Dark Reality 7-Book Boxed Set

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Chapter 4

  The faceless man never traveled in the daylight hours. To do so would have drawn far too much attention to his differences. He journeyed at sundown, cloaked in shadows and night, concealed by darkness. Forced to leave the only home he’d known, he had fled, scared but determined to save himself. He had known he could not stay any longer, that if he wanted to live he’d have to leave.

  He had been commanded to do horrible things by his maker. He had been told his bad deeds had been necessary, deserved even, but the faceless man had not been sure. Though he had questioned his maker’s commands internally, he had been unable to ignore them; he had felt compelled to do as he was told. He did not know why.

  Sitting in the coppice on the outskirts of Veteran Park on the warm, moonless spring night, the faceless man stared in the distance at a large, bronze statue of a kneeling soldier, momentarily relieved of the burden of his past actions. The statue and the surrounding park was illuminated by cast-iron lampposts painted black and crowned with three globes each. From where he was situated, he was granted a clear view of the statue yet maintained his concealment.

  The bronze statue on bended knee held him, soothed him. With his helmet at his side and one hand at his brow, the soldier stared somberly at the ground below. The faceless man was sure that there were people who had cared about the soldier, people who had loved him. He wondered what it would feel like to be loved.

  No one cared about him. No one loved him. The soldier had been lucky.

  The faceless man had not been so lucky. Early on he had discovered that he was alone, that conventional humans were a cruel species reluctant to accept him. His only hope, the very one that kept him moving and offered him the will to live, was that somewhere in the world, the perfect friend for him existed, someone kind enough to see past his unique exterior. He had seen himself in a mirror in his former home. He knew he did not look quite like his maker or other humans he had seen. He did not resemble the handsome soldier statue either, did not have the same sad eyes.

  His maker had told him that he was a product of an untimely end to his handiwork, that the urgent need for a formidable ally had superseded his proper formation. Terzini had said that he had been taken from his development tank far too early–earlier than was possible to allow for a meaningful, productive life of service to him; that he was a monster who would never be able to integrate into society.

  He did not like what his maker had said. His maker’s words had been cruel. They had hurt him then, hurt him still.

  In the silence of the thicket that bordered Veteran Park in the presence of the striking soldier statue, the faceless man relived the pain his maker had caused him, heard the words spoken in his cold voice, felt their chill. He hugged himself briefly to fend off the frostiness. Though the ambient temperature was moderate, he shivered. The memory of their last interaction was fresh in his mind. He felt as though he were sitting in Dr. Franklin Terzini’s laboratory, attempting to express his misgivings.

  When the faceless man had resisted Terzini’s commands by gesturing with hesitance and grimacing at the orders, his maker had become very angry. He had shouted at him, had hurled a glass container at him. He had wanted to strike back or at least prevent his maker from throwing things at him, but something inside him had prohibited such an act. He had tried in vain to lift his arms in retaliation, had willed them to move but they had not cooperated. Instead, he had felt his insides tremble, had found it difficult to breathe. His pulse rate had sped dangerously. The world had spun around him. He had felt as though he’d fall to the ground.

  Hugging himself tightly in the undergrowth, the faceless man suddenly found it difficult to breathe once again. His heart thundered; he heard it pounding in his ears just as it did the day he’d realized he wanted to leave.

  He could still hear his maker’s voice echoing in his ears telling him that no one defied him and that he would die just as soon as the others were fully formed. Terzini had expected him to surrender to destruction.

  Even still, five months after his fateful interaction with his maker, the notion of conceding his life, of forfeiting his future willingly sent a chill down his spine. His maker had insisted that he simply agree to his death; accept it as affably as one accepts a gift. His maker had had very unrealistic expectations. He did not want to die; he was newly born. He had not yet experienced life, save for the horrible things he had been ordered to do.

  Day after day, in his short existence at Dr. Franklin Terzini’s laboratory, the faceless man had been given directives then banished to a room the size of a closet. For him, it had felt more like a cell or a cage because, each night, the door had been locked from the outside. His maker had sequestered him. He had not been free to roam about. Instead, he had been detained like an animal or criminal devoid of rights and privileges. He had known he’d done nothing wrong. He had done just as his maker had instructed, yet remained imprisoned in a tiny room.

  His captivity had grown very upsetting to him. He had felt trapped and confused by his maker’s rules, why his maker had thought it necessary to punish him with confinement. He had also refused to willingly accept death once Terzini’s new creations were born.

  As part of the next phase of his maker’s plan, other creations like him had been formed and were in the process of development. They would remain in their tanks for a predetermined amount of time that was far shorter than the gestation of a human being conceived by conventional means, but far more effectual. His maker had told him that their births would signify a momentous moment in the history of humanity; that a great transformation would begin. The birth of the new creations did not represent a significant event to the faceless man. It was more like a death sentence. He had known what would’ve been expected of him, that once they had grown and matured and were ready for release, he would no longer be needed. Dr. Terzini had made it clear to him that once the new creations were born, he would be required to surrender his life. He had fretted over his death many nights while locked in his tiny room.

  One night, when his internment had grown particularly unbearable, he had rested on his cot and looked at the ceiling of his small space. He had noticed a large metal grate affixed with screws. He had become curious about where the ventilation opening led, and if, perhaps, it led outside of his room. He had been certain it would lead to a fascinating locale.

  That night, he had stood on his cot and excitedly yanked the vent from the ceiling. Tiny screws had dropped to the floor, but he had not cared. He had thought he was embarking on an adventure. He had dropped the grille to his cot, hoisted himself up and wriggled into the opening.

  Once inside, to his dismay, the ventilation duct had not been interesting in the least. In fact, it had been rather terrifying. The channel had been narrow and dark and littered with spider webs and insects, both living and dead. The space had been so tight that it had greatly restricted his movement and had caused him to feel an overwhelming sense of confinement. He had been forced to slither forward as there had been no room for him to twist and return to his room. The farther he had moved from the meager light provided by the opening to his room, the darker and scarier the ventilation duct had become. He’d had to close his eyes tightly, had to resist the urge to stop moving and succumb to fear.

  He had slid through the dusty darkness for less than fifty feet, eyes still shut, before he had happened upon another grate. He had felt it with his face and immediately opened his eyes. Dim light had pushed back the dark slightly, and he had wanted nothing more than to be in the light. He had pushed against the grate with his large, webbed fingers and the screws had yielded under their pressure. The grate had fallen off easily and he had dropped to the room below.

  Grateful to be standing once again, he had squinted and allowed his vision to adjust to the light of the room; the light had been dim but far brighter than the gloom of the duct. Once his eyes had adjusted, he ha
d realized where he was, that he stood in Terzini’s laboratory, a laboratory that led to the outside.

  The prospect of freedom had been an unexpected and irresistible temptation. He had been outside on rare occasions and had found the outdoors fascinating. The lure of independence, of choice, had been too great to ignore. He had decided that returning to his room was not as appealing as liberation.

  So he ran. He ran as fast as he could away from the life that enslaved him. He had felt it vital to get away from the horrible little man who wanted to kill him. He had fled the laboratory and the grounds of Dr. Franklin Terzini’s property without a formal plan, had known only that he would actively pursue friendships.

  Sadly though, as time passed, the faceless man had begun to recognize an unfortunate pattern: everyone he had come in contact with seemed to share in his maker’s estimation of him. The people he had encountered were rarely able to suppress a scream much less forge a friendship with him. They had reacted negatively, hostilely in some cases, toward him, had screamed at him, and had attacked him; he quickly realized that acceptance would be a challenge.

  The faceless man began to linger in locales that were less inhabited, favoring darkened alleys and abandoned buildings. When in these locations, he unearthed many people like him, people who were displaced, people who had been relegated to darkness. They were vagabonds, unwanted and unloved, who pushed their meager possessions about in carts and carriages and ate out of trash cans. He thought them kindred spirits. He was wrong, of course. His vagrant peers excluded and rejected him vehemently, violently. They proved mean, and scary.

  Without food, shelter, or companionship, he roamed alone, forced to urinate and defecate in the wilderness and feed on small creatures indigenous to the area. He survived primarily on rabbits, raccoons and squirrels and the occasional rat. He drank and washed in streams and ponds.

  Most days, he was afraid and lonely. But living a lonely and rootless life was still preferable to the life he previously led. His maker had used him to hurt people, kept him locked in a tiny room then wanted to kill him.

  Though the faceless man had fled from the captivity of his maker’s laboratory after being informed of his impending destruction months earlier he re-experienced it regularly and in vivid detail. Just recalling the fact that Terzini had wanted to exterminate him as if he were a loathsome pest of some sort caused him to feel each emotion as if it were occurring in the present.

  He shivered again and clutched his body closer as if physically trying to hold himself together, fighting a phantom force that sought to dismantle him. He knew his maker’s call for his death had been unfair, unjustified; he knew that much was true. He could not object to it, could not articulate his desire to live. He was incapable of speech, and therefore unable to argue on his own behalf, or plead with Terzini to pardon his impending death sentence. He valued his life, even if Terzini did not. The faceless man knew that Dr. Franklin Terzini was nothing more than a mean little man filled with harsh words and malicious ideas, and very unrealistic expectations.

  His maker was not unlike other humans he had met. Everyone he had come across had been unkind. They shrieked at the sight of him, shrunk away in his presence. He could not imagine why they could not see past his differences.

  As he sat with his knees tucked against his chest and his arms wrapped around them, he wondered if Terzini had been right, if no one would ever accept him as he was. As he contemplated such an idea, an overwhelming sentiment swelled within him. He felt a profound sense of sadness for himself.

  Fortunately, the sadness was fleeting. His resolve countermanded it. He was determined to seek out a compassionate person, one who saw past his miscreation. He had heard talk of one who’d managed to see past another of Dr. Terzini’s creations and cared about him deeply. That is what he wanted, what he was determined to find, a person who would not condemn him for his origins but would celebrate him, instead. He refused to accept that his experiences represented the whole of humanity. Gabriel James had found a person who cared about him, and so would he.

  A warm breeze gusted, stirring the plants and blossoms around him. In the distance, the bronzed and bowed statue did not waver. His gaze remained fixed on the earth beneath him, cast down in perpetual despair. The faceless man breathed in the sweet spring air and realized he did not wish to be like the gilded soldier after all. He wished, instead, to be like Gabriel.