Page 71 of Doubts of the Egoist
“Did you promise anything to Mio?”
“Mio has nothing to do with this.” Annoyed, Yugo put down the bottle and leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of his chest.
“What about Kuon?” Greg blew a long breath as he shifted his weight from foot to foot in obvious impatience.
“What about him?” Yugo asked, and Greg’s mouth thinned into a white slash. “There are only two ways for Kuon to stay with me—of his own free will or in shackles. I’ve already tried the latter; it didn’t work. I didn’t kick him out. He left. What do you want me to do? Beg him or beat him blind and stupid?”
“No, but…”
“I can’t keep him locked in a padded room with plastic cutlery for the rest of his life. Or rather, I don’t want to…” Yugo raised his hand to silence his subordinate and grimaced as thoughts clad in words clogged his throat. He’d thought about it countless times. It was an easy and tempting solution, but he still remembered the mindless sex, Kuon’s dull eyes, and the emotional stagnation caused by captivity. That was no longer enough, for Yugo had become greedy. He needed Kuon’s every emotion, every expression. Having tasted what it could be like with Kuon without the use of brute force, he didn’t think he could settle for less. He needed all or nothing. “How much did he see? Everything?”
Greg scanned the room. “I suppose. I didn’t supervise him, but more than enough.”
“Thought so… If I force him again, especially now, how do you think this will end?” Yugo grabbed the bottle, took another swig to wet his parched throat, and answered his own question. “With a murder or a broken spirit.”
“Will you just let him walk?”
Yugo shrugged.
“I wonder if that’s for the best?” Greg shook his head, obviously unconvinced, so Yugo continued, “Even if he didn’t break into the damn room, I’d have to involve him in the business eventually. As long as he’s with me, a normal job is out of the question for him. Can someone like Kuon stay locked in a room for more than a few days and be content? He said that’s what he wanted, but that’s not true. One day, he would have to accept what I do or leave. He made his choice. I just regret I didn’t have time to prepare him for it. So leave me alone, or I’ll do something really dumb.”
“Wow, you’ve matured…” Shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking from toes to heels, Greg shared his observation. Not a muscle in his face twitched, but Yugo knew he was fighting back a grin.
“Are you fucking with me?”
“I wouldn’t dare, Boss. Come with me. I think you need to see something.” Greg nodded toward the door and, without waiting for Yugo to follow, strolled out. “Leave the bottle.”
Yugo grabbed his jacket from the back of the seat and followed him out.
Yugo froze inthe doorway, reluctant to enter Kuon’s former prison. His hand patted his pants and chest pockets, and he groaned in frustration, realizing he’d left his cigarettes in the office. Licking his parched lips with an equally dry tongue, he croaked, “I’m too sober for this…”
Greg grunted, drifting past the clusters of media pinned to the walls. Fragments of newspapers, printed dossiers, and photographs were jumbled but still in order. On the left wall,the evidence board was tangled with red thread, connecting the media annotated in black. On the right wall was a detailed map of something Yugo didn’t want to remember.
The longer Yugo stared at this outrageous display, the darker his already sullen mood became.
“What the…” His voice broke. He rubbed his throat with his hand to help the uncooperative word pass through the invisible barrier, “…hell?”
From the wall, Milana, Father, Mother, and many others, living and dead, stared at him, judging him for his unpaid debt.
Leaving the doorway and entering the room took effort and courage. Yugo had never liked being reminded of his failures, but more than that, he hated leaving debts unpaid, especially to the dead. It had taken him years to let go of the past and move on, and he didn’t appreciate the vivid display of his impotence.
The first impulse was to tear everything down and light a match. But ruining such work also felt wrong. It must have taken Kuon so much effort to recreate the family tragedy years later—especially since he didn’t speak Italian. Yugo stopped his hand from pulling at the corner of Milana’s photo card.
With his index finger, Yugo hooked a string connecting Milana’s picture to Tobias’ who had a yellow Post-it note with a big black question mark on it. Mio’s picture was out of place, hanging somewhere between the two. He paid no attention to it. Instead, he examined the yellow notes pinned to the corners of more than a dozen other portraits. He scoffed, recognizing Rudolph among them.
Yugo yanked his hand away, as if the red thread burned him, then averted his gaze only to meet more and more deadeyes. The wound that had been festering in his soul for ages pulsed, threatening to burst and flood everything with pus.
Feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from under him and needing a gulp of air, he crept up to the window. He reached out for the handle when a faint handprint on the glass came into his sight. Gravity drew his palm to the print. It was a male hand, a fraction wider and shorter than his own.
Yugo spun on his heel and surveyed the room once more.
Fresh linens lay crumpled on the mattress, and black leather boxes with the remaining files stood next to it. Yugo tilted his head to the side, spotting the long-forgotten black socks in the corner and a smartphone lying on the pillow. This tiny fucking room bore more signs of Kuon’s presence than Yugo’s comfortable bedroom.
The realization hit him. “Did he sleep here?”
Greg nodded.
What is this, a statement?Exhaustion struck Yugo. He pressed his back against the windowsill and dragged his nails down his cheeks, leaving burning trails. His thoughts fumbled in a haze of consumed alcohol, failing to string together a coherent, logical explanation except…Are you telling me that even this fucking room is better than my bedroom?
