Woods

by Finkelstein, Steven

  Now, there are many ways to gain powers in this world of the sort that interested Remy most, of the kind that he most coveted. Some are through gentle means where no harm is inflicted on anything living, animal or human, but generally, that is not the case. Power and ability of the kind that Remy hungered for is most easily attained through pain, and sacrifice, and the separation of unwilling participants from articles that are important to them, by rending, and ripping, and tearing. And those articles could be any one of a number of things- their dignity, for instance, or their virginity, perhaps, or a loved one, or a limb, or possibly even their very life. For it is during these separations that energy is exchanged, and if you know how to do it then you can take advantage of these brief moments to siphon it off, and capture and control it, and use it to your own advantage. That is why Remy had steered our formerly harmless performances in these directions; it was always with an ultimate goal in mind. The last event to take place here in Feral, in front of a live audience, would be an arcane ritual that Remy had been preparing for the entire time he had been with our group. And the final, hard fact, at the end of the night, would be this- after the sex, and the costumes, and the ritualism, and the pomp and fanfare, and the general pageantry that accompanied all our acts, the final curtain would be no more, or less, than a mass suicide. That was what it had all been coming down to, Madeline said. Remy, with his charm, and his wit, and his uncanny persuasiveness, had been drawing them all in, so that on the night that would be his crowning achievement, the night of his “ascension,” as he called it, all of the others would be convinced to take the final plunge. But he would tell them that it wasn’t final, you see. Just like so many other fanatic cultist leaders, he’d convince them that they would be resurrected, that their “deaths” would be only momentary, that he had the power to resurrect them. And they would come back, all of them, with the powers and the knowledge and the answers that they had been searching for, and yearning for- the answers to the biggest questions. They would cleave the void and come back the wiser for it, and they would live in this world with all the knowledge of the others. He would entreat them to think on that, on how wonderful it would be. It would be the ultimate act of trust, trust in him. And he would brook no refusal.

  But of course, none of this would be the case. Here was Remy’s actual plan. When all of the players in this grizzly circus submitted to his will, and plunged the daggers into their hearts, in a self imposed trancelike state made possible by the ritual we would be conducting, a ritual masking as one of our “vulgar art” pieces, it would be only Remy and his chosen ones that would reap the benefits, those being his loving wife and faithful, prodigal son. The three of them would garner the power the ritual would bestow, and, having rid themselves of the foolish, lowing cattle that had once been a loving, albeit strangely formed family of outcasts, they would be able to live with the very knowledge and powers that those selfsame cattle had sought to attain themselves.

  And when Madeline had heard all this, then finally, for the first time in years, since the day when the charming conjurer had walked into her life and she had been so smitten, the veil was lifted. She saw him as the manipulator that he was, and she saw how she had been behaving, and she gained, like a flash of lightning, an insight into the way she had been acting, and the person she had become, and she was sickened and ashamed. She remembered how apprehensive I had been, and my words of warning, and my disapproval at the way that we had all been changed and corrupted by Remy’s influence, and she remembered me for the true friend that I was, looking out for her best interest at all times, and then and there she realized that I had been right all along. She knew that she had to stop Remy’s plan, for the love she still bore toward me and the other members of our fractured and fragmented group, and she was determined to put things right. But she had not spoken her disapproval toward Remy, instead coming to me right away. And when she had finished telling me all this, she got down on her knees and begged for my forgiveness, in a way that broke my heart, for never had I expected to see her in such a state, and she wept, and I wept with her.

  But hearing all that she said, my heart was chilled, because I thought I saw the struggle that now must come. For the hero worship that the others held toward Remy was so complete, and what would it look like for us to speak out against him now? What effect would it have? Would the others be at all receptive to us, now that they were so completely in his thrall, now that he was so close to the completion of his plans? They weresheep. It saddened me to think of them so, but I had lost so much respect for them in the years that Remy had been with us. Was it only my cynicism that had saved me from his influence? Why had the others not resisted as I had? They had allowed themselves to be so homogenized. I’d loved them, once. But they’d allowedthemselves to be changed. That’s what galled me, but still…to have a loved one lost to you was bad enough, but feeling one’s entire family slip away had been worse. And even though Madeline was still speaking, I remember that I didn’t listen for a moment right then, because my mind was only focused on my hatred for Remy, and what he was planning to do. It was like a chunk of ice that, once swallowed, could not be digested. It had just ridden around with me in the pit of my stomach for all those years.

  The only one that I still felt the same about was Madeline. My own wants and needs were still secondary to hers, as they’d always been. I asked her what she thought our best move was. I assured her that however she wanted to handle this, I, for one, would support her. Of course, what I wanted was for her to call an end to her sham of a marriage. I knew that things could not go back to the way they’d been before Remy; too much had changed. We were older now, and what we want from life changes as we age. But I trusted her judgment, and I would stand at her side, whatever she chose. And she said she’d known that would be the case. She’d always known she could rely on me.

  Stitch’s speech had become more halting and broken, and now he stopped altogether, taking a moment to pause and get a hold of himself before he went on. Tad could tell that this part of the story wasn’t easy for the man to speak aloud, and he did not attempt to rush him. The knitting needles continued their ceaseless movement, as the shadows from the open door lengthened slowly and deliberately across the floor. Tad wondered if Stitch had ever told anyone about these events before, or if he, Tad, was the first one to ever hear them recalled. He waited, breathlessly, for whatever came next, and presently Stitch began again. Of course, if I had known the series of events that was about to take place, I wouldn’t have been so complacent about the whole business. Madeline’s decision was this- she chose, rather than to bring the matter to a public forum and reveal to the group the treachery that Remy had been planning, she would instead convince him herself to change his mind. I didn’t want her to do it, of course, but I know why she did. She did it because much of her confidence in the man that she inexplicably loved had been shattered, and she wanted to know if any of what she had felt for him could be restored. She wanted to know if, at the end of it all, at the end of his scheming, he had ever actually loved or respected her, deep down, really and truly, beyond all the humiliation in their relationship that he heaped on her, that was always supposed to have been part of an act. I cannot blame her for wanting to know this. I’m sure, if I were her, I would have wanted the same. For what happened, I blame myself.

  I know what took place in their conversation because Madeline told me after…she went to him and asked him not to do it. She said he was taking it too far, needlessly. She said that regardless of what he believed, there could be no good result to what he was planning, and even if she wanted what he claimed could be theirs, the price was too high. She told him that he had a wife and a son who loved him, and he should be content with that, and not to discard what he’d been dealt in a single minded quest for more. But of course, she must have known that Remy’s desires were not a passing fancy, but an obsession of the highest order. I’m sure his response did not surprise her.

  He told her
that she worried needlessly. He said that if the reason she resisted was because of some sort of residual sentimentality for those who would be sacrificed, that she should look on their passing with no more sorrow than she would sticks of kindling being tossed into a fire. There was a difference, he said, between those peons and Madeline and James and himself. The three of them were like an aristocracy compared to the others of the group, granted divine right to clamber onto their shoulders to reach loftier goals. Because the combination of might and knowledge made right, they had carte blanche to dispose of the others in whatever way they saw fit, should it serve their purpose. That was why, he said, the others did his bidding so readily; he was endowed with authority, and they knew it. He had a quality that very few have, and even those few only had a tiny measured amount, whereas he had it in abundance. And so did she, he said. He had used his knowledge, his power, to bring forth the ability in himself. He’d known how to nurse it while it grew, how to practice and enhance it. But she had the ability too, he said- he’d recognized it in her, and he had also recognized that hers had grown naturally, and she hadn’t had to foster its care. It had grown while she was entirely unaware of it. She’d always noticed that others did her bidding, and how she could talk anyone into doing anything. She’d thought it was only her charisma that had allowed her to do it, but apparently it had been something else as well. She had the power of Suggestion. And it was a biological trait, Remy said, and that was why their son had it too. Under Remy’s care, James would become a great man, with the power to change the world around him to fit his views of what it should be. He would be a man of vision, a seer. That was why they must go through with it, he said, for James. It was for James that they must tear through, to cleave the void. And many lives would have to be thrown into it so that the answers Remy wanted would be surrendered to him, but they did not have to be important lives.

  And then she appealed to him as his wife, as his lover and friend. She asked that for her, he abandon his plans, and as the two of them were indeed strong in the way of Suggestion, you can imagine how the two dominant wills struggled against each other, for these were two masters, Madeline self taught, but conscious of her gift now, and Remy, who had practiced until others obeyed his commands without pausing to give them a thought. But he relented. She wore him down. She begged him for her sake, and when at last he said he would abandon his plan, she thought, truly, there is love here. Maybe I misjudged him, and maybe there is a chance for us, and for James. Maybe Remy can forget his deceitful and despotic tendencies. She allowed herself to believe this. She should have known better. But I will say it again. Madeline is not to blame. I understand the lies she told herself, and the reasons for them.

  When Madeline told me all of this, when she came to see me the day after, I shared her jubilation, but I was still uneasy. Even with her explanation of how she’d convinced Remy, through physical means as well as verbal, I didn’t believe that he had abandoned his plan only on her behest. I had known Remy for several years now, and I doubted things could be that easy. But I wasn’t sure what I could do other than to accept the news at face value for the moment. Much as I wanted to beat the man to death with my bare hands because of what was in his mind, he was still Madeline’s husband, and the person who she loved as she loved no other, not even me. And so I let things be.

  It was a couple of days later that Remy announced that we were putting on a performance, here at the house. It would be the first of our final series. For he had said to Madeline that even though he’d agreed to abandon his plan, he wanted to go through with the retirement from “vulgar art.” He said there was nothing further he could take or learn from it. But they would finish, he said, with a run of some of their greatest routines, a true farewell to debauchery from those who had done more with it more verve, style and flair than any others before.

  The first performance that was to take place would be witnessed by only a select few, and it would involve only two performers- Remy himself, and Madeline. The performances between the two of them, man and wife, were always viewed as something special. For me, they always had a more intimate and seductive aspect to them than any of the others, mostly because there were only two principals, playing off each other perfectly, so in tune with each other’s bodies and natural abilities and pain thresholds. These were the ultimate in voyeuristic pleasures, a specialty of both Madeline and Remy. Little did I know, standing off to one side, moderating as I’d so often done, playing my role as “Gatey,” that this performance would be the last for both of them.

  As with all of the galas we put on here at the house, the actual performance took place in the grand chamber up above, in the Eye of Heaven, the Garden of the Moon. It was an early July night in 1972. I stood at my accustomed post, off to one side, as the moonlight streamed in through the Eye, bathing the two figures who were always the center of attention regardless of where they were in the world, or who was watching them. Reclining all around were the other members of our band, who watched in blissful contentment, completely ignorant of the fact that Madeline might well have saved their lives by appealing to her beastly husband and staying his hand. And with them were the few select others who had arrived over the past day, appearing through the Skips in the caverns below from places around the world. They had seen things in our performances such as they’d never seen before- Remy, to his credit, had given them that. But they were going to see something that night they’d never witnessed before, and neither had any of the rest of us, for that matter, we who had seen this show a thousand times and thought we knew what to expect. And James was there to see it too. He sat, cross legged, only a stone’s throw away from me, watching his parents in an absurdly intimate coital scene with a happy smile on his face, as another child might watch his favorite television program.

  The name of this piece was “The Violation.” Sparing you the details, suffice to say that Madeline plays the part of a hapless traveler in a foreign city who is snatched by a sexual predator, a sadist, and dragged away to his hideout, where he inflicts various torments on her far away from the possibility of rescue, where her screams and pleading cannot be heard. This is not an unpopular fantasy, of course, or an uncommon sexual fetish. The sleazy aspect of this or similar ideas are very appealing to certain types, even those who would never actually commit such an act in reality. The set pieces and costuming for this show are very sparse, compared to some of the others. It’s all about the interaction between captor and captive, and it is as much about the victim being robbed of all dignity and hope as it is sexual. The fear, the degradation, it is all there, as Madeline tries all manner of ploys to convince her assailant to release her- threats, pleading, flattery, and an all out verbal assault when each of these seems to have failed. None of it works, and finally comes acceptance. She is beyond help, and it is as she realizes this that he begins to pick her apart at his leisure, taking his time. It is clear that he’s done this before. The tension builds, as she learns what penalties she must pay should she even hesitate to obey him. It becomes more obvious, as the minutes tick away, that her pain is his pleasure, and that for her, the night can have only one inevitable conclusion. But what I always found the most disturbing part of the piece, and the most compelling, is that before it is all over, it is more and more apparent that the victim, Madeline, is beginning to enjoy what is happening to her. Thus are the basest desires that compose the dominant-subordinate relationship revealed, even one that is forced on the subordinate and that she does not choose voluntarily. There is something about the piece that I was never entirely clear on. Madeline was a gifted, consummate actress, and you may scoff at that, for what kind of “acting” was this, really? But you would be surprised at the genuineness of the emotion that she was capable of creating, and no less her husband, the man I despised. That being said, I always wondered if Madeline’s appearing to enjoy herself by the end of the show was because she was supposed to be doing so, or whether she was just so turned on that she couldn’t help
herself, and she was breaking character. I don’t suppose it matters. After everything that Remy, the fiend, wants is taken from Madeline, there is only one more thing that must be done- for after all, they’ve both had their fun, but there is no possibility that the woman can go free.

  And so in the final scene, as the disgraced woman crouches on her hands and knees, every stitch of clothing having been ripped from her body, her glowing flesh laid bare by the lash of her tormentor’s belt and fists, he mounts her from behind. And in the throes of both their passion he reaches out his hands and grips her around the neck, and as he speaks on societies’ ills, he throttles her, gently at first, then increasing his grip until he leaves her lying prone and lifeless, at which point he casually dresses and walks away. And the long suffering audience, who has gotten a look into the vile, the most sickening, the most arousing of human dramas, they rise to their feet, all those who are still capable of it, and they applaud as one.

  Or, that is what normally happened, at any rate. Not so this time, and never again. What you have to understand about autoerotic asphyxiation is that even those who do it privately, for their own pleasure, must do so carefully, as the proper sensations can only be attained through the cutting off of air through the windpipe, which, enjoyable as some find it, is still an excellent way of killing yourself. There is a very fine line, a matter of seconds, of the right amount of pressure as compared to the wrong amount, and it is easy to make a mistake when it comes to such things, particularly in the height of passion. Whether it truly is autoerotic, or whether someone else is there to give you a hand, so to speak, caution must be exercised; of course, both Remy and Madeline were masters of making the audience think they’d gone too far and made a mistake. That was part of the thrill of the finale, of course. The deception must appear real, or the illusion is shattered. This was one of their signature two-person shows, simple but powerful, and they had done it many, many times over the years. It goes without saying that they had practiced it dozens, hundreds of times more. It is safe to say that they had perfected it. And I, even though I loved Madeline as I did, would always suffer through the show with her, but know in the back of my mind that when the audience rose up, breathless, cheering, that she would rise too, assisted by her husband, and rejoin the land of the living. In fact, I will admit that part of the reason that I enjoyed this performance so much was that I got the chance to see the woman I loved more than any other human being on earth tormented and treated like dirt. Perverse, you say? Maybe so. That was the entire point of vulgar art, the feelings that it gave you that you weren’t supposed to have. There are few souls that will readily admit to themselves that they would like to see the people they care about most be made to crawl and writhe in pain, but it is the greatest thrill in the world, believe me. Take it from someone who knows. It hurts far less than you might think.