Scriabin had found a place on the dresser beside Edgar's bed. He seemed somewhat lonely -- an alarm clock and a phone the only things to keep him company -- but for some reason Edgar felt he belonged there. Nowhere else in the room did the little toy seem to fit.
He found that Scriabin looked most natural in the pose that Todd had placed him in. One leg slightly bent, the other extended, his balance maintained by one outstretched arm. The other was occupied pointing the irremovable gun directly at its target in front of him.
Edgar guessed that perhaps this was the pose intended for the toy and decided to let it stay that way.
So Scriabin pointed his gun across the room, over his bed, and at a wall for the next few days. Edgar paid little to no attention to him, easily adjusting to the new feature on his dresser without much trouble.
By the end of the week, it seemed that Scriabin had always been there.
And somehow, Edgar felt less fear than he had before. After he had received his lovely near-concussion, he had feared his phone. Shivered and jumped when he heard it ring. But now he felt an eerie sense of calm. It was the same calm he recognized from before, familiar and efficient. When his phone rang, he picked it up with hands steady and unwavering.
"Hello, Edgar."
"Are you okay?" The question had been foremost in Edgar's mind ever since Johnny had disappeared. "I'm sorry I left you behind like that...the kid needed a ride home so..."
There was a very long pause.
Edgar sat down on his bed, idly picking up Scriabin as he waited for Johnny to find the correct words. He played with the toy's small arms while he waited. At least now he had something to amuse him whenever nothing was said.
"I'm okay."
Johnny did not sound okay. He sounded bewildered. Edgar only had to think for a moment as to why.
You're probably the first person to ask him that question in a long time. You were worried. Dare I ask why?
I can't really say.
You're terrified of him, aren't you?
Of course.
Then why do you care if he's okay?
I don't.
But you asked. Let's not forget that. What did that mean?
Can't I ask a simple question anymore?
It's never really simple, Edgar. You know that now. Things were simple, now they're not. Better get used to it, I think he's going to talk again.
"...Is Squee okay?"
What do you know.
"Yeah, he's fine." Another pause. Edgar struggled to keep the conversation going. "He's a good kid, really. Too bad about his parents though..."
"I wanted to ask you something."
Only a slight pause before Edgar reacted appropriately. "What?"
"I'm...I want to go out again. I need to...I need..."
Oh god.
"There's a movie playing...I was wondering if you might want to come and see it with me. I don't want to go alone."
Thank god.
Edgar glanced at his alarm clock. It did not seem to be too late. He could catch a quick movie and be able to get up for work the next day.
Still calm. Still rational.
Where had this confidence come from?
Remember what happened last time?
Yes. Last time nothing happened to me.
Alright, the time before that.
Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to make him swear not to kill me? 'Oh, before we go could you promise not to beat me senseless'? Can you honestly give me ANY suggestion as to WHAT to do instead of constantly criticizing me without any kind of contribution?
Edgar waited.
And for some reason, he could not think of a response to his own tirade.
"Well?" Johnny's voice was dark. Apparently this was not really a decision on Edgar's part.
"Alright."
"I'll meet you soon."
He hung up.
Edgar followed suit, watching his hands quietly as they fell back into his lap. He looked at the action figure that dropped on the bed at some point during the conversation. He picked it up, set it back on his dresser, then got dressed.
Hopefully, tonight would have some semblance of normalcy.
He doubted it though.
It would have been a nice movie.
Just when Edgar felt he had enough information to salvage himself out of any kind of situation with Johnny, he threw another wrench into the proverbial gears.
Whenever an emotionally moving scene would come on Edgar would glance away, almost as if to remind himself that the movie was not real and therefore should not affect him. However, once in the circuit around the theater his eyes crossed Johnny. He could not help staring for just a few moments.
Johnny of course didn't notice. He was totally enraptured in the film, his knees drawn up to his chest and held in place by his skeletal arms. He was resting his chin against the top of his knees as he stared directly at the screen, eyes unblinking.
Edgar had seen Johnny angry. Seen Johnny repentant, depressed, confused, and giddy.
But he had never seen this before.
Johnny almost seemed awed, almost seemed to be taken away by the cinematic experience. For a few moments, he lost the insane sadness that constantly lingered about him. For a few moments, the manic destructiveness that allowed him to take human life was gone. He was just staring and watching the movie screen intently.
For all intents and purposes, Johnny was perfectly normal.
That was terrifying.
Edgar looked back at the screen again in case Johnny would have noticed him staring at him, but he need not to have worried. Johnny was far too enthralled in the movie itself, paying no attention to the man sitting beside him.
I thought he couldn't care...
...I thought he was...I don't know. Unable to do anything...in...I don't know. I never thought...
Edgar felt as if something in him was missing, as if the sight of Johnny had reminded him of something that had lost. What was wrong...? He could not think of the answer.
He's sitting here next to me and he's not killing or being crazy or anything. He's being perfectly normal. This movie is reaching him, it's affecting him. It's making him feel something normal humans can't make him feel.
I didn't think he could do that.
I can almost...
Edgar couldn't help but focus on him again. Johnny was still frozen in the same pose, curled into himself, but there was almost...
He could almost see something against the dark skin. Almost...
He can cry...?
He can cry...?
Oh my god...oh my god...this...
What should I do? What should I do...
I should...
...Not ruin this for him.
So he looked back at the screen, his mind reeling with questions. He did not say anything.
Edgar was able to rationalize being with Johnny. He was able to justify it as being something out of his control, their pseudo-friendship maintained by threats and fear. He was able to rationalize Johnny's deviant and frightening behavior as the result of an entirely destroyed mind.
But these moments...like before with Todd and now, when he looked so...
So human...
That's how he was going to kill me.
Edgar was staring at the screen with the same amount of intensity that Johnny was, although it was for an entirely different reason. The impact of his sudden realization left him paralyzed, his eyes staring blankly at the movie and not seeing anything.
That's how he was going to kill me.
And I'm doing the same thing.
Again, he felt like something was missing, something deep within him. It refused to be placed again, remaining just outside of his conscious grasp. However, along with that feeling of incompletion came very strong pangs of guilt.
How could I...I thought...I thought I was able to understand other people...I thought I could empathize, that I could...but I did the same thing he did. I did the same thing, I dehumanized him so that I could feel better about myself, so that I could...Oh my god...how...oh god, I didn't think...I didn't know that I...god, how often do I do this? Have I always been doing this? This is...
And finally, he could find a reply. With it came a sense of fulfillment that erased his previous sense of loss. Finally he could find another stance in his argument.
He's insane.
But look at him. Look at him right now.
Edgar did. Johnny still remained curled tightly into himself, although due to his thin body structure this looked rather awkward. Spindly and thin limbs with empty space between body and knees, drawn as close to his chest as possible. He was staring at the screen with such fervor, such honest and genuine awe and admiration. It was obvious that he was enamored with this movie, that it brought him joy. Real, true joy.
He was happy.
He was happy and he was not hurting anyone.
It was possible.
He's insane! He's insane he tried to KILL you.
But look at him he can think he can be rational he's not entirely insane-
Shut up!
There's no middle ground here. You can't do this. Just...we can figure it out later just...
Edgar sighed, looking back up at the screen. He struggled to forget his emotions, his logical confusion, to forget everything, and try to focus on the movie itself. It was not as if his mental discussion was going anywhere.
It took a while, but eventually he resided back into a calmer state, his mind slowing along with his breathing.
He could think about it later.
It really would have been a nice movie.
However, their enjoyment of the movie was ruined by something outside of their control.
The people behind them would not shut up.
It started out small at first. Just a whispered word occasionally. Edgar was willing to ignore that, actually. When the whispering turned into a loud conversation, one derisive and mocking of the movie playing, that's when Edgar felt annoyed.
That was also when Johnny uncurled from his pleasant ball, his expression now fallen back into the dangerously psychotic look that was all too frequent. He turned and glared at the two behind him.
Edgar watched and mentally noted something that probably was not too significant. In the face of Johnny's anger, the two behind him only laughed and ignored him...much like the people at the café did.
Are you finding a pattern, dear boy?
That's not important.
"Be quiet." Johnny's voice was dangerous. Edgar could recognize that tone and what it meant, but now knew that it was not directed at him.
Unlike before at the café, he felt no fear for these two behind him. He did not fear that their lives would be ended, that Johnny would do something drastic.
He did not feel fear because instead he was beginning to find himself filling with quiet frustration and disappointment. Even the beginnings of anger, a true foreign emotion to him.
They had ruined something for Johnny. Ruined something that even Edgar could tell was not by any means normal or frequent. They were ruining this, ruining something he enjoyed, for no clear reason.
Edgar was not afraid for them.
He was not afraid for them.
You're wishing Johnny on people again.
I am.
...Well?
...I'm just surprised. That's all.
Johnny turned around, his eyes staring at the screen intensely in an attempt to return to the level of immersion he had previously acquired. Edgar watched the claw-like hands grip the plastic armrests, palms pressing through the holes where cups were supposed to go.
Be quiet.
It was a mental command directed at the two behind them, quickly and without much thought. But Edgar found that it somehow mirrored, in a lesser and much less threatening way, the same tone Johnny had used.
Johnny raised his feet and propped them up against the seat in front of him, sinking back into his chair. The clear expression on his face before, the freedom from whatever had dragged him down this far, was gone now. Johnny looked darkly sullen, on the verge of entirely losing his short temper.
It was quiet behind them for a while and Edgar hoped that maybe this experience would not be entirely ruined after all.
However, when he was with Johnny, that never, ever happened.
They began talking again. Loud, obnoxious voices, comparing the movie to others that Edgar was unfamiliar with. Talking about things other than the movie and then directly insulting the story.
Edgar was beginning to like this movie. Maybe it was just an association because it made Johnny so happy, but it wasn't important. He liked this movie.
He found himself turning in his own chair, certain that his voice would not carry the same gravity or danger that Johnny's always seemed to have.
"Be quiet!"
At the sound of two conjoined voices, they turned and met glances at the same time. Edgar did not know Johnny was planning on doing the same thing...
That was strange.
"We're trying to watch this." Edgar tried to make his voice carry any authority at all. It was obvious by the teenager's reaction that he failed. They giggled at him, mocking his tone, but did not outright respond.
Both turned back to the movie.
It was maybe fifteen minutes later that the kicking of Johnny's chair began.
With every blow, Edgar could sense the strands of Johnny's tentative grip on sanity breaking. He watched the thin fingers clench into fists, watched him grit his teeth in frustration.
They had tried to get the two behind them to be silent, but they refused to listen. They refused to listen to them, despite their continued efforts to get them to be silent.
Because they were not enjoying the movie, they had to ruin it.
Edgar was not frightened for them.
Not even close.
Edgar wanted to know what Johnny was planning on doing to them afterwards.
And, with only a slight sense of remorse and guilt, Edgar wanted to watch.
What's happening to me...
Edgar stared at his ceiling, at the all too-common off-white plaster. If you stare at something long enough, it begins to change. It begins to alter, to move, all in an effort to keep your mind interested. As it was, Edgar had been staring at the ceiling for almost an hour. It kept changing from an off-white to slightly more yellowish and back again.
Hardly prime-time television, but Edgar did not even notice.
He lay on his bed on top of the covers, still fully clothed.
His coat was in his closet. He made sure of that.
His arms were spread out at his sides, his hands resting at an angle slightly below his shoulders. Ironically, when he thought about his unintentional position it seemed rather familiar.
This was how I was restrained before. Before when...when I first met him.
You know, a religious person might say you were in something like a crucifixion-like pose. But then again, you seem to be losing your ties with that lately.
That's not true. I asked for help when I came home. I prayed like I often do and will continue to do.
Oh, and that fixes everything does it? Watch someone get tortured, electrocuted, and go home and pray? That makes you all good inside? What's wrong with you, Edgar. You're in such deep denial about something so simple.
There's nothing to deny. I just...
Of course there's something to deny. You're denying your denial. Why are you lying on your bed staring at the ceiling?
I'm thinking.
About what?
About...what happened I guess.
And?
And what?
You tell me.
And how I felt I suppose.
And how did you feel?
Edgar raised one of his arms off of the bed. It responded lazily, slowly, and he felt its weight clearly as he moved it. He hadn't moved in a long time. The arm finally rested across his eyes, blocking the changing white from his view.
He had taken off his glasses a long time ago when he realized there was nothing worth seeing.
You felt good.
I did not.
You did. I bet if you hadn't decided to deny everything about yourself, you would have helped ol' Nny fasten the straps.
That's not true and I'm not denying anything. This can't be me. This can't be who I'm...this can't be right. I'm not...didn't...wouldn't have...
You did. You did. You wanted to hurt them, Edgar. You wanted to hurt them.
They were hurting him-
An eye for an eye makes-
Shut up! This isn't about me!
Then who IS it about, Edgar? What other magical person are we talking about?
Just shut up!
Edgar realized with a start that he had spoken his last words out loud. With a sigh he pushed himself upwards, supporting himself on his hands as he hung his head.
Thank god he lived alone.
Or what? People would think you're crazy?
Edgar shook his head, narrowing his eyes in frustration.
I don't want to think anymore.
Too bad. You're still thinking because this is important. You're not listening.
Edgar, struggling to find something else to do rather than argue pointlessly with himself, unsteadily got to his feet. He plodded across the floor, flicking off the light and watching the room settle into almost total darkness.
I'm not a bad person. I'm not. I really try not to be. I do.
You certainly didn't try too hard back there.
Again his words found physical voice as he felt his way to his bed. "I'm not! Just shut up!"
You're talking to yourself. Calm down.
I don't...I'm not...
Listen.
No. NO! I shouldn't be doing this! I didn't do this before, I never talked to myself before! Just shut up! This is my problem and I don't need to have stupid internal monologues to resolve it! Shut up!
Edgar flopped down on his bed, his face burying into one of his pillows as he breathed hard. The short burst of fury had been unfamiliar to him. It was hard to think of times when he had truly gotten angry at anyone, truly furious at someone. Mild annoyance sure, but true anger...
It was hard to get him angry.
He didn't get angry before.
What's happening to me...I'm losing my focus...
No, you lost your focus before. Despite his threats, the internal conversation continued. Remember the theater?
I don't...know what's right. He...
You let him capture those two. He's probably still torturing them now. You're letting this happen. You're-
It's not that simple. Logic was coming back into play as he rolled over. This is not a clear-cut issue of black and white ethics. I've been trying to make this simple and it's always been complicated.
Well, how do you justify this? You can't. Not with good conscience.
When I was in the theater...there was something there. Something...
The image of Johnny lit by flickering colors and curled into his tight ball of happiness came to mind. It had been all he had been able to think about since he came home.
Someone who suffers daily and probably hourly found some happiness for a few moments. Someone who-
You're defending him? You're defending him- Edgar, he tried to KILL you.
He asked me to go with him to do something he enjoys. He wanted me to share that with him. Whether I like it or not he thinks I'm his friend...to some degree anyway.
Do you think you're his?
...To some degree, Yes.
Edgar, you know what that means.
Logic doesn't have any place in this. I can't think of this rationally anymore because that's not what's involved! I don't know why but the incident at the theater proved it. Proved there's something there. Even if I hate it and it makes no sense, it bothered me to see him hurt and it made me happy to see him happy.
...it made you happy?
...I don't know...did I say that?
You did, but...I don't recall-
Well, it's not important. This is the stupidest thing I've ever done but somehow along the line he became my friend-
Well, that still doesn't explain-
No, listen! I know that friends are supposed to look out for one another. I know that, everyone knows that. Therefore, to feel angry when he was hurt was justified-
No. NO. That's the mistake right there. Edgar, you allowed two human beings to suffer and you're making rationalizations to make yourself feel better about it! Yes, it's okay to feel bad if your friend's dog got run over but it's not okay to hunt down the guy in the mini-van and shoot him in the head! Edgar, you're beginning to fade.
...To what?
You know. You're beginning to lose sight of what's important.
No. I refuse to...
Edgar, you're changing. You're changing right now into something different. Something that allows the suffering of others. I doubt that's a righteous thing at all.
I was protecting the happiness of someone else-
Who doesn't deserve it! Edgar, you don't know HOW many people he's killed! He was going to kill YOU! He probably doesn't even know you tried to help him! He doesn't care! He can't understand! You're sticking your head into a bear trap in an effort to understand how it works! It's curiosity, sick and twisted curiosity! There's no compassion in this relationship. To say you care is one of the greatest lies of all. To think that you would care is ludicrous and insulting.
You're wrong. You're wrong.
No I'm not.
I saw him. I saw HIM at that theater. I saw what he used to be. And then I saw what made him that way. It wasn't his fault-
You don't know that! You don't know that and you're letting people die for it! You're letting people die so one man can watch a movie!
I can't...
What's happening to you?
God, this is so complicated...
You said so yourself.
I'm not a bad person...
But you're doing bad things-
"SHUT UP!"
Edgar lashed out with one arm in an effort to express his frustration at the dead-end conversation that his mind could not stop running over and over in his head. His hand crossed the dresser near his bed in its course, catching Scriabin by his outstretched arm. The action figure went flying, landing somewhere on the floor with a multitude of small thumps.
Edgar sat up to look for him before he realized there was no way he could see Scriabin anyway. He sank back down with a deep sigh.
I'm not a bad person...
Finally his mental argument had stilled.
That thought was what followed him into sleep.
Author's Note: NOW we're gettin somewhere!
In response ta some review questions - The thorns are whatever ya want em ta be, and FRICK NNY DOESN'T HAVE A LAWN! Argh! More tiny inaccuracies cause of my lack of book at da time. That's gonna drive me nuts now. Ah well.
Oh yeah, happy b-day ta LadyArtist.
Yup.