“You mean Mr. O’Neal? He’s not all that powerful, you know. If you knew him as well as I do, you’d have a different opinion.”
“How do you know ...? Did he send you here? Do you want to waste me? I’ve been working on this damn operation for months. You won’t ...”
“Calm down, Mr. Queen. I don’t think you understand. I’m here to tell you that power doesn’t belong only to the elect. The strong can take it whenever they like. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Or shall I get in touch with someone who’s more ambitious than you?”
“Nobody’s got the power I’ve got!”
“That’s not true if, as you claim, you have to answer to someone else.”
“How dare you insult me like this?”
“Your words, Mr. Queen. I told you I’m the bearer of truth. If you could only see things from a different standpoint, you’d realize that fate has less power to change events than you have.”
“I’ve never believed in fate. I’m my own fate.”
“That’s why I’m here. You can change the course of events, but only if you want to. You can take what you’re entitled to, what you’ve been dreaming about for a long time, too long.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Absolute power, my friend! The right to possess everything! The chance to take your enemy’s place! Mr. O’Neal is too weak to call the shots now. The time has come for you to do that.”
Tommy swallowed the insults he was going to hurl at Luc as his mind began to process what he had just heard. His heart was beating with the steady rhythm of one whose blood is colder than winter.
He suddenly realized that his conscience agreed entirely with the scheme the stranger had proposed. He was too flabbergasted to argue, because it was a plot he had been hatching for some time, ever since he had come to the conclusion that the time was ripe for a radical change of leadership.
“There, that’s right, Mr. Queen. Let the adrenalin flow through your veins and give you the clear-headedness you need to focus on the whole picture. Allow yourself to be carried away by the enthusiasm a choir of angels is singing about in your head. Concentrate on absolute truth, whose face you know so well, the truth whose name isn’t spoken by chance, the one that belongs to you more than any other thing: your soul.”
“And what do you want in exchange?”
“You offend me, my friend. When it’s all over, I’ll have what I want. O’Neal’s demise will make me happy. What we all want at the end of the day is a little happiness, don’t you agree?”
“Is that all? You don’t want anything else? Just to be happy a man’s dead?”
“Mr. O’Neal is no mere mortal. He’s something far beyond your understanding. Anyway, you’ve never really liked him, have you? You’re grateful for the leg-ups he’s given you, but it’s already occurred to you to replace him.”
“How do you know so many things about me? I’ve never uttered a word to anyone about...”
“I told you, Mr. Queen, I am the truth. I hope you’ll listen to your conscience after you’ve listened to me. For the time being, Daisy will ease the loneliness that is often your traveling companion on this earth. Don’t worry, she’s a professional. I promise you’ll be happy for all eternity with her.”
The man got to his feet and pushed the chair neatly under the elegant table that gave the place the kind of ambience its clients desired. Then, as was his wont, he stuck out his hand for the obligatory shake. Tommy clasped it, exhilarated by the turn of events that was leading him to the path he had sought for so long; all he had needed was a nudge to send him on his way. He felt the strength of that conventional gesture, and as he looked into Luc’s dark and unfathomable eyes, he almost felt a quiver of fear. The ambiguous smile he saw there made him wonder for a moment whether absurdity had triumphed over reason. It was probably just a silly sensation, but he would have sworn that a pact with the devil wouldn’t have been much different.
Chapter 22
Alex followed Jonathan and Will for a good stretch, drawn onward by a desire he had never felt before. He would have liked to thank what he saw as an angel for allowing him the only true emotion of his horror-filled life. He was tempted to snatch him from his grandfather and embrace him to return the warmth he had received. But he gave up the idea when they arrived in front of a supermarket. He loathed supermarkets. He hated them even more than he hated gays. He sat waiting on a bench for a while. A stone’s throw away, he saw a woman speaking on the phone. Presumably, she was talking to her husband, or, more likely, her lover.
His imagination took control. He pictured the woman undressing in front of a mirror, her lover behind her, eager to take her and commit the kind of adultery that would revitalize their senses and arouse more lust than a real love story. He imagined her in the throes of love-making, her clothes strewn on the floor of a hotel room. He pictured the man beginning to strangle her in a fit of passion, possessed by whatever disguises itself as an imposter to sate its appetites. He imagined someone knocking on the door and assumed it might be fate trying to put a stop to the evil act. But he had long ago learned that fate has no power over evil. He saw himself stepping through the open door to do what fate should have done: justice. He pictured himself grabbing the man and flinging him to the floor, attacking him like an animal pounces on its prey when hunger shows its true colors, sinking his teeth into his neck and throat, ripping out his windpipe and eating his eyes to prevent him from seeing the road to salvation, making him wander in darkness, for ever damned. He imagined clawing open his chest and devouring his heart because it didn’t deserve to beat like an equalizer’s. Then he imagined turning to the woman he had saved from a devil’s clutches and judging her as a God judges a sinner. He imagined purifying her, piercing her with his talons of truth and tearing out the seed that evil had lodged inside her. Finally, he imagined letting her watch as his hands killed first her body and then her spirit.
The sound of a car horn dragged him back to the bench where the journey had begun. Lucidity took control of the situation, and he rose, forgetting the reason why he had sat down in the first place, as frequently happened. He wiped from his mouth the drool that curious passersby had pointed to, and sloped off to the only familiar place his mind remembered, where he would sup his usual drink and listen to the lives of others so that he could better live his own.
Chapter 23
Taxis were hard to find in that part of town. Norman searched for one for a few minutes, and then decided that it would be quicker to walk through the park than wait in that god-forsaken place to spot a yellow cab. He muffled himself up as best he could to protect himself from the icy cold that was sharper than a knife in the heart.
He set out at a brisk pace, walking as fast as he could. The trees failed to shield him as he had hoped and gusts of wind stabbed through his clothes to his skin as if they were loaded with sharp needles. In the distance, he noticed someone doggedly jogging. What induced men and women to brave the cold and exposure in order to keep fit was beyond him. He had always been of the opinion that regular, healthy exercise, even at home, kept the onset of old age at bay. But the mind needed keeping in trim more than anything else. The secret of youth, he thought, was connected to the elasticity of the mind. If the mind of a twenty-year-old receives inadequate stimulation, his body will look fifty years old. And vice versa.
The sound of a woman singing distracted him from the thoughts that helped him to ignore the cold. It was a sad song about the love of a man for a woman he had only ever met in his dreams. The atmosphere of the place became even gloomier than before.
Suddenly the melody ceased, and the tone of the voice was serious as it called out to him.
“Hey there, my good man!”
Norman spun round. To his right, an odd woman with a small dog was sitting on the ground, her hand raised as if asking for permission to speak.
“Excuse me. You there with the briefcase!”
Norman stopped in hi
s tracks and stared at her.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, you. Come here a minute, will you? I want to show you something.”
“Me?”
“Yes, yes. Please, come here.”
She studied him as he hesitated.
“Come on. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re the one who wrote that book, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, the book... hang on.”
She rummaged in the bag next to the dog and pulled out a red book.
“Here we are! Look! You’re the one who says he knows how to live. I’ve read it as well, you know. It’s a smashing book.”
The amazement on Norman’s face spoke volumes.
“But you’re not as good-looking as they say.”
“Er... how do you know I wrote it? Have you spoken to Julia?”
The woman smiled as if she had been expecting the question. Then she took a candy from her pocket and offered it to him.
“Oh, no thanks.”
“Never take candies from a stranger, right? That’s what they say. That’s what my mother told me too, you know. And not to speak to strangers either. But if you don’t speak to strangers, how can you make new friends? Don’t you agree?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know.”
“You don’t talk to strangers much, do you? You’d have been the perfect son for my mother. What advice does yours give you?”
“My mother died a long time ago.”
“Oh. And you don’t hear from her any more?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Look, I have to go. Sorry, but I’ve got things to do.”
He was about to walk away, but he wasn’t given the time.
“What she did was very generous, don’t you think?”
Norman looked her straight in the eyes. Their dark depths clouded his mind. He felt as if he were losing his bearings in a place he had always been looking for and never found.
“Who are you? How do you know...?”
“Do you want this candy then? It’s good, raspberry flavor. Your favorite.”
Norman moved closer. All of a sudden, he was no longer conscious of the cold. He took the candy and sat opposite her. He saw in her gaze that the world could be seen from a different viewpoint, making it better than it really was. He sucked the candy and a fabulous blend of flavors made his head spin, projecting him into an abstract dimension that savored of truth. He could taste a faraway place he hadn’t seen for ages, one where he had been happy. He closed his eyes, transported on a journey that was too long to be remembered.
“It’s delicious, isn’t it? It’s made from a special fruit that captures pleasures as well as the senses.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Me? Nothing. What about you?”
“You mean what do I want from myself?”
“Exactly. Hasn’t anyone ever asked you that? Don’t tell me a man like you has never asked himself that question.”
“Actually... it’s the question of my life.”
“And what have you come up with?”
“Only more questions. What does that mean?”
“It means that before you reach your final goal, you’ll have to experience other places and situations, and stop and think about how to tackle them, without turning tail.”
“It’s funny, you know. My mother always said the same thing: ‘Don’t be in a rush. Stop and think for a minute. Your choices will guide you. Forget everyone else and listen only to what your heart tells you’.”
“Your mother was a great woman. Did you listen to her advice?”
“I don’t have a heart of my own, so I had to adapt to what my mind told me.”
“Having a heart goes beyond simply feeling it beating.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s my mother’s heart inside my body. She took her life to give it to me so that I might live. My heart wasn’t strong enough to cope with growing. And my body wouldn’t accept any old heart...”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty about it.”
“How would you know? I’ve spent days on end wondering what I could do to make my life worthy of such an act, but I’m a coward like my father!”
“Oh, come on, don’t be silly! You’re still alive, aren’t you? Whatever you’ve done can be rectified. Perhaps the way to straighten things out and do something for others lies in that briefcase.”
“The solution isn’t in this case, but in a man who stole something from me.”
“There was a time when revenge was considered a god. Have you ever thought of taking revenge?”
The woman jumped to her feet. She looked down at him and leaned over to kiss his forehead. It reminded him of his mother’s kisses when he was a boy and his heart swelled with sadness as it always did when he thought of her. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“Your mother is watching over you and has great faith in you. Not every ending has been written yet.”
Without another word, she turned away and faded into the mist with her dog. Loneliness settled on Norman’s soul again. He dried his tears and stood up, and noticed that the cold was stinging anew. He bent to pick up the case and saw the book the woman had been holding, the same book he had been searching for all morning. He opened it. The first page had faded. In all likelihood, it wasn’t one of the latest reprints. He sat down on the bench to his left and gave himself up to the memories someone had taken from him. Julia popped into his mind. He realized that she was the only person he truly needed, and remembered how he had set her aside lately under the heading “trivialities” with so many other things. He was aware that the word trivial applied to his immaturity, as shown today in all its glory. He flicked through the book to the poem dated 22nd January 2004 in the top right-hand corner.
Wake me ... and after telling me of love, let the tale fade away, and worry then that you won’t remember, so that only I can describe to the future the meaning of ‘I was with you’...
Speak to me... and after falling in love with me, let life die and stop fate from bringing pain so that it’s forced to look into my eyes to find solace again...
Love me... and after you’ve woken, soothe the pain that has to go to hell in order to find comfort by telling the undead that it knew you...
A shiver ran through his body as his mind returned to the light of day from the farthest corner of his memories. He recalled the day he had written those words. It was a Sunday morning. He had got up and made breakfast for her, something he enjoyed doing, especially on such cold and rainy days. The smell of coffee, warming and blending with the room, the croissants wafting their fragrance as if they were grateful for being baked. And her... It was wonderful when he woke her up, and when he kissed her and reminded her of how important she was to him. They never managed to eat the food while it was hot because their desire to be together was too great to wait. So they made love as if it were the first time. He turned another page and was plunged into another memory.
I look at you, as if fate refused to let me see anything else, as if time had no intention of ending and stood still for a moment to find a purpose...
I listen to you, as thoughts reflect on what is truly important, neglecting those details that love has already shaped, and grasping the idea that, perhaps, it’s worth living love, even if there’s no rhyme or reason...
I love you, because I can’t help myself, simply because I need to, because it’s the best way to be human...
Norman burst into tears, sobbing harder than he had for a long time. It had taken being alienated from his life and the most important person in it to make him realize what he had lost. He missed her as morning misses dawn, as life misses light. He clutched the book so tightly he could hear the pages pressing together. Those same pages describing the emotions that had connected him to his reason for living and that now, as only fate knows how, rebounded on him and stabbed him with the pain of knowing that he had thrown that reason to the wind.
> Chapter 24
Paul woke up. His head throbbed and anxiety blurred his memory. The room his eyes lit on was not part of his house. He got up and his mind rewound the reel with the last shot it had recorded. The man who had coshed him had gashed his forehead and someone had tried to medicate the wound. It certainly couldn’t have been done by Celine.
“Celine!”
She was lying on the bed next to his in a deep sleep. He sank down beside her, hoping to bring the comfort that some damned sadist had tried to take away from them by coming into their house uninvited.
“Celine! Hey, Celine! Wake up!”
The woman stirred and struggled to wake up. She heard her husband’s voice from far away, coaxing her from the tunnel the stranger had dragged her into.
“Paul?”
“Yes, my love! Wake up! It’s me!”
“Oh, Paul. My head hurts so bad.”
“We’ve been kidnapped, Celine! By the same men who wanted to speak to our son before they hit us.”
“Oh my God! My baby! Where’s my baby?”
She became hysterical and burst into sobs in an effort to keep panic at bay.
Paul tried to calm her down. They had lived through bad times, but had hoped they were over. Obviously, fate had them in its sights. His wife’s wails were almost ear-splitting. A noise at the door told them that someone had heard the cries. Two turns of a key reminded them that freedom is sometimes far more than a simple sensation.
A woman in hospital whites entered, followed by two men in military uniform.
“Good morning. You were brought here against your will and I apologize. You won’t be detained any longer than necessary.”
Paul stood up, fighting for the calm his wife had lost.
“Where’s my son?”
“There’s no need to worry, he’s fine. He’s in the room next door and now he’s quite happy. We’ve given him a couple of math books and he’s practically devouring them.”
The Devil's Fate Page 10
