Dystopyum (The D-ot Hexalogy Book 1) Page 11

  Once she was gone, Jan stood up from his crouched position. If only we would have left sooner, I wouldn’t be tied to this stove like this. In his frenzied state, his mind ran wild. She’s going to come back and kill me right here. I saw it in her eyes. He started looking around for some kind of way to escape. I’ve got to do something! He kept searching. He came up with an idea. I know!

  Jan then proceeded to grab anything he could reach that would burn. He took the towels and the bread on the counter, and put them on the stove. He turned it on, and they quickly caught fire. I need more, he thought. I know! He then started to take his pants off, to burn them. This was difficult, because of his tail, and the fact that he had one arm tied to the stove. Because of his condition, the plan was simple and insane. She’ll have to get us both out of here, and I can run!

  Chapter Eight

  Shadow of Love

  A

  s Jan was wrestling with his pants, he heard Martha come out of the bathroom. Martha entered the hallway, and she smelled smoke. “What the hell?” she yelled, and rushed to the kitchen. She ran to turn the stove off, and then turned the exhaust on. “I’ll kill you!” she screamed. The items on the stove were still burning in flames, but she

  nonetheless proceeded to start punching Jan, who could not escape. With his tied arm extended upward toward the stove, Jan tried to curl into a ball, to live through yet another beating. When Martha stopped punching him, she poured water on the fire to put it out. Then she turned her attention to Jan again and started shaking him. When she saw blood coming from the wrist that was bound to the stove she stopped.

  Jan looked up at her, dead on, and said, “Everything you learned about love was a lie! I hate you! I wish you were dead! I wish you died when I was born.” He stopped, thought, and spat, “I wish I never was born!”

  Something about his eyes and words stopped Martha cold. What am I going to do? He’s here, and there’s nothing — she was becoming disoriented. She staggered and leaned onto the kitchen counter, her adrenal glands exhausted. “I can’t stand up. I can’t think,” she said, rubbing her eyes. There’s got to be an answer, there’s got to be another way. Martha looked again at Jan, who was sitting there, tied to the stove, staring back at her, fearlessly.

  “What am I going to do with you?” she said towards the wall, dazed now, baffled by this impossible yet inescapable situation. She could not live with him, and she couldn’t kill him. What did he say? Everything I learned about love was a lie.

  Martha’s mind drifted to the documents she had found in the bedroom. I need to burn them! She looked at Jan again — he was still cowering, yet defiant. She had no answers. Her exhaustion was overwhelming. “What can I do?” she wailed, looking up.

  Jan was squatting now, watching her. Studying her.

  The idea of the letter she found kept replaying in her confused mind. They are all lies! I need to burn them all! Before she knew it, Martha was heading down the hall. She marched into the bedroom, went to the top drawer in her dresser and pulled all the papers out. Then as she frantically went to the spot on the carpet that she had previously burned, her adrenaline petered out and with it went the pressure that kept the blood in her head. She started to pass out. Martha collapsed to the floor, spilling the papers on the floor in front of her.

  It only took a few seconds to regain consciousness, but Martha was absolutely drained by the morning’s events. She lay there prone, hyperventilating on the carpet, head lying sideways. When she tried to get up, she got dizzy, and then fell back down again. There was a paper in front of her face. Martha weakly reached for it, and the words of the ancient Platacs came into focus:

  “…the epiphany of love does not come easily in this world. When it does, the daggers thrown at us by our world would completely destroy it if possible. Once lost, it is just as difficult to find as the first time. Only our connection to God makes it possible to remember love again, but the true God is not welcome here…”

  The act of reading the words could not but have had their effect on her, before soundly rejecting them. Still weakly lying on her side, she plopped the page face down on the floor. It sounded so real — that’s why I was seduced, she scornfully thought. Her rambling feelings continued. She lay there — gazing at that page, as well as the others sprawled out on the floor before her. She started entertaining the idea, tempted by the thought and remembrance of a quick release from her pain. A little pretending for now might be better than this. Even if it is fantasy, it did make me feel better before. There is nothing else — I have nowhere else to go — but to go back there?

  Little did Martha know that she had already begun to relapse. After considering the forbidden idea a little more, she thought, still, what could it hurt — I can always burn them after I look at them. Maybe I can find a clue — an idea, something —

  Martha was eventually able to get up from the floor. She gathered the pages, and lay down on the bed, organizing them. She found, and began to read, the letter she had written to herself before entering lovedeprogramming school. It seemed as if years had passed. As she looked at the gentle handwriting and words before her, she said, “Another person wrote this,” shaking her head.

  “Hey, untie me!” Jan yelled from the kitchen. “I need to go to the bathroom!”

  Martha went cold. She stood up. “You wait until I’m ready!” she screeched. She took a breath. Calm down. She sat back down, and started to read:

  “Dear Martha, I know how hard it must be for you to begin to look at this letter. You are probably frightened. I don’t know what you have had to endure, but you’ve got to remember that the passing of time always helps anyone who has gone through the school. Remember your favorite picture —”

  Martha was thrown into the thought, dreamily wandering her mind for her favorite picture. She felt the distant glow of it within her bosom, and somehow knew that the memory was there in that warm feeling.

  Without warning, there was a crash in the kitchen.

  “Shit!” Martha exclaimed as she jumped out of the bed, and ran to the kitchen. Jan had pulled the big jar of suka off the countertop, and it had smashed on the floor. He was yelling at it, calling it stupid and ugly, when Martha lit into him, pounding him on the head and back with closed fists, as he curled up once again. This time, however, he did not hide his face. He kept staring at her, gritting his teeth with tenacity and rage.

  All of a sudden, Martha felt light-headed again, and nauseous. She stopped, grabbed her stomach, and ran to the bathroom, where she started throwing up. “What’s happening to me? Who am I?” She cried as she watched the water of the toilet swirling its contents away. The room was spinning around her. She plopped her butt down on the edge of the bathtub, and bent over, elbows on her knees, face in her hands.

  Jan was still shouting from the kitchen. “What can I do?” Martha asked once again, shaking her head. She paused. The recent thoughts of the bedroom came back to her.

  “I need to read that letter,” she declared aloud. She felt better just thinking about it. It gave her hope, however unreal and taboo.

  “What about Jan?” she asked herself. She thought about it. Doing something nice might work. “Doing something nice?” she responded aloud to herself, incredulous at the thought. It couldn’t be any worse. She allowed the outrageous idea to linger in order to contemplate it more fully. Through desperation and force of will, she saw herself doing it.

  “Yes!” Martha said aloud, with sudden inspiration. She went back to the kitchen, where Jan was squatting, wrist still tied to the stove, stretched up above him.

  “My arm hurts,” he complained. Jan was staring at the floor now. The mess from the broken suka jar was sitting there inviting retaliation.

  Martha studied him. He appeared different to her for some reason. She looked at his wrist, and the blood had dried now. She actually found herself feeling some small pity for him. She was on an impossible mission: she was going to try to be nice, while something inside her was sc
reaming for revenge. Martha slowly walked closer to Jan. She gradually reached out her hand, and the gently touched tips of her fingers to his tied arm. She calmly told him, “I want to untie you, and I want you to go into the living room. I’ll put some music on for you there OK?”

  Jan did not look up, but he didn’t reject her, either. “OK,” he said stiffly. “I still need to go to the bathroom.”

  Martha was surprised to see Jan cooperate, and it gave her some hope in her new approach. “Can I trust you to be good, and to be quiet while I go to my bedroom and read?” she asked, as steadily as she could. She desperately wanted to finish reading the letter now.

  “Don’t hurt me or grab me,” was Jan’s answer.

  Should I do it? Martha thought to herself. I’ll try. She went to the other side of the kitchen, and took some scissors from the cabinet. She came back and cut the disposable cuff from Jan’s wrist. The cut on his wrist was not bad, and now was not the time to deal with it. She waited as he went to the bathroom. He did his business, washed up, and when he came back, they both went into the living room. Martha retrieved the music box. She was going to play the music he liked, but she paused and asked, “What would you like me to play?”

  Jan was not ready to play nice. “You know, and what do you care?” he spat.

  Martha had to fight the urge to scream and pound on him again. She took another deep breath, and put his favorite recording of songs on the player.

  Jan was sitting on the chair beside the sofa, against the wall. He did not know how to handle this change in Martha. It did not make any sense to him. He had a blank look on his face.

  Martha turned and observed Jan sitting there, returning her look with an evil eye. The cheerful music that was now playing was unfortunately not reflecting the present environment. She still found herself torn between the thought of attacking him versus the vague feeling that her escape magically lay in the letter in her bedroom. “Will you stay here and be quiet, while I go back to my bedroom?” Martha asked.

  Jan then averted her eyes, and now stared at the opposite wall. “I told you already!” he said, with aggravation in his voice.

  Martha swallowed hard, and said, “Thank you.” She then went back to her bedroom. She left her door open to hear anything that Jan may be doing. She had a seat on the side of her bed, picked up the letter, and continued:

  “...Remember your favorite picture —”

  “What was it?” she asked herself. The warmth of the memory inside returned once again, but she could not place it. She said to herself, “Maybe I should look through the photo —” Martha abruptly remembered that she burned the photos the other night. She sighed, and read on:

  “…Remember your favorite picture, and hold it in your mind. If it is too painful for you, just sit and think of anything good…”

  “Good? What can possibly feel good?” Martha complained as she threw the letter down on the bed in disgust. “How stupid I was to believe this crap,” she bitched. “I give up! Where did Griswolt put the matches?” She rose and started searching around the room, and then it dawned on her. The picture came through as clear as day, rushing into her mind like a warm breeze.

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, as she became overwhelmed with a feeling of fullness and warmth with the whole remembrance. She could smell the water —

  The picture was one of Martha, Griswolt, and Jan on a friend’s boat at the local lake. The day had been a sunny and warm. Griswolt and Jan had been fishing, but had not caught much. In the picture, they were all laughing at something the friend had said, as he took their picture. He had captured the happiest, most perfect smiles on all three of their faces.

  “It was perfect,” Martha found herself saying aloud, vision distant. She felt a twinge of regret when she remembered that she had burned the photograph. She continued reading the letter and found her body relaxing. She became slowly aware of the “something else”. Her letter went on:

  “… before love-deprogramming school, you had to use your discipline to meditate. We use love and love uses us at each other’s request. We use love to become aware of our invisible minds, and put them at the service of our souls, which point to our home in heaven. LERN requires this discipline because minds trapped in a world in which everything dies are lost indeed. Now, Martha, you need to do the pinch exercise, and meditate.”

  “The pinch exercise!” Martha said to herself. “I remember.” She found herself feeling better, clearer, and hoping for more. She went to the chair against the far wall of the bedroom and had a seat. She pinched her arm, hard enough. Then she focused on the part of her “self” that did not feel the pain. Martha repeated the mantra for this exercise, “There is a part of me that feels no pain or fear, and has no body. It is my soul. I am aware of my other self now, and the love that comes from there. It is my life. It is my future.”

  Martha did this with eyes closed, and continued for a while, and a hint of a smile developed. She stayed with it for over an hour, finding herself surprisingly free. Then her eyes popped wide open, and she exclaimed, “Jan!” Her expression changed to one of empathy, followed by shock, “I can’t believe how I hated him.” She was suddenly changed by the appearance of familiar presence within her.

  She realized a schizoid shift, as she switched in a flash to another personality, the real Martha. “It feels — weightless. I — I remember —” She was still sitting very still, calmly, letting the love grow in awareness.

  Then she remembered another part of the exercises, “I have to look with love on Jan now. I can’t believe how I treated him, I need to focus.” Martha then closed her eyes again, becoming aware of her invisible self again, and from that place, looked on Jan in her mind, loving him. “Oh Jan,” she said to herself, with heavy remorse. She got past the remorse, and just loved him. Her emotions abruptly switched again to resolution for the job ahead of her. I told him I would remember love for the both of us.

  Martha got up from her chair and left the bedroom, heading for the living room.

  Jan was still sitting there listening to the music. He was looking at a scab on his leg he was busy scratching. He was aware that Martha had come to the living room, but did not acknowledge her.

  Martha looked at her own ugly scabs, and started losing her peace. I can’t lose this feeling so soon. Love, stay with me, please! I must act now! Martha slowly went over to the sofa next to Jan and had a seat. Maybe if I can get him to look at me, he can see that I’m calm now.

  “I feel much better now,” Martha found herself saying very gently. “Thank you for giving me time to relax, Jan.”

  Jan continued to sit and pick at himself. He had been tortured for a month, and terribly abused by his mother. He was not ready to respond just because his crazy mother decided she was.

  Dismayed by the lack of communication, Martha was desperately trying to hold on to the awareness of her love. It was all too easy to be sucked out of this state. Still, she knew it was the only way to waken Jan. She also knew it would fade away into the minutes and hours ahead, and Jan’s state appeared impossible to overcome. Martha continued to try. “Those scabs need to be cleaned better,” she said to Jan.

  There was no response from Jan.

  Maybe if I touch him, Martha thought. The chair Jan was sitting on was close to the sofa. She slowly leaned over from the sofa and reached for Jan’s arm, gently touching it. “Jan,” she said as softly as she could, “Can I —”

  Jan pulled his arm away, and yelled, “Don’t touch me!” He started curling into a ball on the chair. He put his hands over his ears.

  Perplexed, but not dismayed, Martha rose from the couch and slowly came over to Jan. As she approached him, she squatted down to be at his level. I must catch eye contact with him, she thought. She tried again, this time she attempted to touch his hands. Very, very softly, Martha said, “Jan, I am going to touch you just a little bit, and I promise I won’t hurt you.” With that, she slowly reached out her hand and placed it on his.


  Jan was still on high guard. He did not know what to make of the change in Martha, but was now trained to hate her. Her touch, far from comforting, was now interpreted as painful — but he did not pull away. He froze, as he was now confused, and did not know what was coming next. It didn’t look like a beating, though.

  Martha was relieved that he did not pull away. She held her hand very still. Still, she had to do more. “Jan, when I was in the bedroom right now, I remembered love —”

  “Love!” Jan screeched, and grabbed hold of her right arm, biting it with his sharp front teeth. He jumped up and hid behind the sofa. “Lies, lies, all lies! I’m going to turn you in to the police!”

  Martha screamed when Jan bit her, and would have reactively punched him if he had not jumped away so quickly. The arm was bleeding badly. Now I’ve got two bites on this arm. I’ll kill him! Martha thought as she ran to the kitchen to get a towel to compress her bleeding arm. The other bite had opened up again as well. She wrapped them tightly, and while doing so remembered her mission.

  “What’s the use?” she said to herself with a sigh, and plonked down onto a kitchen chair, pressing the towel on her arm. She remembered the bedroom experience, and thought, you’ve got to stay with it Martha. Don’t lose sight of the love. You’ve got to wake up Jan! You can do it.

  “I can do this,” she told herself with renewed resolve, and went straight back to where Jan was hiding. “If I can do it, he can do it.” We must.

  Jan was still hiding behind the sofa, close enough to the end of it to peek around and see if Martha coming back. He ducked his head back behind it when she returned.

  Martha entered the living room, and slowly made her way to the sofa. She quietly knelt down at the end from which Jan had been peeking. Out of nowhere, she decided to pray aloud. “Dear God, help me to find peace with my son, Jan. Help him to remember us.” She knelt there in silence for a minute or so. She thought to herself, tell Jan about how you feel.