The Price To Pay

Hetty had gathered that her worry towards her daughter, swindled by a crook, would have incited the weapon dealer to come out.

"Max Gentry? No, I can go as myself" Marty had told Hetty, shaking his head. "I'll be anyone you want... Justin, Jason, Goofy, Shaggy... But leave Max alone" he had requested, but Hetty wouldn't have any of it: Max was unscrupulous, smug, and he could have enthralled that woman quite rapidly; he could have exploited his work with no involvements, and everything would go just fine.

It had gone that way, at least in the beginning: during the month that took them to drive the dealer mad, her young daughter hadn't gotten hung up, but she had fallen in love.

When the moment to catch the bad guy came, the girl's eyes popped out in disbelief: her boyfriend was there, but he was siding with the good guys.

Marty had tried to explain that Max was someone he had impersonated, but she had started screaming and crying, asking who the man that made her fall in love was.

The girl had ambled nervously on her slim legs; she had waved the gun in discomfort and aimed it at Martin, her eyes flooded with tears. She had asked where the man she had made love with, danced with, laughed and played with, was, and when he would have come back.

"Max won't come back" he had answered, lowering his own weapon and glancing at her with sorry and guilt.

She had smiled at him desperately, and she shot herself in the head.

̴̴ ̴ ̴ ̴ ̴ ̴ ̴ ̴̴ ̴ ̴

Martin rows quickly, faster and faster, further and further from the shore.

The sea is calm, and literally useless for a surfer. Yet he proceeds undaunted; it seems like he is looking for a minimal, small crest, a hint of wave that may justify him being there long before the sunrise. It looks like that, but it isn't so: he wants to flee, and clenches his jaw to the point his teeth hurts; his nice, prosperous lips are contracted in a grimace.

He takes one, five, seven strokes, and after doing tens the lactic acid venomously penetrates his muscles like streams of water sipping through the stones, making the pain unbearable.

Marty keels over on his surfboard, exhausted; he is breathing frantically and has a tremendous will to let himself die there, to disappear from Earth's surface. But he is alive, pretty much alive, and he can do nothing but cursing himself because of the rage he harbors deep inside, his yearn for vengeance he has had since always gets cleansed away and somehow excused with Max: Max is the bad one, not him. Marty hates him because of how he can do what he does; he hates himself because he is the other side of the monster, and whenever he hears it cackling he can't do anything but run away, although knowing that Max won't leave him alone until he will do it.

With open palms, Martin slaps the water surface and with a last pull he begins to ride the board; all around him is darkness and his breath is speeding up more and more because he is about to cry. He clenches his fists instead; he hits his own chest with one of them and screams like he has never done in his life.


Contestant story for the "Contest lampo di tempo e parole" on the EFP Forum. 500 words (Italian language) to write about Martin and Max, a couple I love.

In the TV series the issue about Marty's alter ego was addressed but never explored satisfyingly.

The input phrase of this contest was: "I won't give in until you do!" and it mirrors the dilemma taunting Marty since always. Linked with double thread to his dark side, he curses its naughtiness despite of him being fascinated, and is forced to pay for Max's wrongdoings.

Max Gentry won't give in until Martin Deeks will do it as well. An intriguing, terrible loop: what a pity they haven't done anything more with it!

Thank you, Cecilia.

Heartfelt thanks to PoemDestroyed25 for traslating and making this release possible.

If you read, let me know you think. Thanks.

Bye.

Monty

Disclaimer: I don't own Martin A. "Marty" Deeks, Max Gentry or Henrietta "Hetty" Lange.