The Mortal Religion

by Marc Horn

  I gasp and stagger backwards when her details pop up on the screen. My back slams against the wall and, suddenly frozen, I wrap my arms around my body. As if taunting me, the female broadcaster dictates the information. Her voice rings in my head, and the headline leaps out of the screen. Out of breath, I run to the shower. The door is shut and I can hear the shower. ‘How long left?’ I cry to myself, checking my watch. My countdown reads ‘2.17’. I try to wait but I cannot keep still. My heart could explode. ‘Elizabeth!’ I shout.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I must speak to you now!’ She turns off the shower, and seconds later opens the door. When I look at her, I know. But, still desperately clinging to any hope I can, I nervously ask her…

  ‘How old are you, Elizabeth?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  17

  ‘Cutter!’ I hear behind me as I make my way out of the police station. I turn and see a puzzled PC Collingwell. ‘Adam Abdullah... you released him!’

  I nod. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But he was illegal – I saw his passport!’

  ‘He lodged an appeal,’ I lie. ‘The home office is making a decision as we speak. I have no power in such cases.’ I hold his stare for a second and then turn to leave.

  ‘You just released another illegal, didn’t you? That kiwi overstayer – he was supposed to go ’ome two months ago... You haven’t kicked anyone out in the past week!’

  I face Collingwell again. He is trying to smile but his irritation is clear. He does not want me to change. ‘My job is to determine if immigrants are entitled to be here, and if they are, to investigate if they are breaching their conditions of entry. My competency is not based on the numbers I send home.’

  ‘I reckon you’re in love, Cutter,’ he says, beaming. I turn red. ‘... You’ve gone red! You’re in love, aren’t you?’

  ‘I do not discuss my personal life at work,’ I snap. ‘I am single,’ I add as I head out of the building.

  ‘Happens to the hardest of blokes,’ Collingwell shouts. ‘... Gangsters, murderers, fighters - birds turn them all soft. Even you, Cutter!’

  Outside the building I loosen a button on my shirt. I am sweating, and not because of the summer heat. My life is crumbling around me. Even PC Collingwell can tell I’m distracted. It is Wednesday the ninth of August. Elizabeth Baxter has been living with me for nine days. Unless I am very careful, my secret will be exposed. I said it when I first kidnapped Elizabeth; my lifestyle must not appear to have changed. That includes at work. If Collingwell can tell I have changed, then someone sharper might link me to Elizabeth’s disappearance. I must not let that happen. My plan can only succeed if I am painstakingly meticulous. Whatever I feel, I must resist it. This is not about feelings, it never was. It is about Elizabeth. It is about her transformation.

  But as I head towards Hammersmith tube station I feel paranoid that the public know. Each passing pedestrian looks curiously at me. But this has always been the case, I reassure myself. I stand out, I am hideous, and studying me makes people feel better about themselves. There is nothing different about their reactions.

  The fear, however, remains. Illogically, it takes over my entire body. Elizabeth will not be there. Her warming presence will be replaced by armed police officers. I am walking into a trap. I am now the fly soaring like a missile into my own web.

  But surely I am too smart for that to happen. I am not driven by unbalanced logic like a psychopath. I resist impulses and make informed decisions. Only once did my temper influence my actions, but that is behind me and fortunately did not impede me. Hitler made the fatal decision to fight the Russians. His lust for power frazzled his twisted mind and set in motion the Third Reich’s defeat. I, however, have controlled Elizabeth’s kidnapping patiently and cunningly. Unwanted emotions have troubled me, but they have not forced me to offer her too many concessions, have they? Any leniency has been afforded to her for her own survival. I am not a murderer. Elizabeth is in my care for her own good... For the good of mankind. I applied first aid to her finger to prevent infection. That was essential, as was tossing the blanket over her to stop her freezing two nights ago... She is no good to me dead. Certain measures had to be implemented. They were not done out of affection.

  But I do care about Elizabeth. How can I deny that to myself? That is why I am scared and confused. I am trying to fight my feelings, but they are growing.

  As I wait at traffic lights, I close my eyes and make tight fists with my fingers. I am stupid to harbour these emotions. They are pointless and amateurish. They can result in only negative consequences. Even someone as dense as Collingwell can read them. I must not sacrifice what I have achieved. I have much work to do. I must destroy these weaknesses. If they take control, Elizabeth will win. They will win. I will die a victim...

  That will never happen. I can only hope that all has not yet been lost.

  But the staring eyes are intense rather than cautiously smug. The proximity of people as they pass me is more intrusive. They are invading my space, and lacking their usual wariness. It is as if they know my days are numbered.

  I want to be home. Whatever awaits me, I must know. But the tube stops in between stations and waits for what seems like hours. Passengers tut and sigh and shuffle in their seats. I grip the rail as I stand and my fingers turn white. I itch and sweat and feel confined. I want to scream. The tube pulls away like a millipede. I want to strangle the driver. I look around nervously. Four or five people analyse me.

  ‘I saw him on the tube just before he was arrested,’ they will tell their friends. Everyone will breathe a sigh of relief. Finally I have been caught.

  Ten minutes later I run out of the station and fill my lungs with fresh air. When I get home I unlock my door and push it open, expecting to see a dozen guns pointing at my head. But I do not see this. Neither do I hear a screaming officer demanding me to turn around and drop to the floor. Instead there is silence.

  As I tentatively creep down the stairs to the basement, I see that everything is right. And my Elizabeth is pleased to see me...

  18

  ‘You don’t look well, Chalk,’ she says as I remove the tape from her mouth. I turn away from her and tighten my mouth. How can I succeed like this? She talks to me as if I am a friend. I have softened my impact. All that hard work, that fine planning, is receding into a bad memory. She will not change unless she fears me. If she does not change I will never be accepted. And I will never be avenged...

  ‘You made your opinion of me clear at the pub,’ I say calmly. ‘Do not attempt to compare me to ordinary people now.’

  Aware of the implication of my words, she wisely keeps quiet.

  ‘You are in a life-threatening situation. And it will certainly not end with us being friends.’

  Elizabeth’s despair is clear. But this just shows me how comfortable she had become. I may have salvaged my plan in the nick of time.

  ‘I respect you, Chalk,’ she says. ‘I respect you so much...’

  I glimpse at her and catch a frozen image of her watery eyes. I do not know what to say. I am struggling to stay afloat in an ocean of alien feelings...

  ‘You do not respect me enough,’ I say softly. ‘Perhaps another night with Eddie will recover your forgotten discipline-’

  ‘No, Chalk! No! I will d-d-die. He will k-kill me! I will die and you will be a murderer! You-you do not want that! I know you don’t, I know it...’ She bursts into tears. ‘He came so close-I-I-I kept so still, but he knew I was there... No, Chalk, no! I cannot bear it-’

  ‘Shut up,’ I order her. She obeys. ‘Your pathetic begging will not influence my decision. You are worthless to me. I will do what I choose.’

  She sobs in front of me. The knowledge that I can ease her suffering is overbearing. I want to hold her, console her, reassure her that Eddie does not exist, but I mustn’t. Her fear must remain. I will get nothing done without it.

  I ease into my seat and look at her youthful face. She looks fif
teen. I have kidnapped a child. Unwittingly of course, but that is irrelevant. It makes my crime much more severe. But on a positive note, it means she is much easier to change. The younger she is, the less poisoned her mind – the less re-education she will need. But my dominant thought is that sex with her is illegal. Of course I have not consciously entertained the idea of sex with her, but the awareness that she is under age still skips around in my mind. When is she sixteen? I find I want to know... I look at her. No, I cannot ask her. There is only one reason I could want to know. And that reason makes me sick like her. Whatever age she is, sex is irrelevant. I hate this girl. I hate her pretty little face and her long slim legs. I hate her full, firm breasts...

  I bury my head into my folded arms and bite my arm. What am I thinking? Where is Chalk? The calm genius who is changing the world? How is it possible that I could ever love her? She is here because she regarded me with utter contempt. I should never love her. To fall in love with her is to abandon my credibility. I would lack substance and truth. I would be a charlatan.

  She would never stay with me. Brainwashing does not last. It can create a startling change, but only in the short term. After that it is for the victim to decide whether to agree or disagree. It is not uncommon during kidnapping for the victim to grow attached to their captor, as only the captor can grant them glimpses of their former life. The captor holds the key to happiness, to release. But when the victim is free, such bonds are unnecessary. The captor offers them nothing but a terrifying memory, and an insight into his true essence. Would my true essence be enough for her to want to spend a lifetime with me? After all I would have done to her, would my soul still appeal to her? Enough that she can accept my looks and ignore all those who disapprove? Of course it would not be enough. When Elizabeth flies, she will not return.

  So why am I doing it? Why is she here? Why am I making this beautiful girl suffer? I relive that night in the pub... Because she deserves it. Because I will succeed. Because I may never release her...

  I am cabbaged. My mind is like putty. I must go and only return when I am clear. I stand up.

  ‘Please do not bring the snake,’ Elizabeth pleads. I shake my head and run up the stairs…

  I decide to confuse and hopefully antagonise the Star Wars geeks further. Being that I am the most hated contributor on Lightsaberon.com, I find it a highly amusing prospect to purport to have concrete answers to any questions...

  ‘Jedi Kid’ asks why Obi Wan and Yoda disappeared when they died, when Qui-Gon did not.

  ‘You have to be at one with the force to disappear,’ I answer. ‘Jedi killed in battle do not qualify. Obi-Wan tuned into the force prior to his death.’

  ‘Why did Vader not kill The Emperor if he was more powerful?’ ‘Solo 77’ asks.

  ‘Because The Emperor was keeping him alive,’ I respond. ‘It was an ability he learnt as a pupil of Darth Plagueis.’ An opinion, this, but still enlightening and very helpful. Not only do I post unforgivable criticisms, but I have the audacity to assume the role of Star Wars expert. Perfect...

  In fact, I am a huge fan of the Star Wars films. I am indebted to George Lucas for taking me to a galaxy far, far away from my own.

  Then I log into the kung-fu forums. My criticisms of Master Yin have been taken very seriously. Several users have requested that I meet up with them to either ‘discuss’ my comments or ‘batter’ me.

  I reply: ‘As aimless pupils of “Yin the fraudster”, I do not fear your moves. To the contrary, for your safety, I will not honour your requests. You simpletons are over-confident, whereas I am in tune with my abilities. My hands are lethal.’

  After this, I decide to share a pizza with Elizabeth. Yes, it is a treat, but it is also progress. We will talk as we eat. Her eyes light up as I advance with the pizza box, and I wish I could sit there and eat the whole thing myself, but I cannot do it. Sadly enough, I cannot disappoint her like that.

  ‘For this, I am expecting a marked improvement in your behaviour,’ I say.

  ‘I understand,’ she responds. I release her wrists and place her half of the pizza on the floor in front of her. She grabs a piece like a vulture and eats it just as greedily.

  ‘Both of us have broken the law, Elizabeth. I kidnapped you, and you were drinking underage.’ She looks blankly at me. ‘I am sure that would weaken your case against me,’ I smile. She is not sure whether she should speak or not. ‘So just think,’ I continue, ‘if you were a law-abiding citizen, you would not even be here.’ She nods. ‘But what good are laws? They do not fix damaged people, nor prevent them from becoming damaged.’

  ‘I know,’ she says annoyingly. She does not know this. She has never suffered until now.

  ‘Society has forced me to break its laws, even though all I have done is act in self-defence. But my suffering pleases mankind and does not qualify me as a victim who needs care. Should this crime be discovered, I will be permitted no defence.’

  Elizabeth pauses briefly, gazing at the half-eaten slice in her hand. Then she continues to swallow pieces of it before adequately chewing them. She will get indigestion.

  ‘But I will not be caught...’

  Elizabeth swallows the final piece of her slice, then says, ‘I will say nothing, I promise.’

  I shake my head. ‘How very insulting. Do you think I lack intelligence?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Elizabeth eyes another piece of pizza, but decides against grabbing it.

  ‘It is not easy to kidnap someone. I could catch a fox or wild rabbit and legally assert my rights as its owner, but society classifies humans as too important to have this done to them. Despite the loyalty and devotion an animal accords its owner, a human being is considered more valuable. So your capture required a very sharp mind. No one knows you are here and neither will they. You will be released dead or alive when I decide.’ I look at the four remaining slices. ‘Have another.’

  ‘I...am full right now.’

  ‘You will not make the decision to preserve my innocence, Elizabeth. Nothing negative will come of this, including thoughts and memories. So do not bargain with me ever again. I cannot be bribed or deceived.’

  ‘I know. I know that. Please forgive me for offending you.’

  There is warmth in her words, I am certain. I bow my head.

  ‘This place is our womb, Elizabeth. We will start again, like babies, and re-educate ourselves appropriately, unobstructed by external cruelty.’ I hear Elizabeth move. Most likely, it was a nod. ‘Forget the people who shaped you.’ I look up at her. My stare is intense. She must listen to this and she must agree. ‘That means everyone, Elizabeth, everyone you knew before you came to this place. They have corrupted you.’ Her eyes are wet. I hope it is empathy. I feel that it is. ‘This is a wonderful thing for both of us...’

  Elizabeth meets my eyes. ‘I know, Chalk, I know...’ She takes another piece of pizza and slowly consumes it.

  ‘Soon we will be...free.’

  I leave my two slices for Elizabeth and, feeling light-headed, leave the basement.

  19

  I wake in a cold sweat, my bed sheets soaked. I do not feel rested. I try to piece together my dreams but they are too disjointed. I know they featured many prominent people in my life but I cannot recall what happened. Whatever story they told, it was not pleasant.

  Elizabeth was there. Yes, she was there. She was...naked. I grimace. She had the body of a child; flat chested and pre-pubescent. And I...she wanted me...and she walked up to me and asked if I wanted her to...and I...what did I do? I know what I did, but I will not visualise it...arghhh! I run to the toilet and splash my face. Now it is my mind that is punishing me. This should not be happening. At this stage I should feel inner peace, a warmth, and excitement. I dry my face and stare at myself in the mirror. I never considered the psychological effects this might have on me. Even if I had considered them, I wouldn’t have expected to fall victim to any. Perhaps I’m not as strong as I thought I was. Perhaps I didn’t think this
through. But I had nothing to lose. I had been forced to do this. There was no other option. Why should I have continued to live as I did? It was self-preservation. People need to listen, to learn, to see. I had to do something bad. At points during the last nine days that Elizabeth has been in my care, she has probably felt more fear than she ever has or will. And I caused that. But only change will induce change. She is changing. Through her, everyone will change, and all of us will benefit. I am doing a good thing. Though it was my situation that inspired me to act, I am engineering monumental transformation through all of society. In time, my contribution will be considered invaluable. I will probably be credited as one of the most important people in history. But I may well be dead by then. Would my face fit on the front page of Time magazine? I smile, but it lasts just a second, as the dream still lingers.

  I don’t think I can face Elizabeth today. I need to recover from the gruesome images. It was just a dream, but it worries me. However sick and wrong its outcome, in reality this is a possible end. Anything is possible, and such an end scares me. Because when I did it to her, I enjoyed it. It felt wonderful, and because of that, in the dream I was prepared to face any repercussion.

  I think of her in the basement. I think she trusts me now. I am becoming important to her, in the good sense. Doing that to her saddens me. I shake my head. These are my feelings, I cannot deny what is natural to me. I have become more attached than I wanted, than is safe or logical. But I never really knew where exactly this would take me. And while I think these thoughts, my feet carry me down the steps, towards the basement. ‘I had a terrible dream,’ I whisper repeatedly until I enter the basement. She looks at me. ‘I had a dream last night,’ I say, feeling stronger at the sight of her.

  ‘So did I,’ she replies.

  ‘What did you dream about?’ I ask, sitting down in front of her.