by Theo Rion
John obediently closed his eyes. Kurt looked at the audience surrounding him. It amused him, the ease with which he engaged them in this performance. He put his left hand on John’s forehead, bringing to John a slight numbness. This touch was unexpected and…pleasant. It awoke pictures from the past when John could freely touch Kurt. Those moments were rare, but now they had turned into treasure. John was overcome by hunger. Kurt’s palm was soft and cool, and it seemed Kurt teased him, knowing well what John felt. “Now open your eyes.”
Kurt took his hand away, and they looked at each other. Kurt’s look had changed; he said something in a calm voice, but for some reason John hardly heard it. His eyelids were heavy, and his body felt numbed. It was as if he had fallen asleep. However, images appeared before him, which were surprisingly real. He had seen them many times in his dreams, but now they were much brighter than in the dream. It was like he was dreaming while wide awake. He had never felt this way.
“Hello, John.” This Kurt was different, and his voice was kind and gentle. John leaned forward, as if to make sure it wasn’t an illusion. “I’m glad to see you,” Kurt smiled.
John smiled back at him. “Am I dreaming?” John asked.
“You could say that. Hypnosis isn’t far from a sleep state.”
“You never told me you know how to do this.”
“You never asked.”
“Then here I have to admit you won.”
“It’s too early to admit your defeat.”
“Why would you put a person under hypnosis?”
Kurt smiled faintly.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked instead of answering.
“About a lot—”
“Didn’t you tell me everything in the tower?”
John hesitated. “No, not all.”
“Are you sorry for what you did?”
John thought he heard some voices, but as if somewhere in the distance.
“No. But...” John somehow felt uncomfortable. “Why did you want me under hypnosis?”
“You broke the threads of my plans, took little Miss Willow away, and I got bored, which is why hypnosis…this hypnosis is no ordinary venture. One of the big pluses of hypnosis is that you can’t lie and you can’t resist.”
“Resist? To what?” John rose from his chair. Kurt smiled at him. “What am I doing now?” He grabbed Kurt by the collar and pulled him. “Answer me!”
“Can’t you hear yourself?” Kurt smiled, without qualms.
John froze. The distant voices around him at the beginning seemed indistinguishable, but soon John heard his own voice, which spoke about his difficult childhood to this high-ranking public. John looked at Kurt; he felt confused, he wanted to make himself shut up, but could not. “Why are you doing this?”
“You think I’m the only one who is curious about it?” Kurt’s voice suddenly changed, and his face was contorted by an unpleasant grimace.
A slight click sounded, and John opened his eyes. He was still sitting in the chair, but the members of the public looked at him with wide open eyes, and in their eyes there was pity and contempt. Only Kurt’s eyes held the same cold shine.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Kurt said, not changing the expression of his face. “Obviously, our dive into Mr. Fenririr’s subconscious went too deep.”
It was said just like that, but John heard the sneer in Kurt’s voice, nor did it impress the high public. But Kurt didn’t need that. John fingered the tarot card in his pocket. It was the devil he had carried with him ever since his meeting with the fortune teller at Ellington’s restaurant. John pulled it out and looked at it, then around him. His confusion was gone. John stood up and spoke with the usual confidence in his voice.
“Well, I hope the story of my inglorious childhood amused you, ladies and gentlemen. And for that, you should thank one person. It is a pity you’re unfamiliar with him.” He smiled. “More specifically, you think you’re familiar with him, but you’re not. I apologize for the insolence, but my father taught me that insults can’t be silently endured. And since Mr. Psychologist here found it possible to expose my humble birth in front of such distinguished guests, I can only respond in kind.”
Kurt merely looked at John. There was no fear in his eyes, rather, it was anticipation. He had waited long for a response like this from John.
“Many of you have been misled into thinking that you are dealing with Mr. Kurt Rhein, who, apparently, is just a figment of the imagination of Kurt Devers, who is the person you can see. Yes, Mr. Devers has no distinguished origin at all as he was born to an actress and an alcoholic. Hence, I would like to pay tribute to the talents of Mr. Rhein-Devers and assure you he could gain the same position in society, even under his own name.
“What talent does Mr. Rhein have? All of us here are educated people, and surely you’ve heard of the sirens? Here is a siren in the flesh. Do you think it’s your ball? It’s his ball. From the moment he was allowed to cross the threshold of high society and was virtually crowned a favorite, everything around him turned into a puppet theatre. And you, ladies and gentlemen, are just puppets. Even now, even my own diatribe perfectly fits into Kurt’s script. Only one thing you didn’t take into consideration, Kurt,” John looked at him, his glance at this moment like a lion’s; his face filled with calm dignity. He approached Kurt very closely and kissed him.
Everyone froze. But the next moment something incredible happened to John himself; Kurt returned the kiss. It lasted only a moment, but John for surely felt his answer. The staring eyes, around them, no longer had any significance.
Finally, the voice of the hostess was heard, as she pulled herself out of the stupor in which she had been thrust. Like all the guests, she seemed to have been plunged into a hypnotic sleep, where she had made no attempt to intervene before this.
For the first time, Lady Taylor felt such a weight on her shoulders. She needed to get out of this situation with dignity while saving the almost lost secular atmosphere of the evening. She raised her voice and without even moving an eyebrow, approached John and Kurt.
“Dear ladies and gentlemen, I give you my deepest apologies,” she said, and then she turned to John. “Mr. Fenririr,” she said coldly. “I won’t put up with this in my house. In yours, you can arrange the bacchanalia, but here you have to maintain decency. Besides, I don’t remember inviting you. You’re a very ill-mannered young man, and I’m sorry you didn’t receive a proper education, despite your noble name.”
John wanted to say something, but she took another step toward him, and he saw how serious her look was.
Lady Rosalie turned to Kurt, who was looking somewhat absent. “As for you, Kurt, nobody could disappoint me more. I never thought you would fall to the level of such an uncouth lout. I ask you to leave. Immediately.”
* * * *
Everything had changed—everything, absolutely, again. How blind, how deaf he was! Kurt’s world was shaken by the strife, in which he saw himself as a little boy. How did he get into his soul? He had wiped his past, transformed it. But his crystal palace crumbled, threatening to fall into the abyss.
Kurt resolutely entered his hotel room, threw a small bag on the bed and hastily packed some things in it. Just a few. Downstairs, he told the concierge he was moving out immediately. The host didn’t have time to say anything as Kurt was already on the street.
Night, illuminated by gas lights, would have seemed fabulous if it hadn’t been so desperately cold. Kurt wrapped himself in his coat. Where was he going to go at this hour? Wouldn’t it be better to stay in the hotel at least until the morning? But he could not stay in that place any longer; something drew him inexorably.
Kurt wandered the streets of London, until all the lights in the windows went out and his company was only the echo of his own footsteps and the unbroken blizzard. On the outskirts of London, Kurt stopped. He was cold and completely exhausted. Before him was a house two floors high, the doors and windows of which were boarded u
p. On scraps, left over from the sign, it was barely possible to discern that it was the toy shop of Mr. Soros. But judging by the conditions, his business had gone badly.
Kurt’s hands were numb from the cold. Forcing his fingers to work, Kurt tore off the board blocking the side entrance and disappeared inside. Here he could hide from the wind, but the bitter cold didn’t want to leave him alone. Kurt saw the fireplace in the wall, but obviously, nobody had kindled a fire in it for a long time.
The house was empty and abandoned. Its host must have left in a hurry, Kurt thought. Products remained on the shelves, with frosty dust covering them all. There was a door on the left he guessed led into the shop. On the second floor, just up the stairs, was a small bedroom and a table. From there it was possible to get to the attic. Kurt looked through the little window and saw the moon in the cold sky, then he looked back at his suddenly newfound haven, and it was abruptly clear to him he would not feel better anywhere else. He wasn’t frightened by the porcelain dolls seated on the shelves, with a frozen look, or the rag dolls with buttons for eyes. He thought for a moment he had seen it all once before, but could not remember where.
After wandering around the shop a little more, Kurt built a fire in the fireplace and went to bed on the second floor.
* * * *
Despite the late hour, John knocked persistently on the door of the hotel. For a long time, the owner didn’t open, and when finally his grey head in a nightcap popped into the slot, John almost lost patience. “Finally!” John blurted out instead of apologizing. “Good evening, sir. I urgently need to talk to Kurt Rhein.”
“It’s impossible, sir!” hissed the man angrily.
“Look, I know it’s very late, but the case is urgent, so I ask you—”
“It’s impossible!” the old man repeated more loudly.
John clenched his teeth and exhaled. “I said I need to talk to Mr. Rhein and either you let me in, or I’ll come in myself.” John’s eyes flashed.
“I’m telling you, sir, it is impossible!” the old man almost cried and raised his hand, stopping John’s outrage. “He moved out tonight, and I have no idea where he went!” He put a strong emphasis on the last word, and threw a baleful look at John. “Good night, sir!” His nightcap disappeared behind the slamming door.
John stood for some time, as if trying to figure out whether the old man lied or not. But he felt that it was true, and this made him more anxious than he already was. He knew there was a sleepless night of searching before him, and for some reason he felt it might lead to nothing. If Kurt didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be—especially by John.
John looked up into the heavens, sighed heavily and went home.
* * * *
Entering his dark, empty house—which had recently been the center of idle amusements and entertainments, sometimes quite violent ones, John headed to his office and sat down at the desk. He stared into the darkness, as if searching for answers he could not find. He lit the lamp, and his eyes fell on a crumpled and bedraggled envelope. It was the letter from Professor McGlow that John had stolen from Kurt’s home. John pulled out the paper and read it again. An idea came to him. He jumped from his seat and on the same day left London.
* * * *
This day was surprisingly similar to the previous. The same bitter cold cloaked Kurt in a heavy cocoon he could not escape. He went down to the first floor and sat in a chair by the fire, wrapped in a thin blanket. The fire burned low, as if it was cold too. Kurt didn’t want to leave. Here he suddenly felt free. No obsessive balls and invitations, no foolish people and fake smiles, even his power napped here, as if were a weary beast. It didn’t yearn for freedom; it didn’t burn him with hunger.
Kurt looked at the room. Something had changed here, but he could not understand what. Dolls still sat and stood in their places, looking at him with attentive eyes.
Kurt got up and walked around the room, touching the lifeless faces. He sat down at the table and took up pen and paper. He hadn’t written for so long…
I got to the point where I started to run away from myself, Kurt wrote and stopped. The words didn’t come easy at first, but suddenly he felt as he had so often before, pouring out his thoughts on paper, growing warmer as he wrote. Kurt wrote page after page. It seemed his own thoughts had languished in the shadows for so long, that now they were eager to assert themselves. Sometimes Kurt was even surprised by them.
Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself in the words that came to him. Sometimes he could not understand what he was. His thoughts had the touch of the past, where he’d lived at a measured and easy pace. Before, these memories had irritated him; now they calmed him. Only the figure of John towered over the white field of the sheet, as if heralding the start of the new era. Or the return of the old one. Once Kurt thought about it, he caught a quick nearby movement from the corner of his eye. He thought he saw a red glow or a silhouette, but it quickly disappeared from sight. Kurt thought he heard someone singing a song, somewhere very close.
He came down and went to the door, which led to the hallway. It was locked, but Kurt listened. Indeed, a man’s voice sang in the night. Kurt wanted to quietly move away from the door, but there was something incredible. He saw himself through the door in the hallway, crooning the song without moving his lips. He wore an impeccable suit and had coiffed hair and white gloves on his hands.
This man was beautiful, but Kurt could not imagine it was him, especially because in the eyes of this perfect Kurt was something attractive and repelling at the same time. It was a dangerous beauty, insane and serving as the perfect bait. The perfect Kurt’s lips curled into a beautiful smile.
At that moment, Kurt appeared on the other side of the door. It was like he was a disembodied spirit which could freely walk through the walls and even get into someone else’s body. He moved inside of the perfect Kurt and could see through the door to look at a boy of about seven years old. Frightened and dirty, he was wrapped in a thin blanket with an ink stain on his cheek. In the body of perfect Kurt, looking through his crystal blue eyes, Kurt’s spirit felt protected, but it was cold here and an incredible longing clutched at his soul. And very close, just behind, there was another silhouette in dark clothes. Not knowing what was happening, Kurt’s spirit rushed back through the door.
And then the door shook from an impact. A rumble echoed throughout the house. Again and again. Kurt rushed upstairs, getting tangled in his blanket. And there through the bars of the railing, he watched as the wooden door shook from powerful blows…until it shattered. And the motive, crooned by the perfect Kurt, was still ringing in the air.
Kurt jerked awake. He was sitting in a chair. The fire had gone out a long time ago. Kurt rubbed his eyes and glanced at the door. There was silence, broken occasionally by the sound of hooves on the street and someone’s voice crooning a song.
* * * *
In the afternoon, McGlow often dozed in his armchair under the soothing purring of a cat that had rescued him from the loneliness, staring through the windows on dark nights. Suddenly his sweet slumber was broken by a knock at the door. The knocking was insistent, too insistent for a polite visit. It was the knock that came when something dire had happened.
The professor opened the door. Before him stood an unknown man.
“Yes…may I help you?” the old man asked in surprise, studying the guest’s face. Not that this man was remarkable, except for his gaze. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and held himself confidently, which was reasonable, considering the sense of power that emanated from him. He looked at one perspicaciously, straight in the eye, without embarrassment, and yet with a look that held both worry and hope. With what could a lonely old man help this man, so full of life?
“Mr. McGlow?” asked the man. “My name is John Fenririr. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I brought you a letter from Mr. Kurt Rhein.”
“And what’s so urgent? Is there something wrong?”
It seemed that John was taken aback, th
inking about his answer. “No,” he said. “I’m his assistant and…well, to hell with it,” he suddenly breathed. McGlow became even guarded. “Listen, you know Kurt Rhein; he even helped you in some way. He has gotten into trouble. And to help him, I need you to explain something to me. To teach me,” he said, looking at the professor firmly, but McGlow saw that it wasn’t a requirement, it was a sincere request.
“Come in, Mr. Fenririr.” He stepped aside, admitting the unusual guest. The cat lazily stretched, looked at John and rolled over. “Let us begin with…”
* * * *
Kurt looked over the railing and saw a man sitting downstairs. The workshop was filled with heat from a kindled fire. Yesterday’s atmosphere of abandonment was gone. Kurt got out of bed and went downstairs, still not understanding, whether it was reality or not. The man was sitting at the table, working on a doll.
“Oh, you’re awake. Good morning!” the man greeted Kurt. Silvery grey strands were visible here and there in black hair what was combed to the side. Yet, the man himself was youthful. He had a wide smile and kind brown eyes. He was dressed in a tweed jacket and a shirt, and a scarf was tied around his neck.
“Good morning,” said Kurt. “I’m sorry for—”
“Trivia!” The man stopped him. “It’s all about the place.” He smiled.
“So, I’m not your first guest?”
“God bless, and not the last. Are you hungry? Would you like a cup of tea?”
There was a kettle on the grid at the fireplace. Kurt nodded and poured himself a mug. He took a seat in front of the fireplace and turned to the man sitting at the table.
“You weren’t here yesterday, and the house seemed quite deserted.”
