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The Disastrous Chance Noir:
Andreus Lyon had long been an admirer of his father, and his father before him, and so on. He loved the stories his mother told to him in his childhood before she passed away. Stories of knights and kings, of honor and chivalry, a time where the world was enchanted with the souls of societies. Stories of Roland, the Prefect of the Breton March, of how he bravely stood his last stand.
Yet Andreus does not live in those times. He lives in modern Paris, a city gone to ruins. A place whose people does not share his veneration of the old culture and its old glory. And he has no chance to prove himself to be someone who could live up to the dignity of his forefathers.
Until chance happened and bestowed upon him a mysterious ring that can enhance his physical capabilities. His strength became equal to ten men, his foot as light as a feather, and his eyes as sharp as the owl or the cat hunting prey in the night.
And when he met a certain baxter who has been terrorized by the local gang, this was his chance to prove himself that he would've been just as noble and brave as Roland.
"What do you mean I don't own my own company anymore?" Eugene meekly protested. The news could not arouse his anger when he expended the whole of his spirit on the death of his entire family. The weeping and gnashing of teeth, the bashing of his head against the mirror in vain hope that it too was all just a nightmare, and the nightly wailing to the uncaring sky before his body seized him and dragged him back to sleep.
Coldness and destitution were all that was left when everything else was burnt down.
"I'm sorry to break the news like this to you, Mister Ramsey." Spoke Kevin who used to be his finance manager. He had the decency to be here in person at the hospital to tell him everything that happened, to his knowledge, during the time Eugene was out. "When the news of you and your sister's comatose hit the news, the company stock took a nose-dive. And then when the news of the death of the entire Ramsey family, the company stock tanked. It went from trading at four hundred fifty dollars per share to the point when it almost got delisted from the stock exchange."
"But I should still have all my shares! My family owns fifty-one percent of all existing shares! So, what if our shares devalued massively!? My family still has the majority! There's no possible way that I could ever lose that! No one could ever print more shares without the majority's authorization!" A little fire started rekindling.
Kevin shuffled uncomfortably. "Mister Ramsey, did you know that your father has a will?"
"Yes? Why? What's the matter?" He wrote it many years ago as a failsafe in case some lunatic decided to blame him for whatever medical problem someone among the eight billion people has out there somewhere in the fifty-eight million square miles of the Earth's land mass.
All those baseless and debunked conspiracy theories floating around on the internet for idiots to believe, that his family was responsible for putting microchips into the vaccines and selling it for profit to the government and brainwash the masses. Those crazy enough to believe them were crazy enough to take action.
"Your father stated in his will that he leaves everything in his name to his eldest surviving son."
"Yes, that's me."
"Mister Ramsey, he did not name you specifically. He only said, 'his eldest surviving son'."
"He did not name me specifically because if anything happens to me, my brothers can inherit it! But I'm alive and they're all dead! How is that even confusing for the law!? I am his sole surviving heir!"
Kevin continued to shuffle uncomfortably. "Has… your father ever mentioned to you of his previous marriage?"
The color drained from Eugene's face. "No…"
That was not possible. His mother told him that he was her first love and she his. She would go on and on about how they were always meant to be together, and nothing stopped her from getting what she always wanted, ever since she was a child. Cassandra made fun of her describing herself as a spoiled child who never got disciplined, to which mother scolded her for being a spoiled brat herself and if Mother had not been the way she was, they would've never been born.
He remembered it clearly: it was Christmas Eve, the day he announced to them that he proposed to Sidney. That's what prompted Mother to wind on about destiny and love. That nothing would stop the inevitable, even when temptresses tried to have his body, they shall never have his heart. That—
Wait a minute.
"I believe your father had been so enamored with your mother that he forgot he had a previous marriage."
No… no! He couldn't have been that reckless! Nobody gets to the position he was in if he was so careless with his words. He would've had dozens of lawyers double checking and then triple checking every letter of the law and cross-referencing his will to root out any flaws in it. He couldn't have possibly been that reckless! NO, NO, NO!
"W—wh—who?"
Kevin flipped through the papers he brought for the purpose of catching Eugene up. "Someone by the name of Raymond Novak."
Realization hit Eugene like a ton of bricks, the weight of it crashing into him all at once. Everything clicked into place with terrifying clarity. The visit Novak made to his home those years ago, insulting his mother as a whore, the desire for his birthright—
His sister's last words before the meteor struck!
"Eugene! It's Dad!"
"Grab the parachutes! NOW!"
"Eugene! He's our half—"
Brother. Novak was his half-brother. Eugene's father left another woman and now her spiteful son came back for revenge.
The image of that smug, arrogant, and duplicitous face burned into his mind's eye stoked the slow, simmering heat that spread through his chest. Yet still the anger that should be boiling only flickered weakly inside him. He tried clenching his hands into fists, but the image of his family sombered him yet again. Instead of anger, all he could do was feel the numbness of his stolen birthright.
Birthright…
"You forfeit your birthrights to me. And you will suffer as Job has suffered."
Eugene laughed it off at that time, but even then, he understood that Novak took it seriously. 'It wasn't legally enforceable,' he told himself, reasoning that no judge on the face of the Earth would have sided with Novak's ridiculous claims. That was how he soothed himself.
"I don't care about earthly judges. I only care that God was watching."
There was no way. Why would God care about something as petty as that, even if He did exist? Doesn't He have far more important things to concern Himself about? There are literally millions of starving children around the world and other people suffering from disease! What about them!? Why must this—
Who was it that he prayed to inside that nightmare? Who was it that helped him end that nightmare and wake up from a coma?
Eugene silenced his thoughts just as the cold grip of death's invitation crawled up his skin. Tightening around his throat, cold and suffocating. The void again. Everything he was, everything he did, threatened with oblivion. Hollow, paralyzing dread. Eugene could not think such things. If He dragged him out, He could throw him back.
Please don't make him go back.
"The company is now merely a subsidiary of N.V.K. Your personal share percentage has decreased to less than one percent. Seeing that none of your shares are those that has voting power, you've also lost access to all confidential information henceforth."
"We have to buy it back… We have to buy it back!" Eugene didn't know who he was speaking to. What could Kevin do? He wasn't even an employee anymore; he was only here as a courtesy and out of respect for the many years of employment.
"Mister Ramsey, most of your wealth is not liquid."
"Then make them liquid!" Jewelry and fancy clothes he has no problem parting with. Fashions come and fashions go; sell his watches, his champagnes, his art pieces, whatever it takes! Sell even his cars, save one for transportation! He always understood them to be luxurious vanity. What he could not part with was the company, the pride and accomplishment of his family. That was his empire! When future men would remember him for! What his future sons and daughters would remember him for, just as he did for his father!
"That can't be done either, Mister Ramsey."
"Why not!?"
"Almost all of your assets were put up as collateral for the many loans the company took out. And since the entire Ramsey household is dead, except for you and your sister who was in a coma, the banks and other debtors deemed that you would never wake up and had already seized and sold them to cover the debt."
The fire in his heart that only flickered meekly outgrew the tempering umbra of his family's death. Finally, for the first time in a long time, he could distinctively feel the burning sensation of his fury.
Novak. That son of a bitch took everything from him!
"What do I have?"
"A bank account worth a thousand dollars."
The hospital had not heard such a ferocious and agonizing cry. And it never will again.
Cassandra slept so peacefully. Serene and untouched by the same chaos that wrecked him. Her skin was pale like his but luminous under the soft glow of the overhead lights, her hair lashes resting gently on her cheeks as if she were simply lost in a peaceful dream. Dark hair cascaded over the pillow like silk, framing her delicate features. Tubes and monitors beeped softly, but they seemed distant, not disturbing the quiet peace she had.
It made him almost wish that she would never wake up, because he would have to be the one to break the news to her. And who knows how she would handle it? It almost broke him; what would it do to her?
He could only wish that she would have the fortitude when she does wake up. She has to. She was too young to spend the rest of her life like this. She hasn't lived her life yet, she hasn't found love like he did with Sidney, she hasn't done so many things a wonderful girl like her was supposed to do.
Eugene took one long, good, and final look at his sister. This was his last day at the hospital; he was going to get discharged after they completed all their tests on his fitness. He might not see her again for a long time depending what the future brings. If he got a job that requires him to be far away, that certainly would pose a problem.
He held her hand and said his goodbyes. Then he left.
He stood right there at the hospital's entrance, waiting for the car Sidney was supposed to send him. Fifteen minutes, then thirty, then an hour. She never picked up her phone whenever he tried to call her. And it couldn't be that she was avoiding him since he tried calling her with different numbers. She must be busy with something else important at the moment, she had her own part of her life to live after all. So, he left her a voicemail, giving her the exact date, right down to the time of the clock, of when the hospital was discharging him. He did not forget to mention that he would be waiting right at the entrance.
One hour became two, two became four. After the fifth, Eugene just became embarrassed at that point. What happened? Did she not get the voicemail? What was she doing that's so busy, she couldn't find the time to schedule a taxi for him, let alone check her voicemail?
His stomach growled; he wasn't entitled to the free food at the hospital anymore. He was tempted to go into that restaurant across the street, a block away, but decided against it as his pick-up might arrive during the half-hour he would spend eating inside there. So, he just stood there hungry, waiting… and waiting… and waiting…
Until finally an SUV drove up to him. The driver rolled down his tinted windows and looked at him, then at a photo he was holding, then back at him again. "Excuse me, sir, are you Eugene Ramsey?"
Oh, thank goodness! He was beginning to think that Sidney abandoned him. "Yes."
"I'm here to pick you up."
Eugene got into the car, and it drove him from the hospital which at least had a clean, crisp air surrounding it, to a cemetery where the air became heavy with the scent of damp earth and aging flowers left by mourners long gone. Stretched out in quiet rows, a sea of weathered headstones and marble monuments eroded by time and the creeping ivy.
"What are we doing here? I thought you're taking me back to Sidney's place."
"Who's Sidney?" The driver asked.
Instantly, Eugene's thoughts went to the worst places he could've imagined at the moment. Was he just kidnapped and now made to dig his own grave? There was no one else around to see the two of them. Was this man concealing a gun underneath his suit? Who held a grudge against him to know the date he was getting discharged and plan this murder!? Wait, he spotted one other person standing in the cemetery! If Eugene called out to him to call the police, maybe he would be safe.
"My employer told me you should visit your parents' grave. To pay your respects and all that. He's also over there." The driver pointed at the lone figure Eugene had planned to call out to a few seconds ago. "After you meet him, I'm supposed to drive you to wherever you want to go next."
Eugene breathed out a sigh of relief. Silly him, getting worked up over nothing and conjuring up the most fantastical of scenarios. Maybe this was another one of his former employees who wanted to pay his respects like Kevin did; as they should, to be honest. They've all been made rich because of his family's patronage; it was only right that they perform some gestures to show their gratitude.
It was just… it was sad that it wasn't Sidney that sent a driver to fetch him. What was she doing? He was her fiancée! They were set to get married just right around this time!
Eugene slowly made his way to the figure standing under the canopy of autumn trees draped over the graves of his parents, branches swaying gently in the breeze. Trotting on uneven ground dotted with fallen leaves, the man's face was getting clearer and clearer. And Eugene's rage was getting hotter and hotter.
"Glad to see you can make it." Novak greeted.
Eugene's blood boiled and his veins could barely contain the molten stream threatening to burst open. The entire world shrank, all that remained was that man—the son of the bitch. There was no thought, no hesitation. His body moved before his mind could catch up, muscles tensing as he stormed across the earth, fists clenched, eyes burning with a raw, uncontained rage.
Eugene lost it. Novak had to pay.
Eugene's gale cracked with the sheer force of his scream. He lunged, throwing his entire weight into a wild swing aimed at Novak's jaw. But Novak calmly sidestepped effortlessly, indifferent, if not amused, by his effort. Eugene's fist sailed past, striking only air. Off balance, Eugene stumbled, but his rage kept him going. He spun on his heel, swinging again, this time with more force, more desperation.
Novak barely moved. His eyes flickered with the faintest hint of disdain as he easily dodged the blow, his feet shifting just enough to make Eugene's attack look clumsy and wild.
Eugene was breathing hard already, his heart racing as frustration bubbled in his brain. He charged again, a guttural roar escaping his throat as he threw a flurry of punches, each more reckless than the last. Novak's body weaved and danced in precise steps; a master of his body, something Eugene had only ever seen in experienced and expert fighters of the martial arts. Eugene's fists never connected—each swing left him more exposed than the last.
And then Novak struck.
The fist of Obelisk made manifest.
A quick, snapping jab to Eugene's ribs, so fast that Eugene didn't even see it coming. Pain exploded in his side; the air forced from his lungs in a sharp gasp. Novak didn't let him recover. Another blow, this time to his stomach, and Eugene doubled over, clutching his abdomen as a deep ache spread through his body.
Eugene staggered, his breath ragged, but the anger still pushed him forward. He wouldn't—he couldn't—stop. Not in front of his parents' grave, he couldn't humiliate their spirits like this. With a pained grunt, he threw a haymaker, his body twisting with the force of the blow. Novak barely tilted his head, Eugene's fist grazing the air inches from his face. Before Eugene's mind could even process the miss, Novak's knee slammed into his gut.
Brutal, pulsing shockwaves of agony throughout Eugene's entire mass. His legs wobbled, giving out beneath him.
"Give it up; you are not my equal." Novak spoke from on high to Eugene low on the ground. Haughty, schadenfreudic, and unempathic, all packaged into that little grin of his.
The words alone cut deeper than the physical blows. Eugene's chest heaved, the weight of his own helplessness pressing down on him. But still, he pushed forward. Another swing, this one even sloppier, fueled more by desperation than form.
Novak caught his wrist mid-punch, twisting it effortlessly. Eugene let out a strangled cry as pain shot up in his arm. With a flick of his hand, Novak sent him crashing to the ground, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
Everything hurt. Ribs throbbing, stomach churning, and wrist burning where Novak had grabbed him. But worse was the humiliation. Novak hadn't even broken a sweat. He hadn't even tried. Still, Eugene tried to stand, his vision swimming, the earth tilting dangerously as he pushed himself up on shaky arms. His body screamed for him to stop.
No. He will not.
"Had enough?" Novak asked.
Eugene lurched to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. "Not… yet." His voice was weak, barely above a whisper. He sluggishly threw himself at Novak once more with his labored body. Slow and telegraphed, swinging in a wide arc.
He caught the punch mid-air again, tightening around Eugene's fist like a vice-grip. Eugene groaned, his knees buckling as Novak twisted his arm painfully. Then, with a brutal shove, Novak sent Eugene crashing onto the gravestone.
Eugene coughed; wracked with spasms as he struggled to breathe. He couldn't believe it, but he much rather be crushed under a mountain than to fight him again. His vision blurry and dark at the edges. Novak's approached, slow and measured.
Kneeling down in front of Eugene, Novak's face loomed over him. "Had enough?"
Eugene wanted to fight back, wanted to scream, to get up and hit Novak again, but his body wouldn't listen. Every muscle ached; every bone bruised. The anger he thought was going to fuel his drive forever was smothered beneath the crushing reality of defeat. The most he could do was to remain silent, denying Novak the pleasure of hearing his admission.
"And here I was, trying to do a nice thing for you."
"You took everything—" Eugene descended into a violent coughing fit. "—from me."
"I took nothing I didn't deserve."
"Deserve?" Eugene wanted to chuckle, to taunt Novak as he had to Eugene. But all that came out were more coughs. "You're just a little entitled brat who can't stand the fact that your dad doesn't love you. And with you standing in front of me, I can certainly understand why. I'm not even your dad and I feel the urge to leave you."
If Novak was hurt by that comment, he certainly wasn't showing it. All that showed on his face was a raised brow. What else would an abandoned child be hurt by? Eugene racked his brain to think, but it was already racked so much by the fighting and bruising.
"You can't stand to look at me, you son of a bitch. He left you but he stayed with me. You know why? Because I'm the one he actually wanted as a son. From the moment of your birth, he knew you would be nothing but a disappointment. You know what he told me? He wished that he met my mom sooner so that you would have never been born."
Even then, Eugene had inflicted no harm on Novak. Not a slick of his face showed any sort of discomfort or humiliation at the statements of fact. He didn't even care that he was being mocked for being the undesired son. If he wasn't doing all this to get revenge for his father leaving him, then what in the world was he doing this for!?
Nonsense! He had to be doing this for that reason! It was the only explanation! Novak was only a master at hiding his emotions. Bet he was seething with resentment underneath that iron mask. A little crying child who never grew up and lashing out at the world and at a family that had everything he could not have.
"Ah, so you already know who I am?" Novak said. "Well, that makes this whole trip pointless. Here I was, going to slowly break it down to you and you've spoiled the fun out of it."
"Fun? You think it's fun to ruin my life? You think it's fun to ruin the life of people who had nothing to do with you just because they're tangentially related to person that abandoned you? Of course you do, you're a manchild; only a pathetic manchild like you think involving innocent people to suffer for what one man has done is something that is good."
"I think it's fun to witness what our father's sin has begotten, ere this woe began to be." Novak stood up. "And you wonder why God has agreed to rip everything your father has built up from your right of inheritance. The arrogance of claiming your entitlement to everything good your father had done and none of the fruits of evil he has wrought. Is he your father or is he not? What would men say to themselves if they think the sins they've sown would not be reaped by their sons and daughters? What world would they build? Think, bastard, for it is not this one where you can enjoy tables of plenty and clothes of many colors."
"Don't give me that altruistic concern about the moral order of the world or whatever kind of bullshit you want to justify your temper tantrum!" Eugene pushed his voice too hard and descended into a violent fit of coughing once again. He wanted to say so much more but his throat became strained.
"If you want to believe this is all just a temper tantrum of mine, then sure, whatever helps your mind be at ease." Novak chuckled. "If it is so, then God truly is merciful, isn't He? He killed your father before anything more could be done to him. The Alknowing had seen my plans for him, and He deemed it too cruel to leave him in my hands. Another act to spite my soul."
Novak turned his back towards him and started speaking to the driver who was summoned by the gesture of Novak's hand. "This was quicker than I expected. You can now take him to wherever he wants to go, or wait until he's done mourning for his parents, just make you keep your eye on him in case he wants to salvage what's left of his pride with another ride."
"Of course, Mister Novak."
Eugene hated him. Eugene will make him pay. Eugene will tear him apart. Savagely and primally. Lying on the ground, broken, finally knowing what it felt like to be powerless, to feel fear. Novak's world come crashing down, make him suffered the way Eugene had suffered. This hatred had rooted itself so deep in Eugene's heart, gnawing at his insides, demanding vengeance. Clawing at him, whispering dark thoughts, feeding the fury that Novak had ignited.
Until Novak's downfall, Eugene would never be free from this living creature inside him.
For now, Eugene paid his respects to his family.
Sidney didn't live where she used to live anymore. Eugene found out the hard way when Novak's chauffeur drove him all the way to her place just to be deserted over there and the chauffeur just drove away. He's tried calling her from many different phones, all with the same result: no answer. She was not avoiding him; she must've changed her phone number as she changed cell carriers.
He just wished she wasn't so inconsiderate to do something like that when she knows he's woken up from his coma.
And he couldn't call her friends to find out because he had them all on speed dial; he never bothered to memorize it. Neither did he with their addresses. As far as he could do, they were forever out of reach unless he got really lucky.
Eugene thought that at least he could get himself something decent with all the connections he used to have. From the distributers, the suppliers, the factory managers, he thought they would have the decency to offer him something in their facilities as he explained everything that happened to him.
They didn't care. All he was, from the beginning, was a business connection they could exploit if given the chance. Eugene had once been the path to luxury—sleek cars, tailored suits, penthouse views overlooking the city. Now he was just some homeless bum living on the street with clothes of unbearable odor.
And how in the hell was he supposed to stop being a stinky, homeless bum living on the street if nobody wants to hire him!?
At least from them, he could understand. He treated them like a business connection too. What he could not understand were those he thought were his friends. There was always one excuse or the other. One was too far away, another had no room, another struggling to pay his debts back, and so on and so forth.
Eugene wandered northward from one city to another, the sole of his feet wrecked with blisters; he had never in his life had to do the length of walking he was doing now. And nobody was willing to give a homeless bum a hitchhike. Honestly, that part was understandable, even if he smelled nice. There were just too many stories about how some naïve altruist thought he was doing something good and then getting robbed or murdered by the homeless he helped.
It was wise of him to ask to borrow phones to call when he was still relatively clean and not odorous. People certainly wouldn't lend one to him now; homeless people always steal things. He learnt that the first night he ever stayed at a homeless shelter, everything that wasn't in his front pockets when he slept got stolen.
The world around him moved on without noticing him—a nameless figure in tattered clothes, his once-pristine shoes now worn down to their soles. His stomach growled constantly, gnawing at him with the kind of hunger that never could be sated. And if he did eat, it still growled as he scavenged them from the scraps, often picked through garbage cans behind restaurants, hoping to find something not too far gone to stomach.
It took him a while to figure out that bakeries were the best places to dumpster dive. Those foods have no shelf-life beyond a few days; every baked good not sold within that time period gets discarded, if not on the same day they were baked. He learned way too late in his life why bakeries don't just send the unsold goods to homeless shelters or other charities: it wasn't because of crashing supply and demand like he first thought as a businessman, it was because of the dozens of documentation hurdles and the liability costs if any one of the thousands get sick.
It was so obvious in hindsight; he was ashamed to admit he didn't think that when liability was ingrained in his line of business.
The sight of businessmen and tourists sitting in cafes, sipping coffee, and eating pastries as he lurked in the background dumpster diving, turned his stomach. He used to be one of them, the top of the food chain. Now he couldn't even get an ounce of attention from them for a business proposal, let alone an impromptu job interview.
Eugene didn't know what to feel whenever people passed him by. Many of them pretended he wasn't there asking for help, those who didn't ignore him… well, he could feel the weight of their stares, the judgment in their eyes. They didn't see him as a man—they saw a problem, a nuisance, something to avoid. Either he was invisible, or worse, a ghost that they didn't want to acknowledge. He resented them.
Each time the sun dipped behind the horizon, Eugene's world grew colder. The nights were the worst. He would find whatever shelter he could—a park bench if he was lucky, an alleyway or the steps of a building if he wasn't. Cardboard had become a luxury, something to shield him from the cold ground, but even that wasn't enough. His body ached from the hard surfaces he slept on, and his joints groaned every time he tried to move.
Coldness seeped into his bones, no matter how tightly he pulled his ragged coat around himself. Curling into the shape of an egg, trying to stay warm, as the wind cut through the gaps in his clothes, chilling him to the core. Sometimes, the rain would come—light at first, but then it would pour, soaking him through and leaving him shivering, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
The noise of the city never stopped, even at night. Sirens wailed in the distance, cars sped by, and the occasional shouting from nearby streets kept him on edge. Sleep, when it came, was light and restless, punctuated by moments of panic whenever footsteps came too close. People were cruel in the night—drunks, troublemakers, or just those looking for an easy target. He had been kicked, spat on, and had his remaining few possessions stolen more times than he could count.
And now he was getting pissed on.
"We outside!" Giggled the simian hooligans hollering at him as they filmed themselves blasting their urine at his makeshift bed. "We outside!"
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Eugene roared out of his sleep and flung whatever he could at them.
For that insolence to their ego of doing whatever the hell they wanted, they beat him down ten to one. Eugene laid there like a cripple.
"Yo! Grab his shit! Grab his shit!" They giggled as they frisked him for anything they could steal. Eugene held tight to his phone, useless and out of charge of its battery as it was, it still technically had his personal information in it. They punched him repeatedly in the face, but he held strong.
For the first time in a long time, luck was relatively on his side, as the police vehicle that was doing its regular, nightly patrol sounded its sirens and scared them off.
"It's the po-po!" They were still laughing as they ran away. They've destroyed his cardboard and his makeshift blanket; he was not going to sleep tonight, else he die of hypothermia.
The police were still right there, not giving chase to the men who just attacked him or anything else productive. Lazy sloths, Eugene should just punch them. Why not? They'd book him in for assault on an officer and they'd throw him in jail. Jail, with a roof over his head and three meals a day. And the blanket too, they'd have to give him clean blankets at least every week. And a pillow; he'd love to remember what it was like to lay his head on a pillow again.
And give up his chance to ever retake his company.
Eugene wandered around, keeping his body active and warm, until morning where he found a good spot to sleep.
The worst part was the memories that came flying into his dreams. The flashes of his old life—the gleaming office where he once commanded respect, the sprawling mansion he had called home, the endless possibilities that wealth had afforded him, and his true love by his side.
And then he would wake up to the cold, hard reality.
"Eugene?" Some man called out to him one day while he was on the breadline of an Evangelical charity.
Eugene turned around, seeing that the voice came from a man shuffling forward in the bread line, his shoulders hunched under the weight of a dirty, oversized coat. Weathered face, wrinkles, and eyes of the distant, haunted look of someone who'd seen too much.
"Eugene, is that really you?" The man's rough and trembling hands gripped Eugene's shoulders as if he feared he might slip away. His clothes hung off him like loose rags, and when he moved, it was with the slow, resigned shuffle of someone who had long forgotten what it felt like to hurry. "Oh my God! It's really you!"
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
"It's me! Travis! Don't you remember me!?"
"Lawrence?" Eugene squinted his eyes despite not doing anything. Travis looked absolutely nothing like how he was before. "What in the world happened to you? And what happened to your accent?"
"I was faking that the whole time because I thought it sounded cool." He nonchalantly confessed. "I was about to ask the same thing about you! I haven't seen you in a long time and now you're here begging for food at the charity drive? Aren't you on the board of a major pharmaceutical company?"
Eugene stared at the ground, at the scuffed tips of his so-called shoes. He wasn't sure if he could recount to Travis the events that transpired. Partly because he'd think he was pathetic, but mostly because he didn't want to bring it up more than he should. Telling him now felt like ripping open a wound that he just managed to keep under control. Not healed, just acclimated.
He knew Travis didn't have much to laugh at anyway; if he did, the hypocrite would open himself up to attacks. Travis was out here struggling too, knowing just as much as Eugene about this life's harsh realities.
Eugene hesitated; his mouth dry as he opened it to speak. But he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the years between them, and told him everything.
Travis's eyes were black, caught somewhere between disbelief and gloom. The furrow in his brow deepened, and his mouth hung open slightly. Lines that hadn't been there before creased the corners of his eyes, which darted back and forth, searching Eugene's face for some hint that this was a coincidental joke. But when he found none, his jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a thin, grim line. He looked older, older than he already looked like. Travis was trapped in a state of stunned silence. Nothing came out of his mouth before, during, and after Eugene finished telling him everything.
Nothing but a name. "Raymond Novak?"
"You know him?"
"That's a name I'll never forget. Everything changed for me on the day he beat me in a duel. My God, has it really been years since that day? I can remember it like it was yesterday."
"Wait… he did the same thing to you?"
Travis nodded. "Yu-Gi-Oh Duelist Kingdom Recreation Tournament, New York, several years ago. Semi-finals. I played Volcanics, and he was stuck with his amateur Galaxy deck."
"What did he want with you?" Eugene worriedly questioned. In the back of his mind, he worried if his father had a third marriage he never told Eugene about. Surely not, right?
"He wanted my luck. I can remember word for word: 'If I win, I get your luck and whatever else that is benefiting you. I summon the Almighty God upon us as witness to bind our words.' I should've won that day… I don't know why I lost… luck was on my side… why did it abandon me at the most crucial moment?"
"So, what happened next?" Eugene brought Travis back on track as his mind seemed to be wandering off.
"It was slow, and then all at once. I thought that it didn't work, that it was a bunch of nonsense after all even though that was how I got so lucky in the first place. I kept sleeping around and eventually, I slept with some crazy women. They wanted a relationship from me even though we agreed to keep it casual. So, they accused me of rape."
Eugene instinctively backed away from Travis. There was no way he was going to share a space with a rapist.
"I AM NOT A RAPIST!" Travis's face contorted, eyes wide and frantic as his mouth let loose a desperate, guttural scream. His voice cracked, high-pitched and raw, filled with a fear that clawed its way out of his throat. His hands gripped Eugene's shoulders tighter, in a pleading motion, trembling as he shook his head, the scream rising and falling like a trapped animal's wail. "I'm not a rapist. I'm not a rapist. I'm not a rapist. I'm not a rapist."
"Okay, okay! I believe you! You're not a rapist!" He looked so broken. Odds are, he probably wasn't. Travis was known to be able to charm his way between the legs of any girl he wanted; rape was not necessary to get what he wanted. Travis's skill with women was so effective, Eugene made sure he never let his sisters know Travis's existence and Travis theirs.
"LIAR!" Travis frantically yelled. "LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! YOU'RE JUST LIKE THEM!" Travis crumpled to the ground as he clutched at his hair and his fingers digging into his scalp. His whole body trembled violently, breathing in shallow, erratic gasps. He rocked back and forth, muttering fragmented words and incoherent pleas that tumbled out in a stream of desperation. His sobs grew louder, breaking into full, heaving wails that drew everybody's attention. These were people who've seen everything, from overdoses to suicides. Soon, Travis lost himself in a storm of his own anguish. Eugene could not get through to him, and Travis only withdrew further into himself, trapped in a loop of pain that spiraled deeper, his cries echoing with the sound of a man who had finally broken. "No one believes me…! No one ever believes me…! I don't want to go back to jail…!"
Eugene watched on in dismay. Travis was beaten by Novak; Eugene was beaten by Novak. Travis's life was ruined by Novak; Eugene's life was ruined by Novak. And now look at Travis. Mentally and spiritually broken. Eugene tried to console Travis, but he was inconsolable. So, with no choice, Eugene could only leave him there and take his charity meal.
Was that going to be him some years later?
He continued to drift from city to city for many weeks after that event. Same story here and there. The only comfort he found in those times were thoughts of his beloved Sidney.
Her body, her lips… the sensation of her voluptuous flesh on his lips will never leave him. His hands would never forget her softness. The rich aroma and the smooth taste that danced across his palate as he ravaged her mouth with his tongue. The memories of him being smothered in her love will always carry him to the next day, urging him to not give up.
He just needs to find her, then all can be well again. Together, they can crush Novak under the boot and retake the company. And they can be properly married as intended.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, ASSHOLE!" A truck driver shouted at him as he honked his horns, warning Eugene that he tried to cross the street at a red light.
Just as long as Eugene didn't get himself killed first. Sidney's aftertaste on his soul was so strong, he forgot to check both sides of the road when crossing the street.
He's been to this city before. Yeah, it was coming back to him. It was another one of those business meetings, right? He wasn't mistaking the city's stardom and perpetuation of its images as he physically been here. There was the park where he stood and enjoyed the scenery after closing his first deal ever. He was thirteen, the age when his father deemed fit to start teaching him how to run the business, step-by-step.
A rocky and uneven park, little hills sprouting along the pathway. Some of the rocks on top of the hills were so big and so tall, that once Eugene finished climbing it, his line of sight was on the level of the second and third floors of buildings surrounding it.
Over there was where he brought his clients over for dinner, and over there, on the second floor of that shiny glass building, was where he made that overly complicated and overcompensating slideshow presentation. Ha! Oh, the little mistakes he made when he was young. There's some mini festival going down at the park. From his vantage point, he could see party balloons tied to columns and a crowd of people holding glasses of presumably champagne. If he waited long enough, the crowd blocking the signage could part and maybe he could see—
Sidney.
Sidney. She was there. She was right there. By the window. Looking outwards as he was looking inwards. She didn't notice him, but he sure noticed her.
He's been with her for so long; she was unmistakable. That grace she always had, her body curving in all the right places, accentuated by the sleek, form-fitting dress that clung to her like a second skin. Long, beautiful hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves, framing a face that was almost too perfect—cheekbones high and sharp, lips full and painted a deep, inviting red. Smoldering and half-lidded eyes drawing him in, glinting with a playful allure. When she moved, it was with a slow, deliberate sway, each step a whisper of temptation.
And most importantly, her smile. The slow curl of her lips, entrancing him into her magnetic, hypnotic presence. A desert man who has found his oasis.
A higher power has taken pity on him! Eugene skipped down the rocks and hills and made a dash to the gathering. He made past the sign that notified him that this was a public event of some senatorial campaign.
"Sidney!" He called out to her.
She didn't hear him. Because at the same time, some man on stage decided to speak into the microphone and blast the area with the speakers.
"And I couldn't have done it without my biggest donor! William! Get up on stage and say a few words for us, will you?"
Some handsome man took the stage with the biggest smile on his face, high on life. "Thank you, senator, for everything you've done and letting me have a few words! I'd like to first…"
"Sidney!" Eugene called out to her again as the man on stage trailed on to give a speech Eugene did not care about. This time, she did notice him, turning her head left and right searching for whoever it was that was calling her name. She couldn't, it was too crowded. Eugene had to push his way through them to get to her. "Excuse me, sorry, coming through."
The crowd, seeing how dirty and stinky he was, pushed themselves out of the way lest they contract whatever pestilence he was carrying on his body.
"Sidney!" He grabbed hold of her hand. She jumped, frightened at his touch. Her smile faltered, the playful spark in her eyes dimming as her lips tightened into a thin line. It was only because he was unrecognizable. "Sidney! It's me, Eugene!"
"Eugene?" She was stunned to finally see the sight of him. "Why are you here!? How did you even find me!?"
"I was walking over there when I spotted you!" Eugene's heartbeat paced rapidly. "Oh Sidney! You have no idea how glad I am to see you! Why weren't you answering your phone? I've been trying to call you for over a hundred times!"
She shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest as if to create a barrier between the two of them. Her gaze flicked to the side, avoiding his eyes, and a tense, forced smile crept onto her face, trying but failing to keep up appearances. Her fingers tapping anxiously on her arm as she struggled to answer. This wasn't like her; Eugene could not feel the usual warmth he always felt when she was by his side. Discomfort veiled across her face, and she wrinkled her nose slightly, as if he, the love of her life, was something she wanted to escape from.
When she looked back at him, her eyes were flat, guarded—no longer playful but distant.
"Sidney? What's wrong?"
"Eugene, there's something you need to know…" She cleared her throat, her voice strained and clipped. Eugene's instincts begged him to plug his ears because what she was about to say was going to break his heart. "The doctors told me that you would never wake up…"
He couldn't believe his instincts. They were wrong. They had to be wrong! She wouldn't do this to him! He knows her!
"The doctors told me that I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for something that most likely would never happen. They told me to move on, and…"
He couldn't process any more words; everything was just a distant hum.
"…And finally, I'd like to announce that the love of my life has agreed to marry me!" The donor known as William proudly announced to the entire crowd. "Come up here, Sidney!"
Her head darted back and forth from Eugene to William. All she could offer him now was a whisper. "I'm sorry, Eugene, I really am. You deserve someone better than me."
Her face didn't look sorry. Her smile was nothing but sunshine and rainbows as she glided up the stage, the train of her dress trailing behind her. Her eyes sparkled with joy looking at William, filled with pure adoration. She reached for the homewrecker's extended hand and lets him pull her in close. Too close. He cupped her face, and she melted into his arms, their lips meeting in a deep, passionate kiss as her fingers curled on his shirt, and her other hand rested gently on his shoulder. The crowd applauded.
William's hand was going where they shouldn't be going.
How long did this man knew her, huh? Merely months! He knew her for years! He loved her for years! He cherished her, protected her, and was ready to marry her! And this bastard took it all away! And her! What was she thinking!? Was his undying love not enough!?
Eugene's heart caved in. Beneath his feet were the shifting quicksand pulling his soul down into a dark, suffocating pit. He tried to take a breath, but it came out as a ragged, broken gasp. Sidney, his Sidney, his one and only, smiling brighter than he'd ever seen, but not for him. She was so happy, so in love, and the way she melted into the arms of the man who wasn't him.
His one final hope carrying him through the harshness.
Gone.
At that moment, it came back to his memories. The night when he wished upon that shooting star.
Let Novak's company go bankrupt. Let Novak's friends abandon him. Let Novak's family be nowhere to be found. Let him find himself on the street begging for food and have people piss on him whenever he tries to sleep. The worn-out blanket will give him no warmth, the shoes he wears will not save his feet from the uncomfortable concrete. May everyone mock him wherever he may go, and if he has a lover, have some other man seduce her away. Let no one, not even the kindest-hearted people, give a damn about him, and let those kind-hearted people laugh as he dies cold and alone in a nameless grave.
His own curse, wrought against him.
The waters looked so beautiful, didn't they? Eugene rested his hands on the cool metal railing, eyes tracing the shimmering path the moonlight carved across the river's surface. The night sky stretched out above him, vast and deep, speckled with stars that blinked and twinkled. The moon hung low, a glowing silver disk that bathed everything in a soft sort of light.
Glancing towards the city skyline in the distance, where towers of light glittered against the darkness like an array of jewels scattered across the horizon, his laid his eyes upon their reflections rippling in the water, merging with the moon's glow. The lampposts lining the bridge stood as silent sentinels, casting warm, golden light that pooled along the walkway in patches, each separated by the darkness between.
A gentle breeze drifted through, cool and refreshing, tugging at his unwashed hair and filthy clothes, carrying with it the faint scent of the river's salt and the earthy smell of trees lining the riverbanks. He closed his eyes for a moment, really taking in the wind brushing against his skin, listening to the soft murmur of the water lapping against the bridge's pillars below.
Everything felt so nice. It was hard to believe that he was the only one walking the pedestrian part of this bridge. A small mercy, perhaps, to spare others of his presence and soon-to-be absence.
He had chosen a good spot to enjoy his last moments.
He climbed over the rails and fully embraced the fantasy of flying high in the skies as the wind blew stronger against him.
He was convinced that there was a God up there, and he was convinced that He hated him. Everything clicked into place once Eugene accepted that fact. Whenever there was something wrong that went on in the world, God chooses some poor sucker to lash out his anger against. He supposed that this was not supposed to be some gnostic secret he discovered about God; it was a fact literally written as gospel, the whole point of the New Testament. Something even an uninterested and unlearned in theology like him would know about.
There was no point in continuing on being this ragdoll purposed to be abused. He's lost all of his wealth and all of his inheritance to a son of a vindictive bitch. His bedroom, his clothes, his cars… his family. Every day, every noon, and every night, he would always have something delicious to eat. When it was cold, his home was warm; when it was hot, his home was cool. He could shower whenever he got dirty, and sleep on a comfortable bed whenever he was tired.
And when he was lonely, he always had his family around him. They made him happy, they made him sad, they made him irritated, they made him relaxed. The good and the bad, he missed them all. From the first steps of him as a child to the introduction of his lover to them and the ring he put on her ring. And he could be with them once more, forevermore.
Though his reason was telling him that any family would want their surviving child to live on in the world, it was also his reason asking him if he wanted to end up like Travis. Insane and broken, stuck in the speech of senseless rambling and lost his sense of place in the world. Eugene tried pulling Travis out of his episode, but nothing worked.
Travis went insane because he was, falsely or not, accused of rape. Eugene was bound to go insane because he'd probably never get his company back. The existential dread of never being able to best Novak.
He thought he could, he really thought that he had friends. He really thought he had a soulmate who was ready to aid him to the end of their days. Feeble and fickle, he discovered them all to be. Fairweather come, foulweather go, only he alone remains ever so.
He could not beat Novak over a bout of fists, he could not hurt Novak over a bout of words, how ever more so in a game of wits and prove his worth?
A little part of him screamed at him to not do it. That he may never know what could've been if he cut his road short. He couldn't ignore it, but he did overpower it with all the previously listed reasons.
He closed his eyes.
And he lets go.
Letting gravity claim and receive him in the waters.
The wind was ever so strong, tricking his senses into thinking he was still standing on that bridge. The first collusion he felt was something around his stomach. Something firm, yet soft. Something that felt like…
Arms?
"Woah, woah, woah, buddy!" Somebody screamed directly behind him. Those were the stranger's arms that were being wrapped around his waist. "You're not jumping on me! I've had way too good of a day for you to ruin it by traumatizing my eyes with a suicide!"
"Let go!" Eugene tried to wrestle the arms apart from the waist and push himself onto the cold rocks below. But somehow, the stranger's strength was stronger, using his legs as leverage against the metal railings and pulled Eugene back onto the platform.
"You have no right!" Eugene screamed at the stranger. "You have absolutely no right to decide what I do with my life! I have the right to make decisions about my own body, including the right to choose when and how to die! You don't know who I am! You don't know my life! I don't want to hear some bullshit about how life is precious because you have it so good in your life! You are selfish! Utterly selfish! I don't exist just to keep you happy in la-la land! And I don't care if my suicide is going to traumatize you! If you don't like suicide, don't do it! Don't shove down your beliefs in other people's throats!"
The stranger was taken by surprise by Eugene's rhetoric. But once the novelty wore off, a slight bit of anger and disgust came over his face. "Oh, it's you."
Any thoughts of suicide in Eugene's mind took a backseat. Because what the hell was that? Where were the cliché talking points about how life was precious and all that other stuff? "I'm sorry, am I supposed to know you?"
"Listen, man." The stranger sighed. "I've changed my mind; if you want to go kill yourself, go ahead."
That—that easy? No man in the history of the world was every convinced so completely about-face with one single rambling of sentences shouted at him. Shouting was supposed to make someone angry and irrationally defensive about what they just did, especially coming from a complete stranger! Not this, whatever this was!
"If you decide not to kill yourself, we can…" The stranger paused, rolling his eyes. Eugene could tell this man was actively regretting the words that was going to come out of his mouth. "We can get some fish and chips with tartar sauce on the side, my treat. It's up to you, man."
"No thank you, you can go now."
"Okay, whatever you say." The stranger shrugged and began walking away, not looking back.
What a strange and silly man.
Eugene climbed over the metal railings a second time.
The charm of it all was gone. That little part of him begging him not to do it because of the 'life is precious' stuff never took hold; the part of him that wanted to end it all still held that little part firm under its weight.
But that part of him that wanted to end it all was itself overpowered by Eugene's enormous curiosity. Who was that guy? No, no, no, no! Don't do that. It doesn't matter. He'll never see that guy again. Don't question why that guy flipped on a dime about his opinions on life and death. Don't wonder why the guy said, 'Oh, it's you' like they've known each other for a long time or something. Just don't. It'll ruin the finality of the end.
Don't question why that guy's attitude pissed him the hell off. And definitely, definitely, don't think of his suicide as something that'll make that guy happy.
Eugene closed his eyes.
…
He couldn't let go.
He tried again.
He couldn't do it.
…
Oh, for fuck's sake—
Okay, he has to figure out what the hell that was. Once he figured that out, then he can die without question.
Eugene climbed over the metal railings, back onto safety, and chased the man down. The guy must've had eyes on the back of his head, because he turned around once Eugene got within six feet of his person.
Damn, this was embarrassing, after that whole spiel he went on. "Hi, uhh… fish and chips sounds kind of nice."
"You want iced tea or soda?"
"Iced tea."
They took fifteen minutes to get off the bridge, fifteen minutes of silence.
"I'm Eugene, by the way, Eugene Ramsey." He offered his hand.
The man took it. "Dylan Trudeau."
I was planning to have Eugene suffer a chapter more, but since I know the speed of my uploads, I rushed it so you readers wouldn't get bored of reading everything that happens to Eugene and go 'Okay, WE GET IT, HE'S SUFFERING!'. Not really proud of that fact that I rushed it, but like I said, this is all just first draft; I'm not making a single cent off of this work. That effort belongs to stories I'm actually selling and planning to sell.
Now that I'm done writing this piece, I'm going back to working on the semi-sequel of The Disastrous Chance Noir, called Worth of an Englishman (over 70,000 words written so far). So, you're not going to hear from me for a while, not until I've finished a few key points of that ongoing story.
10/10/2024