Balance - Book one by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 9

  Next morning as I watched the Defence Training Office’s gates clatter open, a severe knot had developed in my stomach. The reasons for this knot stemmed not only from the fact I was about to face a demon, but also a certain phone call I had received before leaving the house.

  The call had been from the Whisperer, informing me that I was now officially unemployed. This came as no surprise. After all, as satisfying as it had been seeing the look on Paul’s face, his reaction was as predictable as the rest of his personality. On the upside; since the claim had already been approved the Whisperer was obliged to pay for the rest of my training.

  It was indeed a relief to be free of the suffocating corporation, but I knew this would soon pass as poverty set in. I suddenly found myself very dedicated to the idea of Benny and Brent’s poker con.

  Claudia on the other hand I assumed would not be too verbal about our encounter. She likely assumed her actions had been of her own accord, and although this meant she was seriously questioning her own mental stability, I guessed I was in the clear as far as the law went. Although a relief, it did not ease the guilt still lingering in the back of my mind.

  I had taken the drive over to the Defence Training Offices to reflect on these new developments, and also on the scratching incident of the night before. On closer inspection I found the ordeal to be rather more disturbing than at the time of its occurrence.

  The demon was getting more aggressive and more creative, and I imagined that the longer I kept it at bay the more innovative it would become. As to what I would face next I dared not guess.

  I parked my car and was greeted again by Jenny the assistant, looking as professional and finely groomed as ever.

  “Hello, Mister Clarence, so good to see you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “I hear you will be facing Miss Stephania’s demon this morning. How exciting.”

  “Yes. I admit to being a little apprehensive.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

  She led me up the stairs and into the waiting room.

  I stepped towards the double doors but hesitated, remembering the unexpected events of my last visit. I wouldn’t want to interrupt Selena with her skirt hitched up…

  “Shall I wait?” I asked Jenny.

  “Go ahead, Mister Clarence. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Inside I was surprised to see that the traditional chair and low couch moved to sit against the far wall, making a maximum amount of room available in the central area. The effect was that the already large floor space now seemed twice the size, almost to the point of absurdity. I imagined that a football field might fit into the room.

  Selena, one hand placed on hip, stood waiting for me beneath the majestic chandelier.

  “Mister Clarence,” she said, her voice echoing dramatically, “I am pleased you are always so punctual.”

  “Well, I try,” was the only response I could manage, never sure how to take her compliments.

  “Don’t delay, we should get started immediately.”

  I moved to join her, wondering what was going to occur that demanded my favourite couch be shunted aside.

  “How was your evening?” she asked, her eyes following me as I approached.

  “I’ve had better.” I responded, “My demon has taken to scratching at the window. It was a bit concerning.”

  “Yes. This is a good sign.”

  “Really? Do tell.”

  “Your demon is becoming alarmed at your progress. This action is one of desperation, indication that it is afraid. It knows the end is near, and rightly so. But be warned, Mister Clarence, the longer it is kept bottled, the harder it will fight to be free. A cornered animal can be a deadly adversary.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I took a position standing beside her, the both of us facing the wooden doors through which I had entered.

  “Shall we begin?” she asked, glancing at me sideways.

  “Let’s do.”

  “Tell me, Mister Clarence, what is the worst thing you could do if faced by an angry lion?”

  I considered this. It seemed there were very few good things to do when faced by a hungry lion. “Get eaten?”

  “Run,” she said smoothly, choosing to once again not register the superior levels of my wit. “Running is by far the worst thing to do. A lion is programmed to chase prey, and giving it a target to chase is a declaration that you wish to be that prey. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. But I’m fairly certain that not running is just as dangerous.”

  “Don’t miss the point, Mister Clarence. Running, although your primary instinct would not be wise. I am saying so because this is often a person’s first response when facing an unbound demon. Do not run.” She paused, then added, “In the highly unlikely case of facing a lion, I’d recommend climbing a tree.”

  “Climb a tree, got it.”

  “You must face a demon, Mister Clarence. You must face it and assert your dominance. Know that you are in control, and it will be so. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Do not panic. Do not be afraid. Do not let it dominate your mind. It is the slave, you are the master, act like one. And remember, being in a place of calm is your invaluable ally in such cases. I assume you have practiced?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I will summon the demon, and you will take control of it.”

  “Okay.” My heart was starting to pick up pace. Not a good start.

  “Get ready, Mister Clarence. Let this not be a case of tanto nadar para morir en la orilla.”

  “What?”

  “Do not come this far to fail so close to your goal.”

  With that she focused her attention on the doors, and I knew there was no turning back.

  The ambience contracted, the light drained, the demon emerged. I stared at it, my heart racing. Beside me Selena took a step back.

  Her demon, looking disorientated, seemed to be trying to assess the situation, cocking its head and regarding me with curiosity. It took a hesitant step forward.

  Now was my time.

  With a shuddering breath I squared my shoulders and faced it, trying my best to give off an aura of control. In my chest, my heart still hammered away like a frantic drum. It took another step forward.

  “Stop!” I declared, horrified to hear the quavering in my voice. It took another step forward, not looking any more intimidated than a brick wall.

  Panic blossomed in my stomach. The very instant it did, the demon began a quick forward advance, the long, luxurious fur coat fluttering behind it like a cape.

  My blood froze and I stepped back. Immediately a hand rested on my shoulder preventing further retreat. Selena’s voice spoke from behind my right ear.

  “Do not falter, Mister Clarence. Do not let it control you. Find your place of calm.”

  I drew strength from her voice, bolstered my courage and squared up a second time. The demon continued its advance, now only twenty meters away.

  I reached for my place of calm, fumbled for a few seconds against the growing panic, but managed to find it. The tension melted.

  All that was needed now was for me to assert my dominance, a task seeming far less daunting from a calm mind.

  But that’s not what happened. Whether it was on purpose or not I’m uncertain, but before I knew what was happening my eyes were focusing on the demons distorted face. Then the room faded around me and lost its significance. My stomach lurched, like going over a dip on a rollercoaster, and I was being consumed by most peculiar sensation…

  I was looking around in bewilderment. It seemed I had been standing on the spot for a long time, but could not recall how I came to be there.

  The next thing that occurred to me was that I was in an unfamiliar environment. Around me was the most incredibly vast, amazingly designed hall I had ever seen. So big, in fact, that it put Selena’s impressive training hall to ugly shame. Wit
h a quick estimation I guessed the space could comfortably swallow a five story building.

  I looked around in awe, taking note of majestic, gargantuan white pillars that stretched up to a domed ceiling, a magically perfect marble floor that seemed to go on forever, and distantly, walls that were veined with gold patterns that made my heart flutter.

  Vaguely I was aware that I should not have been there, that I was supposed to be somewhere else. But these thoughts seemed obscure and unimportant.

  A sound caught my attention; a repetitive clumping sound, like someone running.

  I turned on the spot, looking around to find the source of the noise, and unexpectedly spotted Selena just a few meters behind. She was jogging on an exercise treadmill, dressed in white trainers and a rather fetching pair of workout tights.

  “Hello, Selena,” I said, my brain choosing to not acknowledge the absurdity of the situation.

  “Hello, Mister Clarence,” she responded breathlessly, her black hair bouncing rhythmically with each step.

  I watched her for a few moments, noting that the pace she was keeping would have her out of breath in a few minutes. It was simply too exhausting a speed to keep up for any length of time.

  “You’re going too fast,” I said, trying to be helpful, “You should slow down or you’re going to get tired.”

  “I’m fine,” she responded indignantly, but beads of sweat were already forming on her forehead.

  I continued to watch, waiting to see how long she could keep it up. Suddenly, as if it had been present all along, I noticed that directly behind her treadmill lay an enormous, yawning pit, sinking down through the marble floor and deep into the earth. It emanated an unearthly red glow and was rimmed by jagged spikes like massive teeth. The fact that such a thing could not exist did not occur to me, what did occur to me is that if Selena lost her balance or failed to keep pace, she would be thrown into the eagerly waiting maw.

  “You should be careful,” I said, my matter of fact tone not reflecting the concern I was genuinely feeling, “If you lose pace you’ll fall into that pit.”

  “I’m fine,” she repeated, “I need to keep up.”

  “Keep up with what?”

  She chose not to respond, her mind focused on managing the impossible task at hand. I considered for a moment, trying to figure out if she grasped the blatant peril she was in.

  “Do you realise you can step off at any time?” I said at last, “There is nothing stopping you.”

  “I cannot,” she declared, “I need to keep up.”

  The answer made no sense and I decided not to press the issue.

  After a few more minutes of watching, and the scene not seeming to be reaching any kind of conclusion, my attention drifted and I turned to face one of the far walls. Distantly I noticed an enormous set of double doors, so absurdly big that a grossly obese pair of dinosaurs would have had no trouble getting through, even when standing on each other’s shoulders.

  I wondered what was behind the doors, eager to take a peek, but measured the walking distance to be a half hour worth of exercise at least…

  I was standing by the doors, looking up at them in awe. I could not recall walking over to them, only that I was now close enough to reach out and caress their coarse, unpolished wooden surfaces. It was fascinating to me what the purpose of such immense structures might have been, why they would need to be so big. A logical answer was not forthcoming, though I started to get the impression that logic was not present in this strange realm.

  Both doors lacked any sign of having handles or other means of opening them. By instinct I reached out and pushed. The massive doors swung open with ease.

  I walked through into a second room, this one smaller than the first by perhaps seventy percent.

  It seemed to be a sort of abstract representation of a real world place, with a white tiled floor, wooden ceiling and white plastered walls. In various corners and randomly placed were pieces of furniture; tables, chairs, cupboards and other such things, all positioned with no logical sense.

  I looked around, noting that the walls jutted out nonsensically and showed no sign of forming a realistic structural shape.

  From my left I heard a humming. The sort of silly, tuneless hum made by an idle child. I turned and saw a little girl lying placidly on her stomach, an array of colouring books scattered about her body. Before her, one book lay open.

  After a moment she began to colour one of the pages, using quick, rapid movements of her hand to apply crayon to an unseen picture.

  “Hello,” I said.

  The little girl looked up and smiled. “Hello,” she replied, and her thick Spanish accent identified her as Selena, perhaps five or six years of age.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I’m waiting for Andrea,” she responded, then turned her attention back to the book.

  Curious, I walked over to get a look at the picture. It turned out to be a typical children’s activity book image of Rapunzel, the fairy tale princess with the impossibly long hair.

  “Do you like my dress?” little Selena asked amiably.

  I looked down, making a show of admiring the sparkling dress. It was a decorative outfit bought for a princess obsessed little mind.

  “Oh it’s lovely,” I said.

  “Selena.” The voice came from behind me and I turned. Approaching was a beautiful woman, so gorgeous as to be what some might consider angelic. Her dark hair and bronzed skin identified her as Selena’s mother. The clothing she wore, however, made my heart stutter. Luxurious fur coat and sequined dress…

  “Yes, mami?” replied little Selena.

  “You are ready for Andrea? You must look pretty for your guests.”

  The approaching woman ignored me, as if I held no significance in her life or was perhaps invisible to her eyes. She stopped, leaned over and looked at little Selena’s colouring efforts.

  “Oh, that is lovely my darling.”

  “Thank you, mami!” the little girl beamed.

  “But you have gone out the lines…” the woman stooped to point out her statement, touching a fingertip to where Selena’s erratic colouring had drifted beyond the predetermined boundaries of colour. The little girl stared.

  “I’m sorry, mami.”

  “You must take care, Selena. Rapunzel wants to be beautiful. She does not want to be a mess of scribbles.”

  “Sí, mami.”

  Quickly Selena ripped the page from the book and crumpled it into a ball.

  “Selena!” her mother exclaimed, “You didn’t have to do that! You’ve ruined the book!”

  There was a pause as the older woman scowled down at her daughter, then came a new voice.

  “Hola, Selena! Hola, Mrs. Stephania!”

  I turned to look. There was now a second little girl, about the same age as Selena, standing where there had previously been nothing. She too was dressed in a sparkling dress, this one with a ballet theme. It was something that a parent bought to allow a child to live dreams of ballerina beauty.

  “Oh, Andrea!” swooned Selena’s mother, “Look how lovely your dress is.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stephania,” replied a glowing Andrea.

  “You can call me Gloria.”

  “Okay Mrs. Gloria.” She looked at Selena. “Do you like my dress, Selena?”

  “Sí,” agreed Selena, but her expression said otherwise. It was obvious that little Selena was learning the meaning of envy, and it did not sit well with her.

  “Would you like to colour with us, Andrea?” asked Gloria Stephania.

  “Oh, sí, Mrs. Gloria!”

  Andrea pranced forward, doing her best to walk as she imagined a ballerina would, and settled down with one of the colouring books.

  The two girls coloured in silence as Gloria watched over them.

  “You see how beautifully Andrea colours,” Gloria said, smiling, “She always stays in the lines. Such perfection…”

  Selena leaned over, a tiny p
out on her lips, to inspect her friends drawing. But not even she could deny that Andrea coloured better than her.

  The two girls quietly continued their business of making pictures pretty as Gloria watched. Nothing else occurred, as if the moment was hovering in some kind of limbo, and I got the sense that the scene had come to an end.

  I turned to my right and, as before, noticed a pair of towering doors that had previously escaped my attention.

  I approached them, pushed, and they opened.

  The next room was unmistakably the interior of an upper class restaurant, identifiable by the crisp white tablecloths draped over a smattering of circular tables. Hanging above was an overly flamboyant silver chandelier. Beneath my shoes sat a red carpet that did its best to look expensive.

  As opposed to the previous room, everything here was in its right place, with no signs of abstract interference anywhere. Why this was, I reasoned, was that the previous memory had been more distant, and so less clear.

  The only thing that made the environment here seem unnatural, and a touch creepy, was the lack of people.

  Behind me came the sound of two female voices chattering away. I looked round and spotted Selena and Gloria Stephania seated at one of the tables, engaged in the sort of hushed, animated conversation that occurred between close mother and daughter. Not being able to catch the words, I advanced towards them.

  Selena looked up at my arrival.

  “Hello, Mister Clarence.”

  She was now perhaps in her late teens, looking as strikingly beautiful as ever. Her mother, still ignoring me, did not seem to have aged a single day.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked.

  “I am having dinner with my mother,” Selena responded, “I have just been accepted into a very prestigious university and we are celebrating.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Would you like something to eat?” Selena offered, gesturing to the wonderful selection of food that was now on the table.

  “I’m not hungry,” I responded, not wanting to be a third wheel in what seemed a very intimate occasion.

  Selena reached for a bowl of delicious looking crumbed calamari rings and dished some onto her plate. The action brought Gloria to life.

  “Selena!” she said with a smile, her voice gently chiding, “You will get fat if you eat so much.” It was not so much a reprimand as a joke.

  “Oh please, mami, we are celebrating!”

  The two women continued their whispered dialogue.

  To my left, something caught my attention and I turned for a better look.

  In a corner of the restaurant near a grand piano, Gloria was attempting to zip up the rear of Selena’s evening gown. I recognised the ritual as one woman helping another dress for an occasion. And, judging by the elegance of the garment, it must have been a very glamorous occasion indeed.

  Selena took in a deep breath and Gloria attempted to raise the zipper, but it would not budge. I guessed that perhaps the gown was a size too small.

  “Breathe in your stomach!” Gloria hissed, tugging at the zip.

  “I am mami!” Selena giggled, finding the whole situation rather amusing.

  “If you did not have all those second helpings we would not have this problem,” Gloria snapped, “look how fat you are getting.”

  It was a ridiculous thing to say; Selena was as slim and attractive as ever. But from the expression of mute guilt developing, it was clear the statement had an overwhelming effect.

  Again, the moment slipped into limbo and my attention was drawn to a set of doors.

  I passed through them into a third area.

  This one turned out to be a small, painfully tidy bedroom, currently lost in the gloom of an especially dark night. The environment was somehow more real and in-focus than the previous two; the more recent memory.

  On the wall I noticed a poster predominantly displayed; a ballet dancer frozen in gracious, glorious pirouette, her posture perfect. I was reminded of a similar image seen in Selena’s waiting room; a glass statuette in a display case.

  Before me sat a bed, to my left a tiny window was being pelted with rain. Curious, I stepped over to the window and peered out. It did not come as a surprise that the area outside was a black non-existent landscape. Selena did not remember the view.

  There was a flash of lightning and I shaded my eyes as the room was bathed in white light. From behind me came a gasp of surprise. I turned.

  On the bed sat Selena, now perhaps in her early twenties, with legs drawn up and arms wrapped around them. The expression of naked fear on her face looked rather childlike for a woman her age. It appeared she was in the grips of rather deep terror, and I assumed the cause of this to be the lightning.

  “Hello, Selena.”

  “Hello, Mister Clarence.”

  “Are you scared of the lightning?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Then what? There is nothing here but you and me.”

  In response she nodded to an envelope that sat on the bed.

  “What’s that?” I asked. Her behaviour would suggest the envelope was an unstable bomb.

  “My results,” she said, her voice quivering, “for my oral exam.”

  I did not know what an “oral exam” referred to, but a movement caught my attention over my shoulder.

  Behind me Selena sat at a desk, piles of books towering all around her. As she studied the tome currently open, one hand tugged at locks of her black hair in a sign of extreme stress. A phone rang and she answered it.

  “Hello?” I did not hear the other end of the conversation, but whatever was being said increased her stress dramatically. “Hello, Mami… sí, I am studying now… I will… I know mami…I know…” With her free hand she began to drum her fingers on the table, an involuntarily nervous reaction.

  Again, a noise from behind drew my attention and I turned. Where the bed had been Selena now stood in a white medical coat, looking with barely contained fear at something which was not visible to me.

  “Your diagnosis, Miss Stephania?” The voice was gruff and pounding with harsh authority.

  “I think… the virus of the Guanarito,” she responded. Her eyes bulged to a point that would have been comical were it not for the terror behind them.

  “And where is Guanarito?” the voice asked, unimpressed.

  “I…” she froze, eyes widening further. “It’s near… Guanare.”

  The voice lapsed into silence; I could envision the examiner shaking his head in disappointment.

  “I don’t know where it is,” she whimpered, “I didn’t study the map. I studied symptoms…”

  The sound of ripping paper behind me drew my focus. I turned.

  Selena was once again on the bed, the envelope now open in her hands. She unfolded the envelope’s contents and quietly read her results. There was a pause, then all at once her body went limp and she collapsed backwards onto the bed, covering her face with hands.

  I stood watching, feeling a horrible sensation of helplessness creeping into my stomach. I considered going over to comfort her, but decided the gesture would have been similar to comforting the characters in a movie.

  She exploded into loud racking sobs, so violent her body convulsed with each wet bark.

  I reached down and took the paper, curious to see how terrible a grade it must have been for such a reaction. Next to the words “Oral Exam” was written 16/20. Average.

  Gradually, barely noticeable, the room plunged ever deeper into darkness. Off to my left lightning once again flashed in the sky.

  A phone, sitting on the small table beside the bed, began to ring. Selena looked at it in horror, her face wet with tears.

  My eyes drifted upwards, drawn by a curious pattern on the wall beside the ballerina poster. “How odd,” I thought, “that pattern seems to make the shape of a woman…”

  The demon emerged from the wall, dressed in the expected attire of fur coat and sequined dress, and steppe
d gingerly out onto the bed behind Selena. Only now I could, for the first time, clearly see the demon’s face. It was Gloria Stephania.

  Selena’s head snapped up in surprise, having felt the pressure on the bed.

  The phone continued to ring.

  Selena turned to look over her shoulder. In a blur the demon was lunging, a shriek emanating from it so loud and high pitched it stung my ears. The creature fell forward, clawing and slashing with its bony fingers. Selena’s clothes began to shred and blood flowed, spattering the white bed sheets and streaking the walls.

  Selena, shrieking in terror, raised her hands to protect her face.

  “Selena!” I yelled, dashing forward to assist her. To my left the phone continued to ring.

  Then I was standing in the Defence Training Offices main hall.

  “Welcome back, Mister Clarence.”