Chapter Four: Silent Betrayal
O'Brien sat silently in his monitoring room. Almost violently, he snapped back in his chair, repulsed at these unbidden recollections, memories at which he smiled contentedly. Throwing a furtive glance over one shoulder, he rose from the chair, and stretched, scratching his bristled chin. He paced across the room several times, eyes fixed on the telescreens, which displayed a softly snoring Winston, who had fallen asleep in his little nook. O'Brien suddenly had a powerful urge to leave his security room and go to Winston, to carry him far away from the Party, from Big Brother, and from this awful place. Winston stirred quietly in his sleep, and the diary that had been resting in his lap fell to the floor, along with the little pen. O'Brien smiled again, some new, heart-wrenching emotion swelling in his chest. He stopped pacing and watched Winston sleep, content with this small moment of peace. The grin vanished quickly, as a horrible realization revealed itself to O'Brien. The diary and pen had fallen in clear view of Winston's telescreen! Lower Party members, who might be watching at that very moment, unaware of O'Brien's duty, would storm into the apartment in just minutes, taking Winston to the Ministry. O'Brien paled, and ran to the door, breathing quickly. Slowly, he turned the handle, supernaturally aware of every minute creak and groan the door made. Cautiously, he peered down the long, gray hallway, and exited the monitoring room when he noted the hall's emptiness. Almost sprinting, he ran, passing tens, maybe even a hundred doors, before finally bursting through a large set of double doors at the end of the hall. Sunlight assaulted his sleep-deprived eyes, blinding him briefly, and he spun around, blinking stupidly. Squinting, he gawked at the crowded streets and began running down a wide, paved sidewalk, sure of his direction and positive of his destination. Ignoring the stares and comments of passing citizens, O'Brien ducked and weaved between them, once even knocking down a superior Party Member, who called out,
"O'Brien? Aren't you supposed to be on duty?" O'Brien pointedly ignored him as well, and continued running, sweat forming on his furrowed brows and kneaded temples. As he ran, a drop of perspiration ran down one cheek, like an apprehensive tear preparing for the worst.
O'Brien reached the end of an especially lonely street and skidded to a stop, bent double and wheezing loudly. He looked up and saw a single lit window in the apartment complex. Swallowing, O'Brien put a quivering hand on the doorknob and stepped inside. Shadows covered the lobby, a drab dark place with only one other person inside. O'Brien, mentally collecting himself, took several confident steps forward and approached the desk. The desk clerk, a woman of unremarkable height and stature, didn't even look up. O'Brien cleared his throat and said in a deep, imperious voice,
"Is Winston Smith… available?" The woman, who was typing furiously, took a single side glance at a paper on her desk and responded curtly,
"Yes, he did not have to report to work today, and he did not sign out." O'Brien nodded, somewhat relieved. 'They haven't taken him yet… I may have time.' He thought.
"Thank you." O'Brien stepped away, and crossed the room to the elevator. He pushed the "UP" button, and was rewarded with a horrid screeching noise, followed by a mechanical whirr, which stopped suddenly and was replaced by a loud popping noise. O'Brien stepped back, and for the first time noticed the "Out-of-Order" sign nailed to the elevator door.
"Stairs…" O'Brien muttered. Spying the staircase in a particularly dark corner, he rushed to it and placed a heavy, shaking hand on the balustrade, whispering,
"Winston… you'd better be okay." O'Brien took a deep breath and began his ascent into darkness. His footsteps echoed out of earshot, and the woman at the desk stopped typing. Smiling venomously, she picked up the phone off her desk and dialed a number. She moved the receiver to her ear and said just two words,
"He's here."
O'Brien panted deeply as he reached the next landing.
"Please be floor four… please…" He looked up and saw a tarnished placard, which read in plain and inelegant scrawl, "Floor Four". A small sigh escaped O'Brien before he raced down the dank corridor. He flew past several doors, searching frantically for the one he had seen so many times on that telescreen. Eventually, he came to the appropriate frame, and with a grunt, he snapped his right leg with great force and kicked the door off of its hinges. O'Brien rushed into an empty room, occupied with no one save a sleepy, startled Winston. O'Brien became overwhelmed with pure feeling, and he embraced Winston tightly, as if he would never let go. Winston, still confused, wasn't sure what to do. O'Brien lifted his chin with one hand and kissed him gently, the other hand entangling itself in Winston's hair. Winston's eyes widened, not by the sudden kiss, but by the smells and tastes that overcame his senses. He smelled dust, the pages of an ancient book, and the mustiness of an ill-used library. He tasted medicine and water, streams of transparent music pouring over his soul harmoniously. He heard the monotone hum of a copy machine, but the rhythm was sensational, the jolts and whirrs symphonious. He felt the warmth of past memories, all flooding towards him, as if another body was supplying the heat. But most of all, he noticed the chocolate, the taste of it in O'Brien, the smell of it from O'Brien's clothes, and the memory of it being in every sensual, hidden memory, which had lain dormant for too long. With sudden ferocity, Winston kissed back, grasping roughly at O'Brien's broad shoulders. O'Brien broke the kiss with great effort, holding Winston tightly to his chest. Tears formed in his eyes as he said,
"I thought I had lost you…" Winston buried his face into O'Brien, but said nothing. O'Brien pulled himself away, his jaw set firmly.
"We're getting out of here," He said seriously. "Grab the diary and the pen, and we'll go."
"Alright," Winston responded, and opened a drawer near his bed. O'Brien turned around, and was horror stricken to see Winston withdraw the diary from the end table. O'Brien said loudly,
"Did you put that away?" His voice was deathly.
"No. I haven't written in several days. And wait, how did you know about the diary in the first place?" O'Brien looked at Winston, who paled and took a step back. O'Brien swallowed, and said,
"Winston, you're going to have to trust me. Please. I explain everything later, but we need to go NOW. I think this is-" but he was interrupted in mid sentence.
"A trap? How astute of you." A feminine voice said behind him. O'Brien spun around to see three figures enter the room, led by a woman with an icy, malevolent expression on her face. All were dressed in insidious black clothing, and her two companions wore masks. "You never were very clever." O'Brien's lip curled, and he positioned himself between Winston and the strangers. The woman continued, her eyes flashing triumphantly,
"And you certainly weren't clever enough now. You caught on just a tad too slowly…" She laughed, a girlish giggle that echoed painfully through the apartment. O'Brien snarled.
"Do you know who I am?" He squared his shoulders threateningly, "You will remove yourself this very instant." The woman cackled again, her companions smirking.
"And do you know who I am, O'Brien?" She took a step forward, her heels clicking menacingly on the tile floor. "I am your superior, O'Brien. I am your better. You are nothing more than a pawn, like the others." O'Brien's eyes widened,
"You mean… after all this time…" The woman clapped her hands together childishly,
"Finally caught on, have you?" O'Brien swallowed hard and said,
"So it was never about Winston…" Winston looked at O'Brien with questioning eyes. O'Brien returned the look with a hesitant explanation,
"Seven years ago… I was assigned to watch you. Observe you. The Party said that you had potential…those were my orders. But I never received any more afterwards. So I kept watching, learning more and more about you until… I became attached. And when I was watching you today, you dropped your diary in view of the telescreen. Or, so I thought…" Winston understood,
"You came to rescue me…" he said slowly, and O'Brien nodded. "You came because you thought I was going to be vaporized. You were a Party Member. But what you saw was fake. So you came…" O'Brien nodded again, sadly and slowly. The woman cackled, saying,
"And it was me! I fed you that false footage! It was never about that worthless Winston," Winston flinched, and O'Brien took his hand," And now, I have you caught, in direct defiance of your orders! They'll have no choice but to execute you!" O'Brien shook his head,
"Why? I don't even know who you are. Why go to such lengths to remove me?" The woman jumped forward, stomping her feet and screaming,
"Because! You're trying to take away Winston! You're trying to steal the only man that I've truly loved! With you out of the way, he'd be mine!" Winston gasped, and whispered,
"Julia?" But no one heard him. O'Brien frowned,
"But I wouldn't have come if you hadn't shown that clip!"
Julia howled, "LIES! I know about your past… about what you two have done! It would have been only a matter of time till you took him!" She shuddered visibly. "He's mine…" she spat.
"So now what?" O'Brien asked, trying to figure out a way to escape. Julia suddenly regained her composure, speaking no longer in howls and screams, but in a lady like voice,
"I have a deal for you, O'Brien." She pulled a vicious looking pistol from a pocket, and pointed it at O'Brien's chest. "I was ordered to kill you, O'Brien. But I'm feeling generous." She paused, then smiled malevolently, "Give me Winston, and I'll let you live. Refuse, and you both will die. If I can't have him, no one will." O'Brien shook his head,
"No…" but Winston interrupted,
"Fine." O'Brien looked at him in disbelief. Winston smiled sadly and continued, "I'll go with you Julia. And O'Brien will live." He stepped forward, and O'Brien pleaded desperately,
"No, Winston… don't do this." Winston looked at him with melancholy eyes,
"It's okay," he said, "Really. I want you to live. This is… This is the only way for all of us to leave alive. I want you to live: don't waste your life for mine." O'Brien shook his head,
"I'm not wasting it! And this is not okay!" he shook his head angrily, "Remember what I read you, in that library? Remember the two lovers who were forced apart? You said that it wasn't fair, that it wasn't right. How is this any different?" His voice became limp, "Winston… I love you." Winston looked away from O'Brien's eyes, unable to face him. Julia screeched again, her voice a torrent of rage,
"But I loved him too! I had him! We had laid together for months, whispering that same phrase to one another!" She pointed at O'Brien accusingly, "Did you? Did you spend days and weeks with him? How much time have you actually spent with your 'love'? Probably not even a week, all things considered! You don't deserve him, O'Brien! You don't deserve this!" O'Brien croaked feebly,
"No…" and Julia giggled maniacally,
"No!" She howled, "No! You watched him from that little, perverse room of yours, molesting him on whim and desire!" O'Brien couldn't speak, and Winston frowned, shaking his head,
"That isn't true. When he did what he did… I was aware and willing. And he… we had slept together long before I knew you, Julia." Julia gritted her teeth, growling dangerously,
"That doesn't matter, Winston. You will come with me, and we will love one another, or he will die." Winston nodded, and he turned to O'Brien,
"I did love her, once. Maybe I can again… O'Brien, you've become a part of me. She will hold to her word: she won't kill you once she has me, because she knows that I could not live past your death. If I stay, she will kill us both. This is… the only way." he said quietly, squeezing O'Brien's hand. He released it after a moment, and walked forward, meeting Julia in the center of the room. She almost jumped into Winston's arms, and they embraced. O'Brien couldn't say anything, his numb mind refusing what his eyes saw. Julia's pistol fell to the floor, and her two companions gave each other a sidelong glance. O'Brien, who was staring at Winston and Julia, was oblivious to Julia's sidekicks, and one of them pulled a long silver pistol from his black folds. Too late, O'Brien noticed the glint from across the room, and a gunshot shattered the silence. O'Brien flinched, and Winston gave a small gasp, but it was Julia who screamed. Blood stained the ground beneath her, and her breath came in ragged gasps. O'Brien leaped in front of Winston and Julia, but went no farther. The assassin waved his gun menacingly, and spoke in deathly tones,
"Move no closer, or become like her." O'Brien froze, and he heard Winston let out a muffled sob. The killer continued, "She failed in her task; I will not fail at mine. She directly disobeyed her orders, and I will not make that same mistake. The Party expected her to fail, and I am merely the deliver of the consequences. Insanity cannot be controlled. She had to be removed." O'Brien shivered. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to die. Julia stumbled on her words, red foam spilling at the corner's of her mouth,
"I just… I just wanted to be happy…" she whispered, feebly clutching at Winston's clothes, "I just… wanted to feel loved… is that…" she took a final breath, her chest shuddering with the effort, "is that so wrong?" A tear-shaped drop of blood rolled down her face, and her chest fell for the last time. She breathed no more. The man in black continued, some hint of triumph in his voice,
"With her out of the way, I can ascend another rank in the Party!" He moved pointed the gun between O'Brien's eyes and chuckled, "I will have completed two missions in one. What a productive day!" His laugh became hysterical, and his trigger finger twitched. O'Brien closed his eyes, and the apartment witnessed a second gunshot. His ears were ringing, but he felt no pain. He opened his eyes, and was startled to see the man clutching his chest, scarlet rivulets escaping between his fingers. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. The final third companion took a step back, his apprehensive eyes focused on something behind O'Brien. Swiftly, he stepped out of the apartment, and his echoing footsteps died out in seconds. O'Brien spun around, and found a shaking Winston, who was clutching Julia's pistol. He sniffed and blinked hard, before dissolving into tears,
"No! No… I'm a murderer…" he moaned, staring at the black-clothed corpse. "I killed him…" O'Brien shook his head,
"Winston, we need to get out of here, now." He took Winston by the shoulders, and stared hard into his blue eyes, "Listen. We will have time to regret later, but only if we live. The man who escaped, he was a Street Runner. We only have a few minutes before he reached the Ministry of Love. We need to get out of here." Winston wiped his eyes, and nodded, handing the gun to O'Brien,
"Here… we might… need this," He looked as if the thought sickened him. O'Brien nodded in agreement, but pushed the weapon back into Winston's hands,
"Keep it." He said, grabbing the assassin's gun, "We both need to be protected." Winston swallowed, but took the gun and shoved it in his pocket. O'Brien and Winston hurried out of the room, leaving the room empty save for the sightless eyes of the rejected lover and empty hands of the ambitious failure.
The telescreen was off. It had been off for the past hour. Two masked figures entered the room, and hovered over Julia's body. They looked over it curiously, and finally, one of them spoke,
"So pitiful, you are. Nothing but a broken body, an empty husk devoid of humanity." The other stranger chuckled,
"That's exactly how we want them. You will serve us far better in death, than you ever did in life, Julia." They exchanged glances, their eyes shining unnaturally. With a heave, they lifted Julia's corpse between them, and exited the room.
An hour later, the building was in flames. According to the Ministry of Truth, there were no survivors. The origin of the fire was unknown, but spectators say that it started on the Fourth Floor.
