by Theo Rion
The thread of his thoughts suddenly tore away; something else was rising from within, reviving his memories. “No, it will never be the same again.” His life had changed…it was ruined. Who was at fault?
“Good morning, Kurt,” the voice made Kurt turn his head and look around the room. No doubt, it was John Fenririr’s bedroom, and he himself stood by the window.
Kurt was slow to respond, although he knew he had to hurry; his tongue was already possessed by the other Kurt.
“As if it could be someone else,” he breathed out indifferently.
“I hoped to hear gratitude for your salvation,” John grinned and stepped closer. Kurt just raised his eyebrow.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Kurt said in a different tone and then paused, frowning, as if he didn’t expect these words. John sat down on the bed.
“Funny thing, you know? Once I said I had slept with you only. But I still don’t know which one of you it was,” John looked at Kurt, smiling slightly. “Maybe both.”
Kurt followed his gaze, but said nothing.
“How should I refer to you? Mr. Devers? Mr. Rhein?”
“You know my name.”
“Yes, and I’m wondering why you kept it.”
“Stupid question,” Kurt smirked and looked away. It was bright outside, but Kurt felt drowsy.
“Rhein,” John stared at Kurt. “I need to talk to you.”
Kurt grinned, but John ignored it.
“I’ve met your friend, Mr. McGlow. I must say our conversation was rather interesting and…”
“Do you think that one conversation with an unhinged old man put you on a level with me?” Kurt laughed.
John smiled in response. “He said I had a natural talent. So, don’t underestimate me.” Kurt snorted, and John continued. “I’ve always despised tomes with their boring theories, but to understand you, I had to become a bookworm, and carefully study your desk books by Despin and Azam. But the most interesting, in my opinion, was the story of Louis Vivet. What hypocrisy, Devers! You treated people, when you needed treatment yourself!”
Kurt chortled. “All your sayings once again prove how stupid you are, John. You think you solved a mystery, assiduous scholar, without realizing that I’ve never suffered from dual personality, I’ve created myself. And—”
“Stop being cunning. You ran away. Almost burned to death. Twice. It doesn’t look like the behavior of a sane person.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t tell me about my sanity or lack thereof. Look at yourself.”
“Don’t change the subject, Kurt. Your case is worth a history.”
“What do you want, John?”
“To talk to Rhein.”
“I created him, I destroyed him.”
“No, he’s still there. Somewhere inside you.”
“Why do you think so?”
“I sense him.”
Kurt laughed. “What you loved in me isn’t related with Rhein. You despised everything he was. You wanted to play with him. And I must admit, it was nice. I couldn’t think of a better test myself. You forced him to go through a series of humiliations and showed me that this personality had outlived its usefulness.”
“But he’s still inside you.”
“It’s a matter of time. I repeat, John, I created Rhein. There is no duality and no conflict. Without me, he doesn’t exist, and I no longer need him.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”
“You tire me, John. Tell someone to bring my clothes. I’m not staying here any longer.”
Instead of answering, John took Kurt’s hand. He stared into his eyes and then looked down at his hand. Kurt didn’t pull his hand away, but it twitched a little. Kurt gritted his teeth and exhaled; John noticed that Kurt’s fingers squeezed John’s hand for a moment, and then he finally freed himself from John’s grasp.
“I’m telling you you’re still here, Kurt Rhein.”
John put his hand on Kurt’s forehead. He remembered McGlow’s words, remembered how easily he could mesmerize anyone. Kurt wasn’t just anyone, and yet it worked. Once Kurt closed his eyes, John said, “Kurt Rhein.”
And Kurt opened his eyes again, and this time his eyes were very different, but so familiar. John allowed himself a smile. “Long time no see,” he said.
Kurt looked at him with bitterness in his eyes.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” John asked.
“Hunting…in the tower,” said Kurt hoarsely, as if he hadn’t used his voice for a while. It was amazing to see how different this Kurt was. He had a different tone of voice and facial expression. Although John learnt it from the books, to see it live was unusual.
“This is,” continued Kurt. “Not for long. Hypnosis is not eternal.”
“I don’t need that much. You know, when I told you the old story about my failed love back there in the tower, I didn’t think you would unravel the lie so easily. But I was pleased when you did.
“But you couldn’t imagine my regret that the gun misfired that night.” John pulled a revolver out of his pocket and looked down at it.
“What are you going to do now? Shoot me for real?” Kurt asked.
“No, I’m not about that, Kurt. If everything had ended that day, we would have never met, and you would have stayed Kurt Rhein.”
“Why are you saying this to me, John?”
“Maybe it’s not too late.” He looked at Kurt calmly and seriously. “You know what used to happen in my house. What I made people do. How I made them prove their love for me. And now...” He paused and again cast a glance at the revolver. “You saved my life, and I never thanked you properly.”
“Aren’t you feeling sorry for what you did?” Kurt grinned. “And you told me you were never sorry.”
Looking at his smile, John smiled too.
“Don’t do anything stupid, John,” Kurt said gravely.
“Well, maybe for the last time.”
John tried to put the revolver in Kurt’s hand, but Kurt refused to take it.
“John, what are you doing?”
“Now you wake up and make your choice. I was the reason; I destroyed or awakened you, it doesn’t matter. What matters is, as long as the two of you remain in this body, you can’t go on.”
“So, what’s the gun for?”
“You’ll see.”
John snapped his fingers, and Kurt fell asleep instantly. John sat in a chair opposite him. He waited. Waiting wasn’t long, though, John wanted to extend the time while he could look at Kurt’s peaceful face on cushions in his own bed. John realized how simple his desire was. And who knows, if it hadn’t been for his pride, or if he had been able to stop in time, his desire could have come true.
Kurt opened his eyes.
“Good morning again, Mr. Devers,” John greeted him, trying to get rid of acute regret.
Kurt’s cold eyes stared across the room, and finally looked at his hand, where the revolver gleamed. “Nice toy,” he said, raising his eyes to John’s.
“I knew you’d like it.”
Not saying another word, John rose from his chair, walked up to Kurt closely and kissed him, despite his protest. Pulling back, John looked into Kurt’s blue eyes.
“Though you aren’t tied, you’re weak,” John lowered his voice. “No one will answer your cries.” John began to unbutton his shirt. “So, you have a few options.”
With one movement, John pulled the blanket away, exposing Kurt’s legs. John left his jacket and shirt on the armchair. His eyes grew ravenous, and he climbed onto the bed.
At first, Kurt wondered whether he should fight back. He didn’t have the strength in his body, but he wasn’t going to submit either. John had stripped him by that time, but now Kurt held out his hand…with the gun. “Stupid, stupid John,” Kurt intoned, and cocked the revolver.
Sensing the cold barrel against his skin, John pressed his lips to Kurt’s neck. A cool palm rested on John’s shoulder.
/> John pulled back and straightened up; Kurt’s glance was changing rapidly, chaotically. His hand, with the revolver in it, quivered.
“It was interesting playing with you, John,” Devers’ voice trembled too. Something inside him was challenging him, but he still possessed himself. “At least at first. But you never learnt you’d never defeat me.”
Kurt’s hand rushed up to his temple. John lunged forward, trying to take the gun, but Kurt, whichever one he was, desperately resisted.
“Kurt!”
“John!” It was the voice of Kurt Rhein. John was still trying to get back the revolver. He stumbled on Kurt’s glance and recognized it immediately. At this moment, two shots rang out.
* * * *
John sat on the bed. He couldn’t sleep. The fifth night in a row. This bed was brand new and was located in another room, but it seemed to John that everything was covered with blood. Yes, it was a lot of blood indeed.
John rubbed his bandaged shoulder. He was pining and languishing in anticipation of a dusky morning, so he could get dressed and go to the hospital. Again. Every time he heard the same thing, that the patient could not be seen. Neither persuasion nor threats had any effect.
This time, John met a nurse, a stout woman in a cap. She examined John from head to toe and asked: “Isn’t it too early for a visit, sir?”
“It is indeed, Miss. But... could you tell me, if Kurt Rhein… Did he wake up?”
She frowned, looked up something on the table.
“He woke up this night, sir. Are you a relative?”
“Ahem...a friend, John Fenririr.”
The woman frowned again. “Have you come here every day?”
John nodded.
“He was asking for you.”
These words put John at unease.
“He behaves restlessly, and he needs to rest. Wait here, please.” She went down the dark corridor, returning a few minutes later with a gray-haired man.
“This gentleman claims he is John Fenririr.”
“Good morning, sir,” John greeted the man.
“Alfred Abbott,” the man introduced himself. “You arrived just in time, I must admit. The patient is very anxious, and perhaps your visit will soften his anxiety. But I ask you to stay calm. He came to himself, and that’s good. Unfortunately, we could not save his eye. And don’t be surprised if he doesn’t recognize you.”
John nodded and followed the doctor. When the door opened and John stepped into the ward, he immediately saw Kurt sitting on a bed. Half his face was hidden behind bandages. But seeing John, he smiled. At this point, John knew who was in front of him.
“I’ll give you a minute,” the doctor looked pointedly at John. As the man left them, he sat down on a chair next to Kurt’s bed. Yet, he didn’t speak to Kurt. He’d been doing a lot of thinking over these past five days, but now he felt perplexed as to what to say. “Are you alone?” he finally asked.
“As far as I can tell, yes,” said Kurt. He’d been asking himself the same question. He remembered vaguely what had happened to him. And it was like a dream, an obsession. But, looking inside himself, he no longer saw darkness or the crystal castle. There was his salon, and his closet with its shelves, but all the shelves were empty.
“You tried to kill yourself…”
“No,” Kurt interrupted him. “Not myself.”
John grinned. They fell silent. John felt words were unnecessary, that Kurt didn’t want to talk, but somehow this silence frightened John a little. As if it was building an invisible wall between them.
“I think I should write to Professor McGlow,” said John in an attempt to destroy this wall. “To thank him for his valuable advice.”
Kurt didn’t say anything, just looked at John sideways. This look was familiar to John, he was sure Kurt had returned to himself. But it seemed something was missing.
“What do you want now, Kurt?” John asked, unable to bear the silence.
Kurt didn’t answer for a while. Finally, he looked at John and said, “To understand what I am.”
Chapter 21
A Year Later
This day had been really good. After having lunch, John had decided to take a walk. His way often went over the Bridge of Lovers. There were memories. After a year had passed, they only changed color but never faded.
Today, when John approached the bridge, he noticed a familiar figure. He wanted to know if this was an illusion and came closer. It was Kurt. He was dressed in late French fashion and looked differently. He had an eye patch. When he saw John, he smiled a familiar smile.
“Good day, John. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“When did you come back to London? Have you tired of Paris already?”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t see Paris much. I worked almost all the time. My work isn’t over yet. And what about you? Still arranging your pompous receptions?”
But John only smiled in response.
“You can visit me and see for yourself. What do you say?” Suddenly John felt vigorous. He could barely restrain himself; he hadn’t seen Kurt for a whole year. And that wall of silence that had been built between them, had turned into politeness. And this politeness felt like distance between them. John wanted to overcome that distance desperately. What had this year cost him? How much patience…?
“I’m sorry, John. I’m leaving for Dover at four o’clock. And I have things to do before that. So, maybe some other time. Maybe, next year,” said Kurt with a courteous smile.
John held back words raging inside him to break free and nodded, but his affability changed to aloofness. He had thought a lot over the past year, and often felt remorse for taking Kurt to the point where his feelings towards him had ceased to exist. Those feelings used to amuse his vanity. Those feelings he now wanted so badly from Kurt. But John restrained himself, not disturbing Kurt’s privacy in hopes that these feelings would come back. However, this unexpected meeting had shuttered John’s dreams. Kurt was the same and somehow completely different. He didn’t need him anymore, wasn’t interested in him anymore; he was just friendly and amiable, but that was all.
John handed Kurt a card with his new address written on it. Kurt looked at it and chuckled. “Farewell, John,” he said, putting the card into the pocket. “I think you’ll be all right.”
Kurt touched his hat and went to the coach awaiting him. John watched the coach pull away and disappear from view. He turned back to the rail and leaned his elbows on it.
John had changed over the past year. He didn’t even notice at first how he’d started to avoid people and to like walking in deserted parks and quiet alleys. But, oddly enough, when he was alone, he didn’t feel loneliness. On the contrary, the atmosphere of those places was pleasing to his soul. His memories and thoughts had become his true companions. Sometimes, when he remembered something, he would laugh out loud. Sometimes, he mentally relived the moments which were the turning point in his life.
London had turned into completely different city for John: interesting, quiet, modest and wise. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t noticed its beauty before, hadn’t felt its mood.
John sat on a bench from where he could see the face on the clock tower of Westminster Palace. The clock started to chime. The hands showed four o’clock. And though John was smiling, he felt bitterness inside. When the chime stopped, he breathed out and got up. He took a cab and went home. The cab drove him past old familiar places. And looking at them, John remembered balls, restaurants, and people with their false faces. Now it seemed as distant as a dream.
When the cab reached John’s new home, he got out and walked up the small hill. His new house sat at the top. John passed a hippodrome and stables with horses snorting inside the stalls. Everything around here was beautiful, and silence only made it more precious.
John went into the house and kindled a fire in the living room, where he sat on an armchair made of redwood. This house had nothing in common with his previous one. John liked its taci
t severity much more than pretentious luxury. He felt strength in this house and at the same time emptiness. It was a reflection of John’s soul.
John closed his eyes. Hearing the wood crackling in the fire, he tried to stop his own thoughts, but some vague feeling clenched his soul. “I should have told you I loved you,” said John, out loud. His voice sounded with hope as if it could fix anything. But the fire kept burning and talking about something else.
There was the evening mist…the silence…the heartbeat…the knock at the door…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Theo Rion
Olga Musaeva graduated from the Russian State Social University. She is an artist, a short story author, and a novelist.
Frol Karnaukhov also graduated from the Russian State Social University. He is a social psychologist, loves to work with people, meditate, and write stories.
They write novels together under the pseudonym, Theo Rion.
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