The Devoted (8 page)

He stops. I stop. Cause and effect. Steals a glance at the house to make sure that we’re unobserved.

And then, en route to easing my chest, He begins to speak about Theodore:

“Have you spoken with Theodore since you woke?”

“Not really, no.”

“He was talking a certain way to me. I didn’t care for it. He asked me why our family is so nice-looking.”

I slip my hands inside my pockets. My right one touches the phone and I could scream.

“Sometimes we make little jokes about it,” I say.

“‘Little’ I hope is the key word. I take our beauty seriously.”

And now His eyes are on and in me. Handsomeness like few will ever know.

“He told me, as if I didn’t already know, that journalists were curious regarding our group’s physical appearance. It was a strange conversation. I felt a cramp the whole time.”

Is this what we’re talking about?

“I’m sure,” I say, “all of us are thinking new thoughts.”

“That much I encourage. This was an affront, though. He was questioning me.”

Now I look toward the house for a moment. Think of Theodore inside of it. Jolie, as well. One asking questions, the other fearing knives.

And then there’s me. But my words aim to keep the peace: “Well, you have to keep in mind, he hasn’t been on his meds since we got here.”

Though I’m not quite certain that that was peacekeeping.

“Well,” He says, “medication is administered, simply, to stamp out the spirit. To rip the impulses clean out of a person. In my opinion, Theodore has been much more lucid without those potions. Though I must admit, he still can leave me quite unsettled.

“Especially today.

“Can you speak with him? To calm his mind?”

“I’d love to,” I say, even though I wouldn’t. “But to be honest, I’m not sure if that will do any good.”

His face changes: less handsome/more handsome/equally handsome.

“Why?” He wants to know. “Because of what occurred when you tried to speak with Jolie?”

In a natural reflex, my head tilts downward. The guilt of a boy with his hand in the cookie jar (with his hand on an actual phone). “I’m sorry about that,” I say.

Now His eyes have a softness about them. “She was afraid, that’s all. I should’ve prepared you for something like that, but I didn’t. No need to apologize.”

The cool air of a passing moment. We’ve agreed to let it go.

“So,” He says, “I gave Theodore permission to have a little break in his room. Will you go there and speak to him for me?”

Edgar Pike’s Journal

November, 2009

Gaining power requires nothing. A gorilla can do it -- and by that I mean mentally, not physically. It’s primitive. Power?

All you do is sift around for someone’s weakness. It can become apparent within moments if you ask the right questions, act warm enough. You get the weakness, you have the power.

I had a friend once who was afraid of bridges. He told me that the first time we spoke. I acted like I forgot. Then four months later, I suggested we have all our lunches in a restaurant beside the Golden Gate Bridge. He sat there cowed the whole time!

Beth hates talking about the TV show. So I never mention it. But you should see the look on her face when I mention other soaps!

Last Day –
11:29AM

Theodore’s room might as well be my room. My room might as well be any other room. Whiteness, that’s the long and short of it.

As for my thoughts, they may as well be The Leader’s thoughts, so filled are they with the words He told me to say.

I go fast, not only ‘cause I want to run out of here, but ‘cause I’m fearful of forgetting what I have to say. And if this goes the same way His last request did...

“Theodore,” I whisper, “can I come in for a minute?”

He’s on the floor, legs unbent and parallel. He looks equally saddened and overjoyed to see me.

“Sure,” he says.

Kid-like, rapidly, I pull up a piece of floor beside him. Try to make this fun. Should have done so with the knives.

“Your name came up in our conversation,” I tell him, my tone so chipper I may as well be saying that there are gifts awaiting him beneath the tree.

“Really?” he asks, and he’s really asking. “And what was this conversation about?”

He, too, tries to sound like Him.

I, however, not only sound like Him; I’m actually reciting His words:

“We love you, we said,” The Leader says through me. “We have a special love for you.”

Theodore’s eyes melt.

The Leader then uses my mouth to say: “No more special than for any of the others -- but we want you to witness as much beauty as can be seen without being an actual leader.”

“How do you mean?” Theodore’s eyebrows descend.

Then The Leader, who’s not in the room, says to Theodore: “Well, I can’t go into it too much right now, as the order of our passing is to remain a secret, but he and I have decided to let you in on something special.”

Suspense that could part the walls from the ceiling.

But when I resume speaking, it’s actually me speaking: “You are to go right before The Leader. Tonight. Second to last.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“
I
go second-to-last? Not you?”

“We decided that it’s only fair. We haven’t figured out the rest, but after the first five depart, it will be me and Jolie together, followed by you, and then he will be the final one.”

Theodore glances up at the ceiling, as if expecting to spy a holy entity. Upon returning to Earth (such as he can), he says, “I hope it doesn’t discomfort you, Matthew.”

“Why would it?” I furnish up a smile. “It was partially my idea.”

“Well, you know in recent years I’ve had thoughts of leadership. And perhaps we spoke less after Jed left and you were promoted.”

That’s it for me. I’m out of here. Not because what he says threatens me; after all, he’s as fit for leadership as Fredo Corleone.

I rise because I’ve closed the deal. I run my palms across my pant legs, relieving them of various specks and bits. “Maybe,” I say, sliding a lie into the chamber, “but regardless, Theodore: I think only good things about you.”

Theodore’s eyes have stopped melting now...as they are entirely melted. He hides them with his hand, turning it into a V-lipped visor.

“There were smiles on our faces,” I say, taking advantage of his emotions, “as we discussed it. Only don’t make any mention of it beforehand, though; act surprised. We don’t want any drama in this house.”

This time, unlike on the patio, I am coolness personified. I have him. So much so that I don’t even have to hang ‘round for a verbal confirmation.

By the time I leave, he’s become less man than puddle.

Last Day –
11:20AM

But that’s not what The Leader said out back.

What I said was close, and I quoted Him as much as possible, but at the last moment, I changed it up a little.

‘Cause you see, The Leader, for reasons best known to Himself--

Said that He wanted Theodore to go
third
to last. Theodore-Me-Leader.

Which leaves Jolie where?

I asked The Leader that very question before going up to see Theodore, working my words in amidst an assault of wheezes.

By way of an answer, He said, “That breath must be agitating for you. What can I do to calm you down?”

Quite hot inside, I repeated myself: “Where does Jolie go in the order?”

The Leader actually looked down at the grass. As though He had yet to consider that part.

As though His fucking objective was to tear me down.

“Naturally,” He said, “your thoughts would be with her.”

Since He was looking downward, I robbed a moment to check my pulse. My fingers went to my neck, got used like a punching bag by my veins. He saw me do it, looked up before I stopped.

His frown nearly poked my bladder into pissing.

“I’ll devote some more thought to your girlfriend,” He said. “We’ll discuss it after lunch.”

My girlfriend? Who’s that?

He’d never called her that before. “Love” and “soul mate” and “second heart,” yes, but never “girlfriend.”

As I watched Him go, I thought again of the shed. How would it have gone if we were actually in there?

Might I have been the one with the axe and saw?

Last Day –
11:24AM

Is this a test? I asked myself in the backyard.

One final exercise to refine my gush? Make me feel the innermost nuances of reality?

Make me watch my “girlfriend,” who’s afraid of knives, die, both of us stripped clean of the comfort that I’ll go next?

I looked at the back of that hairless head. His exit a way of telling me He was done with me. I’d received my orders, and I was to comply with wind-up toy predictability.

Who was I looking at?, was the question.

A He or a he?

Was I in the hands of a mighty force, or a petty ex-computer salesman?

****

‘Cause that’s what He did, see. Before He wore white.

Sold computers. Was an affiliate for a second-rate company, had His own website and PayPal account.

Thoughts of taxation and shipping in His mind.

Beer and TV in the evenings. Soap operas like the one He rescued Beth from.

Last Day –
11:32AM

And as I went to Theodore’s door, I felt something toward Him I had never felt. I’m reluctant to use the actual word.

But after I
exit
Theodore’s door, having delivered the wrong news, effectively introducing fly to ointment, I have another feeling, and this one I’ll share.

For this one I am not ashamed of.

I close Theodore’s door. Check my pocket. Still, the phone.

And inside me, briefly: Joy!

Edgar Pike’s Journal

July, 2009

The great revelation of college is how stupid everyone is. During the build-up before college, one fears the competition. Fears getting out there and into the big leagues. The big leagues, when you reach them, are small and flawed. Everywhere, it’s like this.

I wasn’t at all experienced in the ways of blackmail when I met Drew. I sold computers; kept it straight and clean. Only Drew insisted on referring to his money. Ran several companies. Kept making purchases. And then he wished to give me a present...

It’ll sound insincere, but I knew from Drew’s first mentions of “his” money that it was actually “my” money. I knew it would flow my way, and that something fortuitous and BIG would have to occur to make that happen.

I feel so bad for Drew, but he’s so wealthy. I’m sure he’s worried sick, but he needn’t worry. I got what I wanted. $900,000 in exchange for agreeing to hide the photo of him and the small boy. It was on the hard drive of the computer that he wished so badly to give me. I found it quite easily, even though he’d tried to delete it – and then to delete the deletion. I knew, straight and clear, that when he insisted on gifting me that machine, there was something polluted about it. Like he wanted it away from his house. He should’ve thrown it from a bridge!

The only evidence now remaining is this entry. I burned the cursed computer; didn’t he realize that my possession of that image was criminal, also? (Less so for me than for him, yet still not something you want to keep around the house.) The deal was made by phone and the transaction in cash. When I took the cash, I thought about how stupid this man was. You want to get rid of something; you get rid of it. Don’t leave it hanging around: stomp it, crush it, destroy it!

But I knew: my third eye. The cash had to be mine. And the plan had no glitches or tight spots in it at all.

Last Day –
11:33AM

I must call Jed.

Last Day –
11:34AM

But let’s not get carried away.

Jed, I hate. His cigarettes and facial expressions. Trying to revive James Dean. He’s around, the bullshit meter spikes.

Theodore may eye me with thoughts of power, but Theodore is dreaming. Me, when I eyed Jed with those thoughts, I was firmly in reality.

‘Cause I was His best friend, and everyone knew it.

The ease between The Leader and I was plainer than day. Than Jane.