I kicked and clawed and gasped for air. The pressure in my head pulsed and expanded, until it felt like it would pop and my brain would be splattered all over the observation deck. My consciousness was sinking into an abyss. I clutched his wrist with both hands, trying to break his grip. But he was inhumanly strong.

  “If you indeed saw me as a child, then you know what I am capable of. I could snap my fingers and kill you instantly. But this time I will be sure to keep you from coming back—like I did for Cornelius.”

  I clawed at his wrist, at his forearm, at whatever I could grab onto. The sleeve of his coat and shirt slid up his arm as he held me above his head. All I could see of his arm was covered in more tattoos, like rings on the trunk of a tree, telling a story I would never get to finish.

  “I can feel your heart slowing. Give in to the darkness, my boy. Everything comes full circle. Without you, the rebellion will crumble. I want to savor this moment.”

  TJ had warned me to be careful. I didn’t listen. For the second time, Mr. Gordon wasn’t coming to save me. He also didn’t know I was here. My memory flashed to the morning behind the school, after being stabbed with the screwdriver. Mr. Gordon had sai
d that he wouldn’t always be able to show up and save the day. And there was no time I needed him more than now.

  Kafka’s grip tightened slightly, and it made no difference anymore. I was done. I was so far gone, so detached at this point that the inexorable pain didn’t feel like it was my own anymore.

  “You should have never double-crossed me,” Kafka spat. His eyes were dark pools threatening to drown me.

  I couldn’t cough. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel.

  Kafka seemed to be done talking. But he was patient, not rushing the process—my death—reveling in the act of my life steadily draining from my body.

  How long had it been since I last touched the ground? One hour? Ten seconds? I had no idea, no concept of time.

  I could feel myself falling, like I had already been thrown off the building, discarded like a rodent. Which was all I was to him. Nothing. I—we never had a chance.

  My eyelids fluttered.

  Color drained from the world.

  I was wilting.

  The last bit of sunlight glinted off a blade in his right hand as it rose toward my face.

  I fought the blackout, resisting the long sleep.

  But I would not be able to resist for long—

  —A flash of movement caught my attention.

  Desiree bolted from the doorway and rushed Kafka. As soon as he noticed the attack, he quickly turned his head in her direction. Desiree was hit by an impenetrable force and thrown across the roof. She tumbled across the cement floor, before hitting the perimeter railing.

  No! Desiree!

  I couldn’t bear the shocking sight of Desiree being tossed around the roof like a doll.

  As suddenly as Desiree had appeared, Jeremy pounced on Kafka’s back and lodged something viciously into the side of his neck. My bogeyman staggered backward a step as his blood began to pour.

  I then realized what Jeremy was holding.

  Jeremy yanked a screwdriver—the screwdriver that had once been protruding from my scarred stomach—out of Kafka’s neck and drove it back in. Kafka tried to protest the feral assault, but only a gurgling sound and blood spewed from his mouth. He wavered on his feet, and Jeremy stabbed him again.