Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder; the Buddha monk was standing directly above him, belly rolls peeking through his robes. “You know that Buddhist monks aren’t allowed to marry, right? I wouldn’t leave my behind exposed like that for too long around here,” he said, roaring with laughter.
Kevin’s cheeks turned crimson and he stood up quickly. It seemed that the chanting was over a while ago. Most of the monks had already left the room.
“Please follow me to the meditation chambers,” the Buddha monk instructed. They were trailed by the elderly monk a close distance behind them.
After a short, silent walk through the temple they reached a room with a wide stainless-steel door. This was odd, he’d only seen Fusuma doors throughout the temple’s interior. They walked inside the room and the elderly monk bolted the metal door shut from the outside, leaving Kevin alone with the Buddha monk. All the room’s walls were lined with padded cushions. It resembled more of a psychiatric hospital room for suicidal patients than a meditation area. As if reading his thoughts, the Buddha monk interjected, “No, we’re not worried that you’re going to kill yourself. The padding is for soundproofing.” This didn’t make sense to Kevin as it was already awfully quiet in most areas of the temple. He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced that the additional soundproofing was a necessity. The Buddha monk explained, “The padding is there to keep the sounds escaping the room, rather than ensuring silence from the outside. You’ll understand soon enough, so let’s begin. Please kneel in the middle of the room.” Kevin duly complied despite his doubts. Meditation was a technique that he had always wanted to master.
The Buddha monk sat down on the floor opposite him. He crossed his bulky legs and pressed his meaty palms together. Beneath royal eyelashes stared striking dark-brown eyes that pierced into Kevin’s soul. He spoke in a hushed voice. “You’ll now begin your training program. Your new employers have brought you here to master the art of self-discovery and concentration. You have a brilliant mind, of that there is no doubt. However, according to their investigations, you’re only utilizing a minor percentage of your brain’s natural abilities. I think that a medical investigation was unnecessary; your Western lifestyle by default is full of distractions. There is no way you can maximize your talents in the modern world without the ancient techniques you’ll acquire here. You also have no idea about who you really are. Are you brave or a coward? Are you confident in your abilities or does self-doubt shadow your every action? Do you loathe or love yourself? In the coming days these paradoxes will be answered.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air.
Kevin maintained eye contact, his mind processing every word.
The Buddha monk continued, “We’ll approach deeper questions of your darkest nature. Do you crave carnal pleasures? How much do you really love Lucy and your children? What is most important to you in this life? These questions will evaluate what kind of man you are. The next step will be to release you from your sexual inhibition. This base natural freedom is key to your journey and success in life. You’re not truly alive until you’re comfortable in your own skin and understand how to appreciate and gratify your body’s desires. You may instantly wonder if this is wrong and if it contradicts the noble truth of Buddhism, that all suffering in life is caused by selfish craving and personal desire. You think this because you do not follow the Buddhist eightfold path of right view, intention, speech, action, livelihood, effort, mindfulness, and—finally—concentration. This is the only way to reach Nirvana, a perfect state of happiness whereby your private desires and suffering disappear. In actuality, you’ll follow your desires because they’ll always be the right actions. Your world is a constant battle between reality and fantasy; that’s not life, that is torture. You’ll learn to fuse the two into one healthy mindset.” The Buddha monk stopped speaking abruptly, interrupted by Kevin.
“These techniques are a lifetime of practice; how long do you plan to keep me here?”
The Buddha monk responded calmly, “Your employers want you to have certain skills, so you’ll be here as long as it takes. So I suggest you make a concerted effort. We’ll begin with the first step, which is clearing your mind. Please close your eyes and take deep, steady breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”
Kevin focused intensely on the monk’s instructions, chest heaving steadily up and down. He was a strong believer in achieving the state of Buddhist enlightenment and would do whatever was necessary to complete the training quickly and get back home.
“That is very good, Mr. Voss. I can see your body is responding correctly. Now continue to breathe steadily but think about nothing. Your mind must be completely clear.”
Since Kevin was a young child, his brain was like a high-speed Ferris wheel, constantly analyzing. He had never attempted to slow his thinking process. It was new and unnatural for him and he doubted it was even possible. The image of Utsukushii flooded his mind. Was she subjected to Buddhist training as well? What was she doing here? Did they intend for him to copulate with her? Suddenly he felt a sharp burning slash to his upper shoulder blades. He screamed out in pain, “Arrrrgggghh, what the fuck is that!!”
He rolled around the floor in agony expecting to see blood all over the tatami mat, yet there was none. The Buddha monk towered above him, holding a flat wooden stick in his hand. He administered two more strikes to Kevin’s back, shouting in a gruff voice, “You’ll clear your mind, not think about Japanese whore! This stick is called Keisaku and is what I call an awakening stick. It’ll be your best friend, so get used it. Now kneel back in the regular position.”
Kevin clenched his teeth to fight back the pain, he was being whipped like a racehorse. Now it was clear as daylight why the room was padded. He was in for a lot of painful screaming while the rest of the monks went about their tranquil rituals. Every time he closed his eyes and achieved a steady rhythm of breathing, he panicked and the stick rapidly perforated his thoughts. His body instinctively braced as the strikes rained down on him. He screamed out so hard that his own ears hurt. His voice became raspy and barely audible, while the pressure in his ears built up.
“Stop thinking about the stick and there’ll be no pain. You must give your mind a break,” the Buddha monk urged him. He could not believe it; it was like the Buddha monk infiltrated his mind. Every thought Kevin had about Lucy, the temple, the pain, the Yakuza, he would correctly call it out and apply multiple strikes. Time went on and the Buddha monk grew increasingly impatient. “You’re not trying hard enough!!” he bellowed. He began to strike Kevin on the side of the head. “Stop thinking about Intelias.”
Kevin already braced for the anticipated whack of the wooden stick. The last thing he could remember was the sound of the stick whirring through the air.
He could feel gentle fingers running across his forehand and a soft palm stroking his face. “Lucy!” he screamed, sitting up on the futon.
“No, no Lucy. It’s Utsukushii. Yuu OK noiw, no worry. Time for shawaa,” she said soothingly. She applied some strong-smelling medicinal ointment on his face and shoulder blades. His head felt like Play-Doh, and he was seriously concerned that he’d suffered brain damage. He lifted himself to a standing position and paced groggily around the room to ensure his orientation was fine.
She approached him from behind, hugging him lovingly. “Yuu OK, yuu OK,” she consoled him. She lit the Warosoku candle and led him into the darkness. They meandered through the maze of Fusuma, heading for the communal bath. This time, though, she ensured that they sprinted past the dragon-painted Fusuma doors. They moved so quickly through this section that he was unable to distinguish any proper sounds. He thought he heard very faint whimpering, but it could’ve been his imagination, his own vulnerable sounds. She washed him in similar fashion to the previous night, avoiding any sort of arousal. He could sense her hesitation when she reached down to soap his genitals. She cuddled him while his aching body soaked in the bath. He rested his head on her supple breasts while she stro
ked his hair.
When they left the bath house that night, there was no sign of the helicopter. At the top of the cobblestone steps she lit the Warosoku candle, leading him inside the temple. They had barely taken a few steps when they again heard the loud chuff chuff chuff chuff of the approaching helicopter. She didn’t seem bothered, they were already inside the temple and out of sight. She kept a comfortable walking pace, only hurrying through the Dragon Fusuma section. They entered his room and he watched her light some more scented candles. She wore a full white cotton kimono and floated toward him through the glow of the candlelight. The only audible sound was his breathing and the gentle footsteps of her beautifully arched bare feet. She stopped in front him and stared deep into his emerald green eyes, slowly untying her Kimono, letting it fall freely to the floor. He held her gaze and didn’t dare look down. She waited for him to touch her, eyes narrowly looking down at her naked body, inviting him to take her. After a few seconds, she looked up again with an exasperated look. She spun around and strode out, leaving her kimono in a pile front of him. He let out a deep sigh of despair and collapsed onto the futon.
The next few days mingled into a never-ending nightmare. It was the same daily routine: prayers in the morning, intense meditation beatings interrupted only for vegan meals, shawaa time, sounds of helicopter rotors on the way to bed, and Utsukushii’s seduction efforts. He was growing increasingly fond of her, and she kept him sane. The shower and her seduction were the best part of his day. Nevertheless, he refused to let them win and give into his desires. He was more determined to stay alive than ever. One night, while he lay alone on the futon in the pitch blackness, he wondered what was going through Lucy’s mind. He had lost track of time but he was certain it was a few days already since they had last spoken. For sure she would be extremely panicked by his sudden disappearance and would’ve alerted the authorities. They would be searching for him everywhere by now. This presumption only stressed him out more; there was zero chance that he would be found in this remote temple. It was also highly unlikely that they would ever let him leave alive, considering that he would be found fairly quickly and the authorities would demand answers. He couldn’t deal with the physical abuse anymore and knew that he was making no progress with the meditation, the beatings had only intensified in recent days. The Buddha monk had come up with an even worse technique that required him to stand on one leg with his hands widespread for hours on end. If he shifted his position or had any improper thoughts, he would get a severe beating. He had to do something now; he was reaching the end of his rope.
His thoughts gravitated toward the dragon-painted Fusuma door. It was bizarre and he had to find out what lay beyond. The problem was that he had no light in his room and he had no candles to venture out into the corridor. Every night, after Utsukushii left, a young monk would thoroughly search his room to ensure that he had no access to candles. There was no choice; he would have to learn to navigate in the dark.
The next day when Utsukushii led him to his nightly shower, he mapped the steps in his mind.
Five steps left turn, ten steps left turn, eighteen steps right turn, fourteen steps left turn, nine steps and door is on the right.
That night he waited long after she was gone before getting up from the futon, certain that the monks passed by his room to check that he was sleeping. He slid open the Fusuma door one inch at a time, to avoid the certain whoosh if he attempted to open it wider. It took him a few agonizing minutes to open and close the door without making a sound. His heart was racing; surely if he was caught breaking the rules, his punishment would be unbearable. He stood in the stiflingly dark corridor. He measured his steps carefully one at a time, sliding his finger against the corridor walls for orientation like a seafarer without a compass waging through a vast black ocean. If he made even one small miscalculation, he would have no way out.
I counted it right, I know I did. I’ve got this. Six, seven, eight, and nine.
He counted and stopped dead in his tracks. The dragon-painted Fusuma was supposed to be on his right. He gently pressed his ear against the door and listened attentively. The sounds were faint but there was definitely movement going on inside.
He took a deep breath and held it, painstakingly sliding the dragon Fusuma door open. He opened it just enough to slide his body through. He straightened himself, entering the long hallway, his bare feet sinking into the red velvet carpet. Enormous red candles illuminated the rose-petal path on either side. He was certain from the way they burned that they were made from beeswax and animal fat and not the traditional Buddhist Warosoku. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ventured farther through the hallway toward the row of rooms on either side. The farther he walked, the louder and clearer the sounds became; it terrified him. He broke into a cold sweat and placed a trembling hand on the Fusuma door of the first room. From the sounds, he already knew what to expect, but it seemed so surreal that he had to see it with his own eyes. He slid the door only a millimeter, just enough to clearly see everything. He completely froze, eyes wide like an owl, watching in a trance. There was a beautiful young Japanese woman spread-eagled and chained with pink fluffy handcuffs. Towering over her stood a well-built middle-aged man, his face covered with a Venetian mask. Kevin recognized it as the Medico Della Peste mask, also known as the Plague Doctor. It consisted of a long, hollow beak and round eye openings covered with crystal discs, creating a bespectacled illusion. It was one the most famous and bizarre types of Venetian masks. The man was naked, his erect penis glistening in the candlelight. He held a single-tail bull whip in his right hand and between penetrations he whipped her wildly. It lacerated her breasts and thighs, spurning the masked man further. Kevin shuddered with the sound of each whip, the woman howling in pain. This wasn’t some kinky BDSM, it was intense shit and it disgusted him.
He rapidly closed the door and decided to head back to his room. Suddenly the sounds from across the hallway caught his attention. A woman was moaning pleasurably against the backdrop of bodies slapping against each other. He cautiously opened the door just a millimeter, losing his breath immediately. He recognized her shimmering long black hair flailing over her peachy buttocks. She was on her knees; a fat elderly man was penetrating her from behind, his obese belly slapping wildly against the top of her backside. He also wore a Venetian mask that consisted of a low forehead, bulging eyebrows, and a shorter beaked nose. The man occasionally slapped her buttocks, breasts, and face aggressively. She moaned louder with pleasure after every smack. It repulsed Kevin; bouts of nausea flushed over him. She unexpectedly tilted her head sideways toward the door, exactly where Kevin was standing. It seemed like Utsukushii was staring directly at him. He quickly jumped away from the door, panicking. He stood silently behind the Fusuma door, listening attentively to see if they had noticed him. His heart was beating like the Buddhist drums, pounding madly through his chest. The sounds of deep-seated pleasure continued unabated. He was tremendously relieved and rushed back to his room.
He lay down and shook uncontrollably on his futon, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. What he saw was much worse than what he’d anticipated. Initially, he had harbored hopes that this was indeed a spiritual temple that was meant to serve a better purpose. Instead, it was a twisted house of horrors. He figured that Utsukushii wasn’t faking pleasure and suffered from Stockholm Syndrome, identifying with her captors. He conceded that there was nothing he could do for her and that she couldn’t be trusted. He hoped to God that she didn’t see him, knowing she would sell him out. He had to plan his escape; his choices were now crystal clear. They would kill him if he didn’t pass their sick training regime, or he would lose his identity.
8
The Plan
Bzzzzzzzzz rang in Kevin’s head and ears. He had managed to stay upright through repeated strikes to the head. The pressure in his skull felt like he was submerged in the depth of the ocean. The Buddha monk was sweating from exertion. “Stop thinking about Japanese whore
, she is worthless,” he screamed. Kevin maintained his composure, repeated images of Utsukushii’s face from last night flashing through his mind.
If the Buddha monk could read my thoughts, then he could know that I wandered into the dragon area. Why didn’t he say anything? Or was he guessing by deduction like a street magician?
Kevin kept his eyes closed and slowed his breathing even further. His thoughts switched to escaping the temple. The first step would be to figure out how to get outside the temple. The second step would be how to get off the mountain. The third and final step would be to get out of Japan and back to New York. In the states he would be safe; he doubted that his captors would be willing or able to engage in criminal activity in America. He no longer feared their blackmail, it was better to deal with the consequences. He had to explain to Lucy what had happened, and she would have to be understanding. Regarding the technological threat that they posed, well, that would be a serious battle but one that he preferred to fight. He had completely dedicated himself to the Intelias security systems and with Daichi’s help, he was confident that they could prevent any further breaches. In any case, it was a risk he was willing to take. He’d previously underestimated his own belief in his abilities. He would advise the FBI on what had happened and ensure that there was no technological way that his captors could incriminate him. He would also hire a personal security team to protect his home and his family around the clock.
The Voss Coin Page 6