Page 3 of Love of the Egoist
Heyyyy-eyyyy-eyyyyyyyyy….The echo picked up his voice and smacked it all over the walls. Kuon cringed. Vibrating and drawn-out, his voice sounded desperate and weak, hence disgusting.
Shitty…The frameless windows without any glass spoke volumes about the isolation of this place. Screaming wouldn’t help, and he would go crazy from the loud, warped sounds of his frantic voice.Yeah, right … as if Yugo would let me go so easy. He probably thought about everything, and there is no exit from this fucking fridge… He will freeze me to death and feed me to dogs when the winter comes.Lazy thoughts barely moved in his lethargic head, stirred no emotions. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to worry about the following day.
He rubbed his neck as his mind let the escape idea go and switched to his condition. The back of his throat burned and tickled. He desperately wanted to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He licked his chapped lips, suddenly aware of his thirst. The damp concrete wall grazed the skin on his back with a roughness of sandpaper as he tugged his body higher up. His glance slipped over the floor, found two gallons of water that stood by the door. Dim light, playing with plastic and liquid, gave the bottles a dark blue shade of deep clean water.They weren’t here before, or were they?Trying to remember, he rubbed his pulsing temple with icy fingers. Something throbbed under his ribs on the lower right side, and a dull ache spread from his liver down to his bowels.
“Fuck this…” Kuon groaned and forced himself to his feet, grasping another bar with his right hand. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he moved along the cell, grabbing one metal bar after another. Reaching the door, he slid down to his knees and clutched the nearest bottle, knocking over the other one with his elbow. His fingers shook as he unscrewed the cap. Clean and cold, the water brought relief to his dry throat, and Kuon took several deep and hurried swallows. The gulping noise resounded in the back of his throat.
He breathed out, feeling a little better. The water washed the nausea down but didn’t help with the bone-deep chill. Putting the cap back on the quarter-empty bottle, he rested the back of his head against the cold metal, staring at the tin bucket at the far left corner of the cell.
It gave him creeps.
It doesn’t make any sense…. Why am I still alive? Do they want to cut a deal and exchange me for something? Do they want the heroin back? A wry smile distorted his features. It will never happen. Maybe they want someone else? Or they want to set an example? Crucify someone to avoid future problems? No, this is silly…
The metal hinges creaked, the door opened, dragging Kuon’s attention, and golden light showered the upper part of the staircase.
CLICK.
Kuon’s palms slapped his face, protecting his eyes from the stinging light even before he realized what had happened. Buzzing filled the basement.
STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.
The sound of boots against the concrete rebounded in the empty basement. Approaching. Heavy. Booming. It quieted the chattering of his teeth.
Kuon opened his eyes, getting ready for a fight, but the light was too painful to look up. He dropped his gaze, hiding sensitive pupils behind his lashes in an attempt to accommodate. The key rattled in the lock, and the door opened with a screech as the black shadow eclipsed the light. A heavy military boot poked his side, demanding movement. Kuon looked up.
The black suit, one size bigger than its owner, hung on massive shoulders, combined with a crisp white shirt and military boots. A knife hung on his belt, and a gun holster strapped to his side stuck out from under his jacket. With both hands he carried a plastic tray, making Kuon regret his current inability to fight.
Greg squatted, putting the tray on the floor by Kuon’s side and gesturing to it. The gun hanging under Greg’s arm hypnotized Kuon. It’s easy.Launch forward, grab his arm, side-knee under his ribs, and pull the knife out. So easy, just do it and you can earn your freedom.Kuon shifted, wanting to execute his idea, but held his breath as a dull pain bloomed in his stomach. His body was too broken to perform such a fast move.
Kuon dropped his gaze, following the motion of the wide palm.
This doesn’t make sense…The food on the tray confused the hell out of him. This wasn’t dry biscuits and water, it wasn’t even protein bars.
Steamy rich soup promised warmth and smelled good along with a grilled chicken breast in a creamy sauce with a side of steamed white rice and veggies.
Locking me in a freezing basement yet giving me perfectly balanced food. What the hell?
Kuon looked up and tried to establish a contact. “I need to use a bathroom.”
White vapor left his mouth along with the words and diffused in the air.
No reaction. Black bottomless eyes stared back at him, naked of emotions.
“I need to piss.” Kuon tried to engage again.
Greg stood up, lifted his chin toward the tin bucket, then nudged the plastic tray with the toe of his boot, directing it closer to Kuon, ordering him to eat.
Kuon swallowed but picked the spoon with his shaky, bluish fingers. His teeth chattered against the plastic when he pushed a mouthful in. The hotness felt good slipping down his throat, and the blissful warmth sparked in his stomach.
Having another spoonful, he gritted his teeth to stop the chattering to ask, “What’s going to happen to me?”
Silence.
“Why am I here? Is it a deal? I can help cut the deal he wants. Heroin? Is that what he is after? Or is this personal now? What does he want in exchange? Tell me.” He put the spoon down and peered up.
Greg didn’t react. Emotionless and brutish, his face was stripped of anything that could be associated with humanity. He was around forty with rough skin and short, black hair. Even under the hard light of the luminous lamps his eyes didn’t reflect any light. Hidden under bushy, thick brows they looked pitch black as if all the darkness in the world lurked behind them. Greg’s shaven chin was scattered with gray despite the strong smell of aftershave and fresh cuts on his neck. The hard line of his wide mouth split his face like a thin, old white scar.
“I want to talk to him.”
