"Berihun? Berihun!" Berihun could hear someone call out from his slumber. He groggily lifted his head from the couch where he was lying on.
"What…?" He asked, getting up. Did he really fall asleep on the couch? Why would he fall asleep on the couch? So unlike him…
"I keep telling you to take it easy with that project of yours." Someone said from the other side.
Philip Marquard, sitting in a large plush chair, writing in what looked like a red leather bound journal. Berihun just stared for a moment before scoffing and sitting up straight.
"You and I both know that won't happen." He said, getting up to begin his work again. Still, what happened kept bothering. Berihun wasn't the type of person to just… fall asleep. Yes he was known to work on his machines until deep in the night (For as far as 'Known' could be with only Marquard and his… family around) but he knew his limits. This, however, brought something else to his mind.
"What happened last night?" He asked. Marquard looked up, raising an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" Marquard asked, making Berihun sigh in frustration.
"Exactly what I'm saying; what happened last night?" He repeated.
"You… don't remember?"
"Why the hell else would I ask?"
"Alright, alright. No need to get angry." Marquard said, raising a hand. "You worked on your big project and fell asleep. Nothing else."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing else." Marquard said with an air of finality as he went back to writing in his journal. Berihun wasn't satisfied with that answer but decided not to press the issue. While he was… confrontational, he wasn't stupid enough to get into a fight with someone as powerful as Philip Marquard. And he guessed the factor that Philip considered him a friend factored in too. Somewhat.
"I'd love to stay around longer, but running the fastest growing spiritual movement in the world isn't easy. There's matters I need to attend. I'm sure you'll manage here?"
"As long as your abominations keep out of my way, I'll be fine." Berihun said as Marquard closed his journal, got up and placed it on one of the many bookshelves in the living room before heading out the door. Berihun watched him leave quietly, his mind still at the strange and quite frankly suspicious conversation they just had.
He lost memory of an entire evening and Philip Marquard tried to convince him this was nothing to worry about. And then there was the damn journal… Something about Philip writing in that journal just felt wrong.
Making up his mind, Berihun walked up to where he saw Philip placed the journal and prepared to take it.
He stopped himself for a moment. Was this right? This could cause his position as a Favored, no, THE Favored to be in danger. He didn't want that. There was also that this was betraying a friend's trust, but that was something he usually didn't care for. He hardly considered Philip a friend. He scoffed at himself as he took the journal.
There was a gnawing feeling in his stomach that was suspiciously like guilt but he ignored it. He had yet to eat breakfast. That was the cause. With that taught in mind he opened the journal.
The first page had his name written in Philip's exquisite handwriting. That settled things in his mind as he quickly turned the page.
Written on these pages in slightly more casual lettering, were small entries. No dates. Eager to know what was going on, Berihun read the first part.
Decided to keep my findings and results in a journal
Especially now that it seems I need multiple sessions
Documentations might help keep things straight
This was immediately confusing. Sessions? What sort of sessions? Berihun read the next.
Second time went much better than the first
The fire inside of Berihun seems to have been lit
Just have to be sure it burns right
Even more cryptic. The fire inside him being lit? Burning right? What was Philip talking about?
Had to be metaphorical. The other man liked to wax poetically.
His anger got the better of him again
I usually admire his fire and passion
But this might threaten our goals
I will need to make adjustments
This made Berihun's blood run cold. Adjustments? What did that mean? He started reading quicker, skipping passages that seemed unimportant. Over and over again, that word was used.
Adjustments
Always in conjunction with some character trait that Marquard apparently found disagreeable.
This… This couldn't be true. He had to be misunderstanding things. Philip wouldn't… do these thing to him. Not to him…
He kept reading and as he did, he started to notice that he knew some of these incidents. Altercations with Philip he had. They usually ended up not mattering the next day.
And this was the reason.
Philip Marquard was altering his mind. And had been doing so for a long time. Perfecting and fine-tuning his… techniques.
One last paragraph. Berihun was seething now. This was written when he was present. When he was right…. there!
He's starting to notice his blackouts
This needs to be addressed
Perhaps some sort of disorder?
Needs research
Berihun stopped reading there, tossing the book against the wall with an angry shout.
That's what he was; angry. No, enraged.
Was this how Marquard… how Philip saw him? An experiment? A mere tool?!
Berihun was shaking as he held his head.
"NO." He shouted, trying to calm himself. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be…
"Beri?" Someone asked as Berihun turned around fiercely, eyes blazing.
"Philip…!" He hissed. He had to stop himself there. If he said anything more he would devolve into incoherent ranting. Philip Marquard just looked at him in surprise, before looking at the journal lying against the wall, face turning sad as he walked towards it and carefully picked it up.
"So you've found out." He softly said. He sounded… saddened.
"Explain. NOW." Berihun demanded, not caring that despite how he acted, the man before him was far more powerful then he was.
"There's not much to explain, really. I wrote it all down."
"So you actually did all this?!" Berihun shouted. "You just… Changed me? Like I was some sort of project?!"
"I wouldn't put it like that..."
"How much?" Berihun interrupted. Still angry, but something else seeped in there. Hurt. "How much of me did you change? How much of me…" He placed his hand over his heart. "How much of it wasn't good enough?" This caused Philip to laugh, of all reactions.
"None of you wasn't good enough. Far from it." He started. "So much of you was buried underneath layers and layers of doubt and fear." A small chuckle. "You were so timid the first time I met you."
"Timid?!" Berihun felt insulted by that term. However, it also triggered something within him as he started shaking again, holding his head, eyes closed. The image of a younger Marquard holding out his hand with a large smile flashed through his mind for a split second, making him wince. Was that a memory? An actual memory? At the moment he didn't trust anything in his head.
"But I dug it out. I peeled back all those layers to reveal your true self." Marquard continued.
"Liar." Berihun hissed. "You changed me. You used me. Like I was just another one of your pitiful slaves." He clenched his fists. He needed to stop shaking. To stop showing Marquard just how… how hurt he was by this. Marquard couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"My followers are not my slaves, Beri. We've been over this."
"Don't change the damn subject!" Berihun shouted. "What am I to you?!"
"You're a friend to me, Beri. Probably the best I have." Marquard said, sighing sadly. "But not like this."
"You're damn right." Berihun said. Marquard just looked at him with a sorrowful and apologetic look.
"I hope you understand that I have to do this. For both of us."
"Wh-...?" Berihun didn't even have time to question what Marquard meant before he found himself being slammed against one of the room's bookcases, Marquard's hand firmly clamped against his throat.
"Let me…! Let me go!" Berihun demanded, trying to get free. His struggles were in stark contrast to Marquard who kept almost completely still as he raised his free hand.
"I won't lie and tell you this isn't going to hurt." He said, placing his thumb against the other man's forehead who looked at it fearfully. "But that doesn't matter because you won't remember a thing." Berihun just looked at him now, not only with fear but with a look of hurt and betrayal. His head remembered nothing yet his heart remembered everything. Philip Marquard had to close his eyes as if it was too painful to look. "I'm sorry." He whispered. A darkness started to emanate from Marquard, focussing on his thumb as Berihun started to scream, the pained sound echoing through the vast mansion.
"Berihun? Berihun!" Berihun could hear someone call out from his slumber. He groggily raised his head from his desk. Tools and Third Age bits and bobs strewn around him.
He fell asleep while working again.
"What time is it?" He asked, looking up at who was calling him; Philip Marquard.
"Almost noon." Marquard answered. "Did you take your medication in time?" He asked as Berihun sighed. His narcolepsy screwed him over again.
"I forgot." He hesitantly admitted.
"Right." Marquard simply said in an unbelieving tone. He pulled out a journal and started writing in it. He liked doing that. Berihun didn't question it. "Things are heating up in Egypt. I need you to be there."
"I'm on it." Berihun said, getting up and stretching himself before getting his coat.
"Please be careful. Wouldn't want you passing out during a crisis."
"That won't happen." Berihun simply stated as he put on his head, tipping it as he headed out the door. Marquard just sighed, going back to writing in his journal. Berihun saw this as he closed the door and couldn't help but close his eyes, a tinge of sadness making itself known for some reason. He shook it off. There was no time. He had to go to Egypt.
Marquard's will be done.