by Tatiana Vila
“As in cool interesting,” I amended, with a slight grit of teeth.
“Imagine,” he started and ignored my words, “What Comus is like if he lives in a place like this.” He said, looking around the dim-lighted living room.
My eyes immediately found the coffee table between us. The dark growling dragon holding up the thick sheet of glass underneath confirmation enough of what we were about to deal with. I gulped.
“I bet he's a really nice man,” I said, not believing what I'd just blurted out.
He snorted. “Yeah, and fish can fly.”
“What is up with you?” I said with accusation in my voice. “Are you trying to make me nervous? Teach me a lesson or something?”
“Teach you a lesson? You? Is such thing possible?”
“Oh, don't start on me, please.” I cocked my head, wearily. “Not the right time. Not the right place. Besides…I'm not in the mood.”
He cracked a dry, short laugh. “What, waiting for Casper, the friendly ghost to show up?”
I turned my head and paid no heed to his words.
“Come on. Bring out that fiery glow in you. You can do it,” he added, as if he was daring me.
I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Stop it, Ian.”
“Where is that fearless girl, huh? Did she run away?”
A red-hot spark ignited within me. “I said stop it.”
“And here I thought you were one of the most confident persons I knew. I guess a Chihuahua has more right to that title than you do.”
Okay. That was it. I was not going to be compared to a shaky, overanxious pea of a dog. I released my arms from their tangle and slapped the armrests. “You self-righteous, arrogant mongrel, I'm not a Chihuahua!”
“I never said you were,” he said, aiming his stare down to my hands. He looked up, found me glowering at him and waved his eyes down to my hands again, as if trying to tell me something.
After a deep glaring session, I finally looked down, expecting to find my hands had spurted extra fingers, and saw…nothing. I snapped my head up. “Are you mocking me? What is there to see?”
He laid his stare on my hands once more, without a word.
“What?” I dropped my gaze for a second time. And right then, I realized what he was telling me with his eyes. My hands were on top of the snake heads, clutching them. If in possession of the strength of a superhero, I would've crushed those things into splintery dust. I didn't feel afraid or apprehensive anymore. I had my confidence back.
And Ian was the main reason behind that.
“Now you're ready,” he said, with a smile full of warmth and encouragement.
Even if he'd done it in a quite unorthodox way, the results had paid. The sinister surroundings weren't engulfing me any longer. Like Ian had said, I was ready to talk to Comus, no matter what type of man he was.
I looked at him, with a clogged Thank You in my throat that never saw its way out, because Comus chose that moment to make his entrance.
CHAPTER 12
I blinked, because I was expecting a crazy, modern version of Leatherface; expecting it so much that I had to double check if my mind wasn't tricking me with fake images. But a man was indeed standing several feet away, watching us with an expectant, excited look on his face.
He took a few steps toward us and clapped his hands together in what I would've pictured a kid doing while looking at his Christmas presents. Eagerness wasn't exactly the word. Frantic wasn't either.
“Isn't this wonderful?” Comus said, ping-ponging his eyes between Ian and me, as if he didn't know where to look first. “Visitors! Hah!” He half-laughed and half-squealed.
I jumped a little.
“My dear she-fledgling, do not be scared,” he told me with regret in his eyes. “An old man like me does not know how to handle excitement well.”
She-fledgling? I turned to look at Ian. He shrugged and made a looping motion on his temple, with an I-told-you-so stare.
I went back to watch the man. He wasn't exactly old, maybe around his mid-forties. Shoulder-length brown hair sort of stood up like a halo of thin wires around his long oval face, as if he'd been recently electrocuted and hadn't bothered taming his hair down. Big dark eyes were rounded with glee and anticipation. And surprisingly enough, he had flawless, wrinkle-free skin that didn't seem to have seen the light of day too much.
But the most striking part of him had to be his clothes. Definitely funky. Weird funky. He was wearing a rose-print shirt under a sort of coat, a frock coat I think it was called. It was made of black velvet, with purple cuffs, collar and front lapels, which sported a string of gold colored buttons on each side. His black and white vertically striped pants wrapped his legs loosely, making them look even thinner, and the cherry to top it all, his shoes. Purple fuzzy slippers with a happy face on them.
Comus would've been Buffy's own fashion nightmare.
He rose his left foot up, until it reached my face. “Yes, yes. They are cottony heavens,” he said, flipping his foot side to side, as if putting his slipper on display for my appraisal. “Can you imagine having to put up with so much weight every day? They deserve this. You deserve this,” he told his upraised foot, as if he was talking to a baby.
My God, what have I gotten myself into? The man might've not been a sinister menace but he was clearly someone a shrink would've loved to study.
“Sir,” a sudden flat tone of voice said. Comus pulled back his slipper-clad feet and whirled around to face the short butler that'd opened the entrance door to us. “Do any of your guests wish for a beverage?”
Comus straightened his spine and tilted his head to the side, as if thinking that over. “Of course,” he said after two seconds, the faintness in his voice a sign that he was coming across the realization of something. “I knew it. I knew something had escaped me!” He strode to the still butler, caught his face between his hands and smacked a kiss on his shiny, bald head.
The butler didn't look fazed by any of it. I wondered how often things like this happened.
Comus turned around, or more like made a pirouette, and asked us, “Would you care for a drink my dear fledglings?”
I pulled myself together and answered. “Um…yes, please.” So the man also lacked social skills. Something told me he wasn't used to have people around, which explained all his excitement. A speck of sympathy blossomed inside my chest.
“I would like a beer, if you have any,” Ian said.
I veered my head toward him and shot him a look.
What? He mouthed.
Don't.
Our eyes waged a silent battle for a while, until Ian let out a small breath and released my stare. “I think a pop would be better. Thanks,” he added, resigned.
I swallowed back a smug smile.
Comus nodded and turned to look at me. “What about you, my she-fledgling?”
Though I didn't like the possessive quality and weirdness of his last words, I knew he meant it as an endearment. So I twisted my mouth into a smile and said, “A pop will be fine.”
“Two pops on their way, then!” Comus announced to the air. “No. Make it three pops, Midlo!”
The twelve-year-old-sized butler scurried away at those words and disappeared into the blackness of a hallway.
“So,” he said, as he sat down in the middle of the scarlet sofa. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked, pulling up his legs to cross them over one another. He shoved his hand into his pocket and fished out a lollipop. A strawberry lollipop.
The sight of him, so perky and colorful against the blood-colored sofa, with its gothic pointed edges, left me at a loss of words for a moment. The contradiction too big and deep to not leave someone as dumbstruck as a deer in the headlights.
At that moment, all I could think of saying was, “Why do you live in a place like this?”
Comus looked at me with curiosity in his eyes and slipped out the lollipop from his mouth. “In a place like this?” he asked, confused. �
�What do you mean? Is there something wrong with my dwelling?” He looked around completely oblivious, trying to spot what might've caused my remark.
“Well,” Ian said in a tactful manner, as if wary of Comus' reaction. “Your dwelling has a lot of pointy things.” Comus frowned in deeper confusion. “You know, the chairs, the sofa, the lamp…” Ian looked above us with distrust.
“Oh yes,” he said, after following each object Ian had mentioned with his eyes. “I have a weakness for sharp things, especially when they are pointed. They speak of strength and tenacity, and in some way, they remind me of our communion between earth and heaven.”
Okay, so the man was mad. “But more often than not pointy things can be used as weapons,” I said, arching my eyebrows. “Like…to kill people.”
Silence fell over us. Ian turned to look at me, now really wary. I could see in his widened eyes and his tense body, nearly perched on the edge of the chair, that he was ready to meet head-on any problem my words may have caused. I wasn't completely sure there was a problem. Comus' face was as vacant as the face of a poker player during a world-class championship. But I could picture a psycho having that numb expression before striking, too.
He picked that moment to crack a booming laugh. Both Ian and I jumped in our chairs this time, a good inch above our seats.
“You really have a morbid imagination, don't you?” Comus told me with a huge, inoffensive grin.
I placed my hand over my chest, as if to calm down the pounding of my heart. “Do I?” I saw Ian taking a deep, relieved breath.
“Something tells me you're a fun she-fledgling to be around,” he said, with happy creases around his eyes.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” No need to tell him most people would've run away as soon as they stepped inside this medieval, spike infested place. Communion between earth and heaven my ass.
He smiled and carried on with his previous question. “Before we get distracted again by your delightful sense of humor, could I please know what the reason behind your visit is?” He stuffed the strawberry lollipop into his mouth once more.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, yes.” Better to start with it before anything weird happened, say like Comus having a schizophrenic attack where dark, hooded beings told him to slice us up with one of those sharp things he liked so much. “The article you wrote…on why you think all these weird coma cases are related to art…I was wondering how you got that idea.”
“Ah, yes. Smooch is not going to be pleased with that.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned.
Comus looked at me intently, scanning for something deep down in my eyes. “Can I trust you, she-fledgling?” The word “trust” was laced with the weight of thousand pleas. I could feel it in my chest, pressing it down with insistence. “This isn't something to be taken lightly,” he added, with the first flicker of seriousness I'd seen in him since he'd entered this room.
I thought of Buffy lying on that hospital bed, her eyes closed. I sighed. “You can trust me,” I said, emphasizing the third word with the highest level of honesty I could manage.
He nodded and smiled, that bright glee sparkling in his eyes again. “Smooch is a friend, a friend from Chimera,” he said, expecting the name would ring a bell in my head. When he didn't see any reaction from me, he continued. “Chimera is the place where human minds travel while dreaming.”
Here we go, I thought I heard Ian muttering.
I discounted him and pushed on the subject. “A place? Like a real place you mean? Not a made up spot inside your head?”
“Yes, as real as this scrumptious lollipop,” he said, watching the pink, shiny ball with merriment.
“And have you been to this place, Chimera?”
“We’ve all been to Chimera my dear, only we’re not aware we're there when we sleep.”
Midlo, the teeny butler, slithered into the room in that moment, carrying a silver plated tray with ornate edging and handles. On top of it, were three brown pops and short, ice-filled glasses. He placed the tray on the coffee table and said, “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
Comus turned to him with a smile and said, “You're no longer required, Midlo. You can go bounce on your bed, chase white fluffy bunnies or…do whatever you do when you're not around. Enjoy the evening as you please.”
Midlo cleared his throat. “That's very kind of you, sir, but I was wondering if your guests will be joining you for dinner.”
“We have to get going before that time,” Ian hurried to say, “We're a long way from home.”
“Pitty,” Comus said, with puckered lips. He looked like a kid who'd just been told he couldn't eat candy.
I thought, for a second time since I'd seen him, how lonely he must've felt. How hard life must've been with him. Sick people, especially the ones who suffered schizophrenia like him, were usually neglected by the world, ridiculed more often than not. I knew that behind that Energizer Bunny, cheerful shell, a sad man was begging for company, for a friend. A friend who would listen to his every thought without being afraid. A friend who would cheer him up when in confusing darkness. A friend who, most importantly, wouldn't be ashamed to be called his friend.
I looked at Comus and said, “We would love to have dinner with you.” Even if I knew this wasn't the best thing to do, it felt like the best thing to do.
As if the sun had melted into his mouth, a brilliant smile lit up his face. “Wonderful!” he cheered. “Are you staying for the night, too?”
I wasn't expecting that. “Um,” I glanced at Ian. He gave me a Bravo look and waited for my response. “Well…”
“The fog is getting thicker by the minute,” Comus explained. “By the time you leave, you won't be able to see much. I couldn't live with my conscious if something happens to both of you.”
And I couldn't live with myself if I didn't get any information from him. It was either leave now that the fog wasn't as dense or stay and find out an answer to Buffy's coma. “We'll stay,” I said, with a small nod.
“Isn't this fantastic, Midlo?” Comus uttered excitedly.
“I'll get the rooms ready, sir,” the butler said, and then, paused to look at both Ian and me. “That is, if you wish to sleep separately.”
It took me a minute to figure out the meaning of his words. “Of course we'll sleep separately!” I said, blushing all the way to my scalp. “We're not…we're not like that. We're nothing.” I glimpsed at Ian and was surprised to find his deep stare full of frustration and irritation. Surely a trick of the dim light touching his face.
“I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, miss,” Midlo said, bending over in a beaten gesture.
“Don't feel bad,” Comus told him. “I admit I was under that wrong impression as well.”
“No, he…Ian is my sister's boyfriend.” I felt the intense need to clarify. “Actually, she's the reason why we're here.”
Midlo took that as his cue to leave. “I'll ready both rooms, sir,” he said and scurried away in that silent way of his.
Comus gave me his full attention.
I took in a deep breath and let out the speech I'd been planning for hours. “You see, my sister is one of those people who fell into a coma,” I said. An expression of pity crossed his face. “Like everyone, it happened out of nowhere. We found her with a book splayed open across her chest.”
“She was reading before she plunged into a state of unconsciousness,” Comus deducted.
I nodded. “I want to know why. Everyone says it's some kind of virus that affects the brain, but I don't believe that. I think the CDC is more lost than Atlantis with this. I think they don't really know what they're dealing with.”
“It wouldn't be their first time,” Comus said mockingly. “They think they're at the top of their game, but things like this come and shake their very own existence. It's rather healthy for them to slip out from their golden throne from time to time, don't you think?” he said, a bitter pitch spiking his words.
I paused, mulling over
what he'd just said.
“She-fledgling,” he uttered, pulling me up from my well of thoughts. “You say you don't believe this is a virus. May I know why?”
I gave a faint shrug of my shoulder. “A hunch, I guess. A very deep hunch.” I looked at him. “Some people in my school…their behavior isn't normal. They're reading all the time, and their eyes get this weird glaze over them whenever they do,” I recalled with the bizarre images in my head. “I went to the university library to see if someone had noticed something, and what I found were half empty shelves. The DVD section was almost clean, as if a stampede of people had gone in and swept away all the movies they could. And then bookstores,” I added, remembering the pimpled guy who'd hit on me. “They've been selling like crazy. I haven't checked with online stores selling digital books and movies, but I'm sure they're experiencing the same boost in sales. It's all somehow connected to this same thing that happened to my sister. I just know it in my gut.”
Comus nodded and leaned toward the coffee table to pick up his soda can. He opened it with a sharp, loud crack and poured it into the short glass. To my surprise, he dipped the pink lollipop into the brown, bubbly liquid and pushed it into his mouth a second later. “Yes, you are absolutely correct. But you're forgetting the most important thing,” he dipped the lollipop into the soda again. “What's pushing people to seek these means of entertainment?”
“Chaos,” I told him, bringing to mind what he'd written. “You said it yourself, in the article. Humans are looking for ways to escape the harshness of the reality surrounding them. They need to break away from the mayhem. Hence what you say about art and its involvement in all of this.”
“Correct again,” he said, doing an upward straight line in the air with his glossy lollipop, as if we'd been answering a test. “Art, in a general sense, is the expression of human creative skill and imagination. It's what unearths powerful emotions in people.” He took a sip of his pop. “Now tell me, what things can you relate to this?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Visual forms, like paintings and sculptures. Books, movies, music...”
