Chapter 10: Capricorn I
Silence
It pressed against their ears after hearing the dripping for hours.
They were both hanging from a ceiling they still couldn't see, in a different room, and they knew it was different because the floor was made of metal, instead of marble. They could see its shine, cruel and cold against a white light whose source was unidentified.
They were tied. And not run-of-the-mill tied, they were really tied. The rope felt like it was wrapped all around their bodies.
On the wall right in front of their faces, there was a message left for them:
Darkness falls to light,
Evil is defeated by good.
Beware, our friends, of
acting before thinking,
for every action must exist in you
before it can exist out of you.
Don't think of Fatal, it's of no use,
focus on patience and control,
free your bodies and your souls
achieve your goals and be happy
or after three hours lose it all.
"Three hours," she whispered. Louder, she said, "Alex!"
"I'm up," he answered.
"We just have three hours," she said.
"I noticed," he said. "We don't have time to decipher the whole thing now. We only really need lines from three to seven."
"Three to seven?" she asked
"Yes," he said. "Thinking before acting, that's the most important bit, and not being fatalistic and letting fear, pessimism or despair get to us. That's what happened back in the other room, we let the dripping get to us, and lost ourselves in anger, taking it out against each other."
"So this task is about self-control," she said.
"Yes. It's about self-control." He took a deep breath. "You want me to tell you how to escape, or you already know a way?"
"I know a way. I'll wait until you escape and release me," she said playfully.
"I don't think we'll have time to do that," he said through a smile. "Although I'd love it," he admitted. "Jen, this might be hard for both of us now, but we need to void our minds of all thoughts, all except the planning of our movements. No thinking about the present or the past, or the remote future. Only the close future, what we are going to do next, move by move, before we even start to move a finger."
"Okay," she said.
"Step one," he began in a businesslike voice, "take deep breaths filling all of your lungs, expanding both upper and lower chest, a bit more every time, the rope will give in bit by bit."
"Okay," she repeated.
"Next find a point to look at and focus. There will be no need for talking. Your priority is freeing your hands, however."
"Free my hands," she said in a lost voice.
"Good luck, baby," he said, and he really meant it. "I love you."
"I love you too, honey," she answered, and then silence again.
Jen looked at the marble wall and picked a particularly dark vein in the marble to look at. She had to free her hands, the question was how. The rope, the first thing she had to pay attention to was the rope. She could feel it around her body, and in the same way she had begun practicing her telekinesis she began feeling the rope, tracing its contour with her mind, making it as real as if she was touching it.
The rope wasn't very thick, but it wasn't thin either. It was the kind of rope that burnt with rubbing. She couldn't tell where the end was, but she felt it around both of her hands, that were behind her back. It was also around her neck, and as she breathed she felt it tightened a bit, so she began taking small breaths again; it was a hangman's knot. Then it wrapped around her waist, tightly, the way Alex's arms wrapped around her when he whispered that he loved her . . . but she mustn't think of that. She voided her mind of thought about Alex and returned to the rope. Around her waist, and then around her hips, and then twice, very hard, around her thighs, incredibly strongly around the knees and last around the ankles, its trajectory was lined in her mind. She could barely feel her feet at the moment, but that wasn't important. The hands were.
************************
Alex was looking at a different vein of the marble, a small gray one, barely there. His hands were above his head, he had noticed Jen's were behind her back. But what was it to him if Jen's hands were behind her back? His were above his head, and his shoulders were killing him. He noticed he was having a hard time focusing. The shoulders didn't matter; it was the hands he had to free. He had to plan his moves carefully. The rope came down from the ceiling, wrapped around his wrists, then down to his neck in a hangman's knot. Then it went down across his chest, wrapping twice around it, once very tight around his waist. Once around his narrow hips, twice strongly around his thighs, then it went around his knees and ankles. He noticed the rope went around each of his thighs once, the same with his knees and ankles, and then once around both.
He closed his eyes for a second and opened them again, mentally telling himself off for being unable to focus in that situation. He stared at the wall intently, finally seeing, in his mind, himself, hanging from the ceiling. He could see himself clearly, next to him hung a dark blurry image that was Jen. He ignored it and looked at himself. He was hanging there, not moving. He stopped his deep breathing; he had enough space around his chest now.
They hung there not moving, examples of discipline and self-control. They weren't talking, screaming or moving. Just hanging there, thinking before acting. The Drakes relaxed more and more every second and the more they relaxed, the closer they were to their freedom.
***********************
The image in his mind began to move slowly; the hands going from side to side in small arcs. A very small movement, that didn't seem carefully planned at all. It seemed like he was scratching his wrists with the rope but he didn't want anyone to notice he was itching. Small arcs, so very small he doubted the skin moved, just the bone a bit. He noticed his mental counterpart was sweating lightly. Sweat was good in his position, it served as a lubricant, not that he planned to get out of there without burning himself with the rope.
Jen was still caressing the rope with her mental hand. She wanted to know every bit of the rope, every inch, every twist and every knot. She allowed herself to almost befriend the rope that was tied around her, allowing herself to feel its touch on her skin. She knew the rope would let her go; all she had to do was focus enough and ask it to do so. She was working with the rope in the same way she used to work with the objects she wanted to move with her telekinesis. She befriended the rope, she felt it around her body and compared its grip to that of her husband. She closed her eyes and threw her head back slowly, as if falling into a trance.
Objects had energy. They had their own energy and she had to make that energy work along with her to make the particular object move. The rope had its energy, and Jen respected it, for it was wrapping around her neck. She knew she couldn't just tell the rope to move, she had to tell it exactly what she wanted it to do. [I need space to move my hands a bit,] she said mentally. [If you give me that space, I can do the rest.]
The rope didn't move. [Let me go,] she pleaded mentally. [Please, let me go,] she repeated. In her mind she saw the rope moving, accommodating around her so the wrap around her hands loosened the tiniest of bits. [Good,] she said mentally to the rope. [Now, I need a bit more. Give me a bit more of space, and I'll do the rest.] The rope moved again, and she was able to move her hands in small half-circles, all of this in her mind.
She smiled physically, and mentally restarted the process. It was just like the beginnings of her telekinetic powers, objects wouldn't obey her at once -she had had to earn their trust and respect, as crazy as it may sound. With a deep breath, she once again asked the rope mentally to loosen the wrap around her hands. She only had three hours, but she didn't mind, the rope already was her friend.
***************
Alex had finally achieved a very deep and intense state of concentration. He no longer saw the room he was in. He no longer remembered his wife was hanging next to him. He had forgotten about his sons and his shoulders. He just stared at his mental self's moves, raptly, like a child watching a magic trick.
Mentally he moved his lower arms in half circles, now the hands moved enough for the thumb sides to touch. As the rope got looser and looser, his hand moved more and more, now making three-quarters of a circle. Finally it was time for a different movement. It was time to move his fingers and thumbs, pressing them together and loosening, wriggling them.
He had to free one of his hands by pulling it down. But it was of no use unless there was enough space for it to come out. He studied his position. His feet were barely an inch from the floor. If he stood on the tips of his toes, he could make sure he wouldn't break his neck by freeing his arms. But he needed space for the muscles of his legs if he was going to do that. He tightened his thighs and relaxed them. He kept doing that, always mentally, to see how it turned out. After doing that for minutes he began doing it with his calves. And finally he loosened enough space for him to stand on tip toe, by stretching his waist and hips just a bit, along with his legs. He stood on the tip of the tips of his toes like a ballet dancer.
He took a deep breath and began moving his arms up and down very softly, but fast, in comparison to the rest of his moves. He need the strength speed provided. He kept at it until he felt the loop of rope around the pad of his thumb, and he knew he almost had it. But he didn't smile, or show any emotion. He just kept moving with cold calculation. Finally his right hand was free, and in a deliberate move he inserted two fingers between his neck and the hangman's noose.
His left hand came out freely, and now he just had to figure out how to get free from the noose around his neck. He allowed himself to go one step at a time and began physically repeating the movements he had just made mentally. He noticed he was sweating considerably more than he should, since he hadn't moved other muscles than his heart and lungs.
Jen was focusing. Her telekinetic powers were blocked, but if she focused enough she could get past the barrier, like she had with The Mistress. She focused on the rope, on the rope as a being, as an entity, separated from her body, and kept mentally seeing it move. She felt her mind struggle against its prison and finally escape through a small breach. The rope moved around her wrist, in the same way she had seen it move so many times in her mind. She moved her hands in circles and moved her arms in a piston motion destined to free one of her hands, either of them. Mentally she asked the rope to release a bit more, a bit more. She asked for small bits, very small, because she didn't know how much pressure her neck would take.
She was hot. She was sweating as if she was in a sauna. She was so hot her head hurt.
It had been three hours already. The metallic floor had steadily gone from silver to orange, and was going now from orange to red as heat flowed through it, announcing out loud the Drakes were running on borrowed time.
To be continued.
Silence
It pressed against their ears after hearing the dripping for hours.
They were both hanging from a ceiling they still couldn't see, in a different room, and they knew it was different because the floor was made of metal, instead of marble. They could see its shine, cruel and cold against a white light whose source was unidentified.
They were tied. And not run-of-the-mill tied, they were really tied. The rope felt like it was wrapped all around their bodies.
On the wall right in front of their faces, there was a message left for them:
Darkness falls to light,
Evil is defeated by good.
Beware, our friends, of
acting before thinking,
for every action must exist in you
before it can exist out of you.
Don't think of Fatal, it's of no use,
focus on patience and control,
free your bodies and your souls
achieve your goals and be happy
or after three hours lose it all.
"Three hours," she whispered. Louder, she said, "Alex!"
"I'm up," he answered.
"We just have three hours," she said.
"I noticed," he said. "We don't have time to decipher the whole thing now. We only really need lines from three to seven."
"Three to seven?" she asked
"Yes," he said. "Thinking before acting, that's the most important bit, and not being fatalistic and letting fear, pessimism or despair get to us. That's what happened back in the other room, we let the dripping get to us, and lost ourselves in anger, taking it out against each other."
"So this task is about self-control," she said.
"Yes. It's about self-control." He took a deep breath. "You want me to tell you how to escape, or you already know a way?"
"I know a way. I'll wait until you escape and release me," she said playfully.
"I don't think we'll have time to do that," he said through a smile. "Although I'd love it," he admitted. "Jen, this might be hard for both of us now, but we need to void our minds of all thoughts, all except the planning of our movements. No thinking about the present or the past, or the remote future. Only the close future, what we are going to do next, move by move, before we even start to move a finger."
"Okay," she said.
"Step one," he began in a businesslike voice, "take deep breaths filling all of your lungs, expanding both upper and lower chest, a bit more every time, the rope will give in bit by bit."
"Okay," she repeated.
"Next find a point to look at and focus. There will be no need for talking. Your priority is freeing your hands, however."
"Free my hands," she said in a lost voice.
"Good luck, baby," he said, and he really meant it. "I love you."
"I love you too, honey," she answered, and then silence again.
Jen looked at the marble wall and picked a particularly dark vein in the marble to look at. She had to free her hands, the question was how. The rope, the first thing she had to pay attention to was the rope. She could feel it around her body, and in the same way she had begun practicing her telekinesis she began feeling the rope, tracing its contour with her mind, making it as real as if she was touching it.
The rope wasn't very thick, but it wasn't thin either. It was the kind of rope that burnt with rubbing. She couldn't tell where the end was, but she felt it around both of her hands, that were behind her back. It was also around her neck, and as she breathed she felt it tightened a bit, so she began taking small breaths again; it was a hangman's knot. Then it wrapped around her waist, tightly, the way Alex's arms wrapped around her when he whispered that he loved her . . . but she mustn't think of that. She voided her mind of thought about Alex and returned to the rope. Around her waist, and then around her hips, and then twice, very hard, around her thighs, incredibly strongly around the knees and last around the ankles, its trajectory was lined in her mind. She could barely feel her feet at the moment, but that wasn't important. The hands were.
************************
Alex was looking at a different vein of the marble, a small gray one, barely there. His hands were above his head, he had noticed Jen's were behind her back. But what was it to him if Jen's hands were behind her back? His were above his head, and his shoulders were killing him. He noticed he was having a hard time focusing. The shoulders didn't matter; it was the hands he had to free. He had to plan his moves carefully. The rope came down from the ceiling, wrapped around his wrists, then down to his neck in a hangman's knot. Then it went down across his chest, wrapping twice around it, once very tight around his waist. Once around his narrow hips, twice strongly around his thighs, then it went around his knees and ankles. He noticed the rope went around each of his thighs once, the same with his knees and ankles, and then once around both.
He closed his eyes for a second and opened them again, mentally telling himself off for being unable to focus in that situation. He stared at the wall intently, finally seeing, in his mind, himself, hanging from the ceiling. He could see himself clearly, next to him hung a dark blurry image that was Jen. He ignored it and looked at himself. He was hanging there, not moving. He stopped his deep breathing; he had enough space around his chest now.
They hung there not moving, examples of discipline and self-control. They weren't talking, screaming or moving. Just hanging there, thinking before acting. The Drakes relaxed more and more every second and the more they relaxed, the closer they were to their freedom.
***********************
The image in his mind began to move slowly; the hands going from side to side in small arcs. A very small movement, that didn't seem carefully planned at all. It seemed like he was scratching his wrists with the rope but he didn't want anyone to notice he was itching. Small arcs, so very small he doubted the skin moved, just the bone a bit. He noticed his mental counterpart was sweating lightly. Sweat was good in his position, it served as a lubricant, not that he planned to get out of there without burning himself with the rope.
Jen was still caressing the rope with her mental hand. She wanted to know every bit of the rope, every inch, every twist and every knot. She allowed herself to almost befriend the rope that was tied around her, allowing herself to feel its touch on her skin. She knew the rope would let her go; all she had to do was focus enough and ask it to do so. She was working with the rope in the same way she used to work with the objects she wanted to move with her telekinesis. She befriended the rope, she felt it around her body and compared its grip to that of her husband. She closed her eyes and threw her head back slowly, as if falling into a trance.
Objects had energy. They had their own energy and she had to make that energy work along with her to make the particular object move. The rope had its energy, and Jen respected it, for it was wrapping around her neck. She knew she couldn't just tell the rope to move, she had to tell it exactly what she wanted it to do. [I need space to move my hands a bit,] she said mentally. [If you give me that space, I can do the rest.]
The rope didn't move. [Let me go,] she pleaded mentally. [Please, let me go,] she repeated. In her mind she saw the rope moving, accommodating around her so the wrap around her hands loosened the tiniest of bits. [Good,] she said mentally to the rope. [Now, I need a bit more. Give me a bit more of space, and I'll do the rest.] The rope moved again, and she was able to move her hands in small half-circles, all of this in her mind.
She smiled physically, and mentally restarted the process. It was just like the beginnings of her telekinetic powers, objects wouldn't obey her at once -she had had to earn their trust and respect, as crazy as it may sound. With a deep breath, she once again asked the rope mentally to loosen the wrap around her hands. She only had three hours, but she didn't mind, the rope already was her friend.
***************
Alex had finally achieved a very deep and intense state of concentration. He no longer saw the room he was in. He no longer remembered his wife was hanging next to him. He had forgotten about his sons and his shoulders. He just stared at his mental self's moves, raptly, like a child watching a magic trick.
Mentally he moved his lower arms in half circles, now the hands moved enough for the thumb sides to touch. As the rope got looser and looser, his hand moved more and more, now making three-quarters of a circle. Finally it was time for a different movement. It was time to move his fingers and thumbs, pressing them together and loosening, wriggling them.
He had to free one of his hands by pulling it down. But it was of no use unless there was enough space for it to come out. He studied his position. His feet were barely an inch from the floor. If he stood on the tips of his toes, he could make sure he wouldn't break his neck by freeing his arms. But he needed space for the muscles of his legs if he was going to do that. He tightened his thighs and relaxed them. He kept doing that, always mentally, to see how it turned out. After doing that for minutes he began doing it with his calves. And finally he loosened enough space for him to stand on tip toe, by stretching his waist and hips just a bit, along with his legs. He stood on the tip of the tips of his toes like a ballet dancer.
He took a deep breath and began moving his arms up and down very softly, but fast, in comparison to the rest of his moves. He need the strength speed provided. He kept at it until he felt the loop of rope around the pad of his thumb, and he knew he almost had it. But he didn't smile, or show any emotion. He just kept moving with cold calculation. Finally his right hand was free, and in a deliberate move he inserted two fingers between his neck and the hangman's noose.
His left hand came out freely, and now he just had to figure out how to get free from the noose around his neck. He allowed himself to go one step at a time and began physically repeating the movements he had just made mentally. He noticed he was sweating considerably more than he should, since he hadn't moved other muscles than his heart and lungs.
Jen was focusing. Her telekinetic powers were blocked, but if she focused enough she could get past the barrier, like she had with The Mistress. She focused on the rope, on the rope as a being, as an entity, separated from her body, and kept mentally seeing it move. She felt her mind struggle against its prison and finally escape through a small breach. The rope moved around her wrist, in the same way she had seen it move so many times in her mind. She moved her hands in circles and moved her arms in a piston motion destined to free one of her hands, either of them. Mentally she asked the rope to release a bit more, a bit more. She asked for small bits, very small, because she didn't know how much pressure her neck would take.
She was hot. She was sweating as if she was in a sauna. She was so hot her head hurt.
It had been three hours already. The metallic floor had steadily gone from silver to orange, and was going now from orange to red as heat flowed through it, announcing out loud the Drakes were running on borrowed time.
To be continued.