《The Golden Ticket》 Chapter 1. The Flood Notes of the Otherworldly Man (Based on real metaphysical events) The inevitable never happens. It is the unexpected always John Maynard Keynes. I opened the mailbox and an envelope fell at my feet. Inside was a business card from Jade Apple Films and a postcard of a landscape-a turquoise surface of water against the rocky Alps. Lago di Como. Lake Como. I read: To the one and only I read on the back. And the signature: I.Shes here! *** Before I was shot by a stray bullet, which, as it later turned out, was not to be meant for me, I never thought I could die. Yes, I knew that well all be there and The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away and all that stuff, but I, like many people, didnt think I would die personally. Maybe one day, in my old age. And I was also sure that before you dropped dead, you would feel it-see a prophetic dream, get a sign or something like that. Nope! This story started with oil gushing into my apartment. Right out of the kitchen sink. It had been gurgled and bubbling for a month before that. The sink was spitting out brown scraps, and one day a huge fountain of stinking black liquid burst out of the drain. I grabbed a cup from the table, frantically scooped it up, and ran to the toilet with a bucket full. When I got tired of running back and forth, I just plugged the hole and sat down to watch a movie. All was quiet, but then the rain came pouring down from the kitchen ceiling. It turned out that oil, unable to find the usual outlet, was going to the upstairs neighbors. They, confused, did not take act immediately, but only half an hour later. By that time, the oily liquid had already filled the neighbors sink and rushed back to me, spilling over the edge and onto the floor. The guys from emergency service who arrived quickly found the culprit. It was the old man who lived on the top floor. Because of his dementia, he often mistook the sink for a garbage can and threw potato peels into it. As a result, the riser pipe right under my kitchen became clogged, causing a flood. The emergency crew couldnt understand only one thing: why was the water going to my upstairs neighbors instead of me? I was ashamed to admit that I had plugged the drain with a cork... When the emergency crew left, I was still crawling on the floor with a rag for a long time, smearing the dirt stuck in the corners. An angry neighbor came from downstairs, wanting to make a scandal, but when she saw the mess the plumbers had made in the kitchen, and me, covered in mud from head to toe, she exclaimed: Ouch! and hurriedly closed the door behind her. I came to the newsroom sleepy, with traces of black spots on my hands. Have you been mining oil? Kubyshkin from the utilities department giggled. Yeah, I muttered, went to my room, and turned on my computer. Kubyshkin gave me a suspicious look, pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, and hurried into the smoking room to share the news. From there, gossip spread like tobacco smoke throughout the office. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. What a topic! the editor was delighted. Listen to me, Petelin, go to the emergency dispatch service tonight and write a story. Why me? I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. Kubyshkin is an expert on wet things, so let him write. You wont send him to exhibitions or the theater. Do you think youre more important than Kubyshkin? the editor looked at me from under his eyebrows. No, I paused. Its just that we have different departments. Im in charge of culture; hes in charge of pipes. Here it is! Dubonos shook his outstretched hand tragically in the air. This is bad! Very bad! A journalist, for your information, Petelin, is a universal soldier who must follow orders, wherever and for whatever reason his homeland sends him. Pavel Petrovich, we are not in the Soviet army, I reminded him (Many years ago, Dubonos served in the road troops in the steppes of Central Asia, where he edited the army combat bulletin The Tracks). Vikenty! he raised his voice. Dont start, okay? Your culture can wait. The neighbors flooded you, not Kubyshkin. But call Proshchelygin first C just in case, arrange it; otherwise you never know what can happen. At exactly six in the evening, I stood on the porch under the sign that read HELL. The last letter O was painstakingly smeared with black paint. Smaller letters were crowded underneath. Housing and Communal Bureau, I read. A few letters in the word bureau had been corrected by some unknown jokers hand, so it turned out to be burglars. The head of the emergency dispatch service, Max Proschelygin, a smug guy with curly hair and shifty eyes behind round chameleon glasses, did not greet the reporter very friendly. What is the purpose of your visit C any complaints from the tenants, or what? As soon as Proschelygin realized that there were no complaints, but a desire to write an article on a hot topic, he relaxed and even allowed himself to loosen the knot of his tie. Why not? he smirked. Go ahead, write it. He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs under the desk, and began to dictating what he thought I should put in the paper. Maybe I should have turned and walked away; but I had an editorial assignment, and I knew from experience that it was better not to argue with these guys. I should have played dumb, accepted the rules of the game, penetrated the enemys camp, scouted the situation and done things my way. Recently, however, this tactic had begun to fail, because the editor, not wanting to complicate his life and get into trouble with the authorities and advertisers, secretly sent all the articles up for proofreading C as he said, to avoid problems. Today, in these hard economic times, we have three teams working in shifts, began the head of the emergency service, each, according to the schedule, includes two electricians, three plumbers and two UAZ vehicles. Did you write that down? Two cars? I looked up. I thought I counted four in the yard. Proschelygin frowned and looked at me sternly: I said two, so write down two. Why do you care? I dont care, I turned the page. The shift starts at five in the evening and ends at eight in the morning, Proschelygin droned again. During the holidays the crews work two shifts; and our priority is to let the citizens know that if we dont answer the phone for a long time, it means that we have more important things to do. Like what? I asked, taking my eyes off the notebook. Proschelygin shrugged vaguely: Well, a radiator burst, or a hot water pipe. Or the toilet was clogged, I prompted. No-no, Proshchelygin protested. We clean the shit last. Even if someone has a problem with poop... o pardon me, sewage, hot water is always a priority, its more dangerous. You should know that! Media, damn it! Second oldest profession, eh? Very pleased with his joke, he laughed and got up from his desk.Well, Ive done my job. You can write the rest yourself, youre not a kid. Now lets go to the control room, Ill introduce you to the boys. To be continued Chapter 2. Meeting with Romashkin The control room was a shabby cubby with the walls painted dirty yellow. There were no curtains on the window. An old television sat on the windowsill; a worn chair with no armrests covered the radiator. By the door, under the plywood chairs held together with a board, were piles of oiled quilted jackets. Proshchelygin glanced at them and, thinking I couldnt see, pushed them deeper with the toe of his boot. On one wall of the control room hung a stand of keys to all the basements and attics, and on the other was a detailed map of the city. In the center was a desk with a red disk phone. The phone was broken in half and taped. At the desk sat a young man with a delicate girlish blush on his cheeks and was diligently filling out the registration log. Trainee, I thought. The guy raised his disheveled head, looked tiredly at the people entering, and introduced himself: Konstantin Romashkin, the duty master. He smiled, noticing my confused face: Dont be surprised, Im often mistaken for a schoolboy. People come and ask: Wheres the master on duty? Show him to me! But when I say its me, they dont believe me, sometimes they even swear. Sit down, Proshchelygin nodded to the chair. I sat down, took a pen from my pocket, and prepared to take notes, but by that time the workers were returning from the call. Sweaty men in overalls entered the room noisily and, ignoring the stranger, immediately grabbed the TV remote. The screen flashed and flickered with a pale blue light. A soccer match was on. Dont write about that! Proshchelygin got worried. Otherwise everyone will think we watch TV here from morning to night and thats why we dont answer the phone. The workers looked at me, then at the boss, and pulled the cord out of the socket C just in case. The phone rang. The master grabbed the receiver with undue haste: Emergency service. Can I help you? A womans voice shrieked nervously. I got it, Romashkin sighed. Well be there soon. Whats going on? Proshchelygin was alarmed. It looks like someone stole the wires on Soviet Street again. The men grabbed their hats and ran out the door. A gang of some electricians has been robbing the city for the second month, Romashkin complained to me. Craftsmen! They break into electric boards, somehow cunningly form an electric circuit, pull wires from the first floor to the top floor, and cut them off. Two hours later, the lights go out all over the house. Household appliances fail, the tenants are furious, but the villains are long gone. Its impossible to catch them, Proshchelygin yawned and looked at his watch. Well, Im off. If you need anything, call me, and dont talk too much! the chief gave the duty master a stern look. Otherwise, he nodded in my direction, hell write something bad about us. When the door slammed behind the boss, Romashkin breathed a sigh of relief and asked me: Would you like some tea? Without waiting for an answer, he took a plastic kettle from under the desk and went out into the hall. A switch clicked somewhere; water came out of the faucet with a noise. When Romashkin returned, he poured half a packet of tea into the kettle. Dont you boil water? I asked in surprise. Why? he replied simply. Its already hot in the pipes. Besides, the kettle is broken anyway, the coil is burned out, and there is no money for a new one. Romashkin lifted the lid, stirred the contents with an aluminum spoon, took the glasses from the drawer and poured pale lemon liquid for himself and me. Sorry, no sugar. Looking at the tea leaves chasing each other in a whirlwind, I remarked aloud: My grandma used to call this kind of tea donkey piss... Good tea, Romashkin took offense, took a sip and smacked his lips. So where were we? The electricity! In general, I have to tell you, our people are wild; they all try to get into the switchboards, even if they cant connect the two wires properly. I remember one case where a guys washing machine started sparking, so he grounded a wire to the heated towel rail, while his neighbor downstairs decided to shave, grabbed a towel and got such an electric shock that he was almost got knocked out, yeah! This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Romashkin pushed aside the unfinished tea, opened the call log, and began flipping through the greasy pages with a wet finger. I usually get fifty calls a shift. Most of them come in the spring, during the pressure testing, and in the fall, of course. Something to do with the seasonal affective disorder isnt it? Why? he lifted his eyes and looked at me intently. The central heating hasnt been turned on yet, and its cold in the apartments; so people turn on the heaters. But the networks in the houses are old, not designed for overloading, and the plugs burn like hell. When the heating season starts, there a new problemCthe pipes burst. Hot water floods the tenants, but there are three plumbers for the whole city... What should I do, go down to the basements myself? But most of all, I dont like holidays, Romashkin poured himself another cup of tea. Everyone cooks, fries and makes salads. Do you know where they throw their garbage? Into the sewer! I reminded him of my neighbor who used to clog the drain with potato peels. Oh, the sinks are nothing! he waved it off. Toilets, yes. Rags, diapers, pickles, dead puppies and kittens C you could fish them all out! The phone rattled again. Romashkin pick up the receiver with an annoyed grimace and quickly put it on the lever. The phone immediately rang again. Damn it! They will not let me finish the story! the master threw the receiver down on the desk and explained: Anyway, I have no workers now. What was I talking about? The sewer. I remember an old lady threw a sack of small potatoes down the drain. The plumbers opened the pipe and the potatoes started shooting out like a machine gun C tra-ta-ta-ta. That was funny. And there was another case, he lowered his voice, Ivanovich, the foreman of our plumbers, pulled a baby out of the sewer. Alive? I asked stupidly. Why, dead. A miscarriage, in short. The mother whore flushed it, thats creepy, right? The crew returned from the call. Romashkin put the phone back in its place, and at that moment the device screamed like a cat whose tail has been pinched. Hello! Emergency service. Can I helpWhat? The master frowned. What do you mean the line is busy for a long time?! Do you think youre the only one who calls here? Busy means busy, is that clear? He winced, took the screaming receiver away from his ear, and mimed cutting his throat, as if to say he was fed up. Please, lady calm down. Everyone has a problem. I dont have a thousand people on my staff. What? Theyre working somewhere else right now! No, Im saying, there are no plumbers here. Why are you so nervous? Be patient. Theyll come to you, I promise. Yes, as soon as possible. Romashkin threw the receiver onto the lever. It tinkled plaintively. That crazy woman from Youth Street has called here for the third time! Maybe we should go see her? The foreman reached for the doorknob. Not now. Go downtown first. People are calling. They havent had cold water in an hour. The water company screwed up again? Ivanovich grinned. No, they swear they had nothing to do with it. Looks like one of the tenants. And one more thing, Ivanovich, take a journalist with you. Show him whats there and how. Ten minutes later, our UAZ was there. There were fresh boot prints in the snow leading to the basement, but the iron door was locked. The foreman patted his pockets and fished out right key. The door creaked open, and the smell of a warm basement dampness and cats hit my nose. Bending under the low vaulted ceiling, the plumbers made their way into the labyrinth of the basement, where the single incandescent bulb flickered dimly. I followed the workers hunched over and squeamishly brushing cobwebs from my face trying not to get dirty on the rusty pipes. The valve is closed, the water is drained; someone was here before us, Ivanovich rubbed his rough palms with satisfaction. Well, now well give him a Fountain of Friendship of Nations! The foreman turned the valve slightly, rolled up his jacket sleeve, and looked at his watch: I bet hell be here in a minute. Five minutes have passed. Ivanovich took the valve and turned it two more times. But even after the water was turned on full blast, no one appeared in the cellar. Either the villain had had time to fix the problem, or he was dealing with a sudden flood in his apartment. He could have at least warned us that he was going to block the riser, the workers grumbled. Because of that asshole, the whole house was without water. And whose fault is that C us, of course, who else? To be continued Chapter 3. The Master’s Suggestion Well, hows it going? Romashkin asked Ivanovich as we came in from the cold into the control room. Its all right; any calls? No, everyone is watching football. Only that crazy woman from Youth Street wont stop. Maybe we should go to see her? Okay, go ahead. Are you with us? Ivanovich turned to me at the door. No, hell stay here with me, Romashkin said. I remembered a few other stories. Youre not in a hurry, are you? Absolutely, I nodded. It was obvious that the master was eager to talk to someone. Thats great! Then listen. Just dont write about it; Im telling you this as a friend, not for publication in the paper. Once, on New Years Eve a woman did not give her husband money for a bottle of vodka. He got angry, went to the toilet and hit the hot water valve with a hammer. As a result, the man was scalded and six floors were flooded. The court ordered him to pay compensation to the neighbors for the damage caused. This is called getting back at your wife! But the wife is also stupid! How much did the bottle cost, and how much did the repairs cost? There are smart guys who change pipes under pressure. I remember at one of them had a valve ripped out. He calls me up and says: Why did that happen? Hey! Whos supposed to shut off your water supply I said. Me? Its six atmospheres! You know what he said to me? He said: I thought the house was small so the pressure is so-so. Can you imagine that! And there are totally stupid calls like: The TV was working when the radiators werent on, but now they are on C it doesnt work. Romashkin chuckled. Listen, do you often deal with psychos at the newspaper? All the time! Crazy people visited our newsroom with enviable regularity, especially in the fall and spring. Some complained that their enemies were harassing them with ultrasound and X-rays; while others blamed their neighbors for allegedly poisoning them with gases pumped into their sockets. Madame Galina, an extravagant old lady in a feathered hat, a former French teacher, showered us with poems of her own composition. The poems were dedicated to two well-known psychiatrists in town, who had treated Madame Galina. She loved them with an unrequited platonic love C first one doctor, then the other. When the lovers changed places in her haloperidol reality, she would run to the editorial office and demand the return of the notebook with her poems. She would immediately cross out the hated name, put another one in its place, and go home happy with words: Now you can publish it. Of course, no one published her poems, but Madame Galina was secretly happy about it. She was afraid of accidently hurting the rival, whom she had robbed of her love C what if her feelings for him flared up again; and what would the poor woman do then? Go mad again? Crazy beekeeper Evgraf Mordin specialized in auras, UFOs, and the treatment of all diseases with propolis and bee bread. He usually appeared in the editorial office with a shaped of an upside down letter L and methodically walked around the rooms, looking for geopathogenic zones in them. At the same time, he would intimidate the young ladies of the newsroom that they would never give birth because the copier and a printer were evil. The girls paid no attention to this madman, but were afraid of another psycho named Maniac. The Maniac called the newsroom only on Thursdays. In a well-modulated voice, he would announce that he was cloudy in womens lingerie with lace. The girls would shriek and throw down the phone with such genuine horror as if they had just held a cobra in their hands. Psycho would called back C until one day the head of the letters department, Varvara Surovtseva, who had forty years of uninterrupted journalistic experience, picked up the phone. Im in my panties and a bra, he began as usual. I wrote it down. Go on, the woman said, not stopping to write an article for the newspaper. Im in lace panties and a bra..., the madman stammered. So am I. Whats next? The Maniac hung up. He never called the paper again. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I could tell Romashkin at length about the editorial lunatics. Sometimes it seemed to me that I was surrounded by madmen, and their ranks were multiplying, squeezing the newspaper and me into a ring. Their complaints confused my thoughts and made my head swell. I wanted to throw out the annoying visitors, but I was afraid of being rude, so I listened to the old peoples nonsense and cursed myself for being soft-hearted. Do you like your job? Romashkin asked me suddenly. What do you mean? Literally, he got up from the desk, went to the dark window and looked at his reflection. Dont you ever want to start all over again, quit the newspaper, for example? I would have quit a long time ago, but you know, its a small town, theres nowhere to go. What about other options? You mean a career change? That too. Is there an offer? Maybe, the master on duty replied evasively. Its getting late. Well talk tomorrow. I walked through the city at night, thinking about the conversation with Romashkin. What had he really meant? Did he want to employ me in his press service, or did he have another job in mind? Suddenly I realized that the prospect of leaving the newsroom frightened me. Over the years, I had gotten used to the constant hustle at work and bustle with hostile colleagues and the same topics year after year. Would it be better in the new place if Romashkin called tomorrow? What do I tell him, Sorry, I changed my mind? On the other hand, I dont have to change everything so fast. Its not a matter of life and death. Or am I wrong? Oh, so hard! My stomach clenched into a tight knot and rose to my throat. My heart was racing. My legs grew weak and instantly unruly. I stopped to catch my breath when something sharp stabbed me in the neck. Its a stroke! I thought longingly and fell into the snow as if knocked out. Like an old cathode ray tube, a pale blur flashed and faded before my eyes, and then I saw a picture. In it, the beekeeper Mordin, imagining himself a soldier in Christs army, was pointing an air rifle at the cars parked under his window. He saw them as aliens who had come to take over the world that he, the old warrior, was called to save. The bullets clicked through the iron bodies of the cars. Chock-chock! Suddenly, one of the bullets turned into a wasp and flew towards me with a menacing howl. I waved my arm to drive it away, but it was too late. The wasp had stung me. I didnt think the Reaper would come after me without warning. I didnt even realize what had happened. I walked along, didnt touch anyone, turned the corner, and C bang, its over because some crazy beekeeper had a vision of Alien. You could say it was bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe you are right. But I dont believe in coincidences. I remember people in white coats hovering around my body, a police siren wailing. Someone tried to cover my wound and revive me. And I was standing next to them, watching the commotion indifferently. I couldnt understand that I was lying in the snow, and that the bright red splatter all around me was not paint or ketchup or tomato juice, but real blood, my own blood. It was like a dream or a movie. And then I found myself in a very strange place. To be continued Chapter 4. The White Room Like everyone else, I had heard a lot about heaven, hell, life after death, and other bullshit. But this place was nothing like it. No paradise of splashing fountains, no sinners writhing on the frying pan C just an ordinary white room with no windows or doors, completely empty. I sat on the cold stone floor with my hands around my knees, repeating to myself like a child in kindergarten whose mother hasnt come to pick him up: Theyre coming for me, theyre coming. I did not know who was coming or why, but I kept repeating: now, now. Come I will not stay in this room forever! You will if you dont accept our terms, a mocking voice said behind me. I turned around. An ethereal creature, whose silhouette was vaguely human, looked down at me. I stared at her in amazement, unable to utter a word, as if I suddenly saw a shadow speaking. So, you mean... I started. Yes, you are immortal now. You have an eternity to think about how and for what you lived. Brilliant! I wish I knew the answers to these questions! I lived like everyone else, whats there to think about? Especially when life is over? What is the point? I agree with you, The Shadow grinned. We are not wrong about you, youre the right man for us. For us? May I ask who you are? You dont need to know. But if I refuse? Youll stay in the White Room. It wasnt I was afraid of being alone. Sometimes I even liked it. When I was a kid, I dreamed of settling on a desert island, like Robinson. I imagined swimming in the sea, eating coconuts, fishing for barracuda C isnt this a heavenly life? Remember, The Shadow warned me. There will be no ocean, no coconuts C nothing in the White Room, just you and your thoughts, which you cant escape. Oh, youre not even going to give me a music player? Just leave me sit here in silence? Well, how can I tell you, The Shadow coughed softly. Silence is a relative term. It can be quiet here and it can be not. Strange things happen in this room. Sometimes loud music plays, there are rustles, knocks, shouts, voices. The light can go out, the air can get bad, it can get cold or hot. In short, everything is unpredictable. On what do these things depend? On your inner state, but it wont be a good one, I promise. I sensed something fishy in the way The Shadow waited tensely for my decision. Dont press me! I said angrily. I need to think about it. Okay, The Shadow said graciously. I can lend you some energy so you dont get bored. For what purpose? Thats up to you. But everyone usually uses it for waking dreams. Waking dreams? I got up in anticipation. Can I fly in these dreams? Its easy. Just dont expect to fly away. Thats impossible. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. To be honest, I hadnt even thought of escaping. Where to, and more importantly C why? Flying C what could be better? As a child, I loved to fly in my dreams. I would climb into the clouds and soar high above the ground, feeling like a free bird. But as I grew older, it happened less and less. How could I resist the chance to experience that familiar happiness again, especially when alternative was an indefinite prison cell? Well done! The Shadow clapped her hands. Then, of course, it turned out that I had been bait, which I had swallowed with a float, instead of contemplating my current situation in solitude. I thought I had a lot of time ahead of me (and when I didnt think so), what doubts could there be when you have an entire amusement park at your disposal. And without asking the price of the ticket, I immediately immersed myself in the world of fantasy C with the power of my mind I built fabulous cities and invented fantastic landscapes. I visited the moon and dived to the bottom of the ocean. I breathed underwater, swam with dolphins, smoked a peace pipe with an Indian chief, looked at dinosaurs C theres nothing easier, you just have to wish! It seemed like paradise. The fact that invented world always collapsed at dawn did not bother me; on the contrary, it fired my imagination. In ecstasy, I often asked myself: What have I done to deserve such happiness? And each time I answered myself: This is compensation for my colorless life of the past few years C the triumph of justice! But one day I found myself lying on the floor of the White Room. I was so exhausted and weak that I couldnt move a finger. Out of the corner of my eye I saw The Shadow nearby. Do you agree? she asked coldly. And I realized how ridiculous and hopelessness my situation was. I had been deceived! It takes a lot of energy to create, but where would a dead man get it from? I have none of my own, and I have used up all recourses The Shadow gave me on credit, and now I must repay them. Youre right, there will be no more gifts, she confirmed. The debts must be paid. Would you take my soul? Oh no, we wont need it, The Shadow laughed. Youll just work for us, unless you want to stay in the White Room forever. What would you do if you were me? You dont even have anyone to talk to here! Suppose I spend a day, two days, a week reminiscing about my past. But, as The Shadow assures me, I have not a year, not two, but an eternity ahead of me. Immortality may seem like a gift while youre alive, but what good would it do in an empty White Room? I imagined that The Shadow was about to leave, and I was so frightened that I screamed: I agree! Let me out of here! To be continued Chapter 5. The Island. My introduction to Randy and Austin I woke up to the sound of someone slapping my cheeks hard. I was lying on the sand, the sunlight making my eyes water. The sound of the surf was roaring; the wind carried salt spray and the happy laughter of children heard to my ears. Hey you, new guy! I turned my stiff neck and focused my gaze on the bearded man in the Panama hat. Hi! My names Randy, he waved at me. Where am I? Welcome to Thailand, Samchang Island. Its not ideal, but it could be worse, believe me, dude. Come on get up; stop chilling, time waits for no man. I lifted myself up on my elbow to get a better look at my new acquaintance. Who are you? I told you, Im Randy, your companion in misfortune. Why did they take you for? Who is they? Take me where? Oh, dude, come on! the bearded man laughed. Listen, I dont have time for this right now. Go to the cafe over there, sit at the table with the gray-haired dude with sunglasses, and tell him you a newbie. Hell explain everything to you, and Ill run C time is money. Bye-bye! See you later. I got up, shook the sand off my clothes, and walked to seaside cafe. The man with the sunglasses was named Austin. Despite his gray hair, he did not look old C about fifty, maybe a little more. Strong, tanned, and in no hurry to engage in conversation, he sipped tangerine juice and occasionally glanced at the kids, frolicking at the seas edge. Maybe he was keeping an eye on his grandchildren, or maybe his own children, who knows. Are you here with your family? I asked the first thing that came to mind.He lifted his glasses and looked at me in surprise: No. Alone. How long have you been here? Holding a glass of juice in his hand, the man stared at me with undisguised curiosity: Quite a long time... And you, if I understand correctly, area newcomer? May I ask how you ended up on this beach? I thought for a second. How indeed? And then I realized that neither the bearded man no the gray-haired man were the usual tourists. Or rather, they werent tourists at all, but, as Randy put it, my companions in misfortune. As it was, I didnt have to worry about Austin thinking I was a nut. So I told him everything. I told him about my last reportage, about the crazy beekeeper who shot at me; and even about the time Id been in the White Room and how Id been tricked by The Shadow. I fell for the bait too, Austin drank his juice, pushed his glass aside, took off his sunglasses and covered his eyes with the palm of his hand: Almost everyone gets caught. Youre lucky youre not addicted to visions of the illusory world like a junky to needle. Although I dont know if you were lucky that they got you off the needle before you got sick of this world. Should I have? Its hard to say. Anyway, it was just your imagination. It couldnt be true! I couldnt believe it. It was all so real and vivid... The visions of drug addicts are also vivid, but that didnt stop them from being hallucinations. I didnt know what to say, so I asked:Was it different for you? It was. What about the details? Are you really interested? Very much! He motioned for the waiter to bring the check and said:The waking dreams amused me at first. Then I began to get tired of them. I was fed up with all the pleasures of the world, and nothing else pleased me. I had no desire to fly or to build castles in the air; I felt that all this had already happened to me. What comes next C the endless repetition of the same? Sooner or later, I think, these thoughts crossed everyones mind. I understood very well what Austin meant.I read too many adventure novels as a boy, dreamt of traveling, but feared I would die before I saw the world. My parents never went on vacation, because they thought it was a waste of money. It was better to buy a TV or a new kitchen set. They spent their summers in the country house and were quite happy about it, while they sent me to pioneer camp, which I didnt like very much. Once, when I was eleven years old, I woke up in the middle of the night to music playing somewhere outside. I recognized the melody; it was a lambada. Frames of the popular video from early 90s immediately flashed before my eyes: a black boy dancing under palm trees with a young beautiful blond girl. What a happy couple! I thought with envy. Its sad that Ill never see these places. My self-pity made me cry. I really wanted to go to the mysterious world called abroad. But in those years, a trip to another country was like a trip to the Looking-Glass, where only the chosen ones could go. I was not one of them, but I believed that the day would come when my dream would come true. And as soon as I had the opportunity, I rushed to catch up on what I had missed. I couldnt sit still for a minute on vacation. I had to go everywhere, visit all the museums and monasteries, swim in a waterfall, ride an elephant, and raft down a mountain river. In search of excitement, I walked deserted beaches, climbed mountains; scuba dived, and even explored abandoned caves alone. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. But gradually, my interest in adventure began to wane. Maybe Im tired, but all the resorts Ive seen began to seem the same. If before the unknown attracted me to travel, I enjoyed every moment, not thinking about time and money, but now I did not want to go anywhere. Maybe it would be better to buy a new laptop? I thought lazily. But I couldnt help traveling. One thought frightened me: what if I miss something important? Where else could I be happy, if not there C in a Far-Away Kingdom across the seas and oceans? And I stopped living in the present. All year long, like a robot, I went to work, automatically writing articles, answering the phone and counting the days until my vacation. While flipping through colorful brochures, I imagined renting a house by the sea, waking up with the first rays of the sun, enjoying the dawn on the beach and diving into rising waves. I literally lived these thoughts, I was so fascinated by them that I took the dreams as something already accomplished. How else to explain that in real life everything repeated itself according to the same scenario: from the first minutes on the sea I had the feeling that I had never left here. Getting up before sunrise, when sleep is especially sweet, no longer seemed so tempting. So I always said to myself: No, not today, long flight, jet lag, I need to rest. As for the sea, its not going anywhere. I will see it tomorrow... But the next day I have many reasons to sleep longer. I called myself a wimp and felt remorse. Its funny to say, I was even angry at the sun, thinking it was responsible for my troubles. Finally, cursing, I dragged my sleepy body to the beach, where, I sat on a rock, cold and irritated, waiting for the sunrise. But the morning was overcast and it began to rain. I shouldnt have gotten up so early! I felt sorry for myself and I went back to bed. The thought of having to do it all over again tomorrow was getting on my nerves. So in the morning, when I pulled back the curtain and saw the clouds, which meant I didnt have to go anywhere, I fell asleep like a baby and felt fine. Until an old lady caught me in the middle of the day and casually asked me: Why did you not go to the beach today? My heart sank: The clouds... Oh, young man, you have lost much! she exclaimed reproachfully. The clouds parted, and the dawn was full of beauty. The sky was azure, in the scarlet rays of the sun. It was magnificent! She blissfully closed her eyelids as if the suns disk were still shining before her. I was furious C the old hag! She had ruined my mood. And the next morning I went to the beach with determined. The sky was clear, the dawn was yellow. Well, yes, it is beautiful, I thought, listening to myself, trying to arouse joy, or at least a note of tenderness. But those feelings must have slumbered somewhere very deep. I shrugged: the sun is like the sun C dawns are no worse in my homeland. So I went to sleep. The day I left, I had to get up early to catch my plane. A huge crimson ball swelled over the sea, framed by a plume of golden cloud. I admired the bizarre play of light and shadow, and my angry boiled over. Its always like this! I was angry. As soon as you start to feel something, the game is over C time to go home. No, two weeks is not enough! A month off, thats what I need! Soon I did it. I imagined an ideal vacation, bought a ticket and flew to a tropical paradise, expecting to be in complete nirvana this time. But on the very first day, while swimming in the sea during a storm, I scratched my leg on a board that was floating in the rough surf. I had no health insurance (as usual, I hoped for the best). But I wouldnt have used it anyway. The scratch was nothing A week passed, but the wound did not heal; on the contrary, it deepened and festered. I felt no pain and continued to swim and sunbathe as if nothing had happened. It was only when the infection had spread to my entire leg that I rushed to the drugstore to buy iodine and bandages. In the evenings, after lotions, everything seemed fine, but in the mornings, like the biblical Job, I woke up with bubbling foam on ulcers, that now numbered in the dozens. The doctor (I had to see him for help) prescribed an ointment and advised me to fly to Russia as soon as possible, suggesting that the cold and rest would kill the infection, otherwise my case was rubbish. What a great vacation! I grumbled to myself. Why the hell did I go swimming in a storm! Cursing everything in the world C the tropical humidity, the heat, and the mosquitoes, I moved to another province in kind of semi-delirium. I hoped I would get better there. But the disease did not go away. The ointment didnt help. I even began to think that it was blood poisoning and that I would die soon. Or maybe that was what I wanted unconsciously. I guess all I had been doing for the past few years was looking for death, and now I seemed to have found it... I decided that if I was going to die, it did not matter if I died in my homeland or in a foreign country. It might even be better to die near the sea! So I gave up worrying. I had no books, no laptop, no internet, I wasnt doing anything and I wasnt in a hurry. I spent my days on the beach in the shade of coconut trees, or lying in a bamboo hut with windows wide open. I had never been so calm and relaxed. In those days I would wake up to the sonorous chirping of birds and listen for long stretches to the rustle of the palm leaves with the monkey trail on the top, which meant the macaques were out on their morning hunt. I didnt have to go out to see the sunrise C the beach where I lived only had sunsets. The ulcers on my leg finally healed, and I was even able to swim and snorkel for a while. It was probably the best vacation of my life. To be continued Chapter 6. Am I addicted? Something similar happened to me in the White Room, Austin said when I finished my story. After trying everything, I wondered what the difference was between sitting in an empty room and sitting by the ocean? Well, the oceans better, I said. No, if you feel an emptiness in the soul. Did you choose the White Room? Yes, I did. Werent you afraid? What about you? Werent you afraid in the bamboo hut? But I thought I was going to die. As for me, I was already dead! But if I hadnt fallen into The Shadows trap of trying to escape into the imaginary world, I would be in a very different place now. But the thing is, if I had been different then, they wouldnt have taken me. They already had me on the hook. You talk like Randy, in riddles. Who is they? Who do you think The Shadow is? I have no idea. She serves those who hunt people like us. More riddles... Okay, then, who are we then? Havent you figured it out yet? We are all addicted here C the easiest to manipulate. I have to admit that Austins words stunned me. Am I addicted? Oh, come on! I dont drink, I dont smoke, and I dont seem to have any other bad habits. Are only vodka and cigarettes addictive? he squinted. Listen, since Im so dumb, why dont you tell me why they got you? What does it matter? If Im here, it means I wasnt such a good guy. Just tell me the truth. Okay. Suppose I say Im a pedophile, so what? Youll recoil from me like the plague, and you wont even listen to the rest of. But if it turns out that I was involved in a money scam, thats okay, it could happen to anyone, right? Austin patted my shoulders encouragingly, noticing my scared look: Relax. I didnt do any of those things. I didnt hurt the kids and I didnt cheat. But Im here anyway, so lets stop talking about it. Youre not nutcase, are you? I involuntarily recoiled from Austin. Well, thats more your thing, he winked. They surround you, not me. Youre my surroundings now. I think only the absolutely crazy could choose the White Room. You think so? In my opinion, it would be the most sensible thing to do. Was The Shadow surprised at your choice? Yeah, but she said it was too late and I owed them, so Id go with her. So you and Randy serve them? Randy is, Im not. I refused to work for them once I paid my debt. Then why are you still on the Island? Where do you think I should be? In the White Room. They couldnt just let you go. Austin grinned: Do you still think the White Room is a punishment, some kind of prison cell? Oh, well, yeah, thats what The Shadow told you. I hate to tell you this, but her words are a bluff. The White Room is the way to freedom, but unfortunately I chose the world of my fantasies. So why would they take me back there? This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Randy came; he flopped down in a wicker chair and handed me a blue device that looked like a cell phone: Take it. Its your working tool. Will I have to take the calls? The bearded man looked at Austin questioningly, but Austin made it clear he wasnt going to take any claims. He paid for the juice and left without saying goodbye. Hes kind of weird, I muttered. Youre right, Randy agreed. Lets go for a walk. We went down to the sea and headed to the Buddhist temple in the distance. On the way, I learned that I would be collecting human energy on the Island. The idea seemed so fantastically ridiculous that it cheered me up: It sounds like youre talking about picking apples. It kind of is, Randy chuckled. What are you talking about? Our job. Explain, please. Imagine you have a neighbor who has an orchard full of sweet fragrant fruit, but for some reason hes not interested in it himself. Maybe hes too lazy to pick them, or doesnt know what to do with them. The fruit in his garden crumbles and rots. I think I understand you C at this moment we show up and put a knife to his throat: Share! That proves youre from Russia, Randy shook his head. What do you need a knife for, when people are willing to part with what seems useless to them. We dont rob anyone; we just take what is given to us, why let the good stuff go to waste? No, if you like taking other peoples apples by force, you can go the other way, like becoming a hater or a troll and provoking people into conflict. But my advice, work in a nightclub for now. Its a little noisy, but the energy flows like a river. What am I going to do there? Youll be handing out energy drinks and using the mediator, or as we call it, a lockpick, he nodded to the phone, to collect leaks, although I prefer the word cream. Its simple. You just stand behind the bar, put it on standby, and the mediator sets itself up and downloads the surplus. We reached a secluded gazebo on the shore. The bearded man sat down on a marble bench, and I sat next to him. Look here, he said. The red scale is your debt; the green is your income. At the end of your shift, you load what youve pumped into the main drive, which looks like an ordinary computer with a system unit, and get your percentage. The amount is displayed on the board. Then you convert those numbers into real money. Is that clear? What does the yellow scale mean? Its Randy stammered. Nothing. Just an outdated option. Anything else? Where will I live? Wherever you want; whatever you have enough money for. Do I have to buy my own food? What a weirdo! The dead dont need food. All we need is sleep. No, of course you can eat and drink, but whats the point? Its a waste of money. Any other questions? Well, heres some flyers for you to hand out to passersby.He handed me a stack of colorful invitation cards to the Magic Hell nightclub. Ill meet you outside in an hour. Dont be late. To be continued Chapter 7. Buddhist temple Randy ran up the stone stairs with a gilded cobra-shaped railing, and I stayed downstairs. It was an unusual place. To the left and right towered multi-tiered turrets mosaicked with pieces of porcelain and shards of mirrors. They shimmered in the sun in all the colors of the rainbow. It took me a while to realize that I was standing in a cemetery, and that the miniature pagodas were nothing more than tombstones. I could not see any portraits on them, only a frame with a photo of a man screwed to one of the turrets. The intricate inscription in Sanskrit, the dates of birth and death C I shuddered involuntarily when I saw the numbers 2457-2508, as if I were standing on the grave of a man not yet born, but already dead. Then, of course, I realized that the Buddhist calendar is used to count the years on the Island, but it was still kind of creepy. What are you afraid of? Youre dead too! I laughed to myself. You better think about who you are going to give the flyers to C the tourists wandering around the area of the temple under construction, or the monks? Although why would they need a nightclub? Maybe Ill just throw the flyers into the sea, and be done with it? I wanted to go back to the beach, but it started to rain. The drops came down harder and harder, and soon it was pouring so hard that I had to find shelter. On the covered terrace outside the temple, an elderly monk in an orange robe sat cross-legged and smoking. His face looked familiar. But where could I have seen him before? The monk smiled amiably, adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, and gestured for me to sit next to him. He continued to stare thoughtfully into the distance. It was the first time I had seen a smoking Buddhist, especially one with glasses, and while he remained silent, I glanced furtively at the decoration of the terrace. Buddha figurines framed by saffron garlands, and stone elephants, trunks raised in triumph, guarded mortars of sand, in which thin wax candles and incense sticks were placed. There were matches and a donation box. On the table I noticed a large thermos with cups, bags of coffee and tea, and cookies on a tray. I could have had a snack, but I found myself thinking that I wasnt hungry at all. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.From the terrace my eyes slid over the Golden Stupa, the observation arbor, and back to the temple, which was only half built. The windows were still empty, and the terracotta walls were covered with bas-reliefs of bizarre monsters, demons and dragons. Inside, lone tourists like me caught off guard by a downpour, wandered around the golden statue of Buddha. Cameras flashed. The watchman, dozing in a nearby booth, paid no attention to them. The only thing he cared about was that everyone who crossed the threshold of the shrine took off their shoes. Otherwise, the old man would ran out of the booth, screaming, stomping his clumsy feet and shouting in his language. The guilty would be frightened and hastily remove their sandals. It had stopped raining. The monk put out his cigarette and stood up. A black jeep drove into the courtyard, its wheels rustling on the wet gravel; men in black suits got out and walked toward us. After a brief negotiation, the monk rolled out his robe with a slight movement, passed it through his armpit, wrapped it around his waist, knotted it under his neck, and voila C a piece of cloth was transformed into a fashionable sweater. The men in black waited patiently. I decided it was time for me to go too, but the monk waved his hands: sit-sit. He only locked the door to the hiding place with a flimsy padlock, leaving the terrace and the temple at my disposal. I entered an arbor with its thick white marble balusters, which gave me a magnificent view of the sea. The sun was setting. Children were splashing in a sandy patch, hidden from prying eyes by the stones. Brown and agile as monkeys, they clung to the branches of a tree growing on the shore, pushed themselves off the ground, and plunged into the water with a screech. As soon as the waves pulled a hesitant swimmer into the depths, his mates rushed to his rescue. They would grab his arms and legs and drag him to shore, laughing. Oh, how I would have loved to be in those Thai shoes! I sighed and trudged to the gate where a group of cheerful elderly tourists were already streaming in. I took the opportunity to hand them the invitation cards. They didnt mind, on the contrary, they gesticulated animatedly and demanded more. Why do they need flyers at their age? Maybe they thought they couldnt enter the temple without them? I had no time to think. I ran into the street, hitched a ride and raced to the club. To be continued Chapter 8. “Magic Hell” Nightclub The first streetlights were already on. Magic Hell hadnt opened yet, but the music inside was booming. The ground beneath my feet vibrated and shook. Torches burned in the bowels of Hell, something flashed and exploded violently, sending a shower of sparks into the sky. Randy emerged from the swirl of colorful crowds at the entrance and immediately asked: Did you hand out the flyers? Yeah, I nodded out of breath, to old people. And for some reason I added: I dont think theyre coming. They will, Randy grinned. Turn around. I looked over my shoulder and saw two girls in bright makeup smoking nearby. At first glance, they looked like schoolgirls in provocative outfits C short skirts, tops up to their navels, arms and legs covered in tattoos. But when I looked closer, I recoiled in horror C the schoolgirls turned out to be old women. Toothless, with sagging wrinkled skin, they looked like lizards. Nice girls, huh? Randy tapped me on the shoulder. The cream of society! Theyve been hanging out on the dance floor for ten years and theyll be hanging out until they kick the bucket. Well, are you ready to work? There were two bars in the club; behind the far one, by the stage, stood a young Thai, a regular local bartender, not dead. He made cocktails C Pina Coladas, Margaritas and Mai Tais. Next to him, speakers as tall as the house shook. The bar where I was supposed to spend the night was across the entrance, but that didnt help the noise. The speakers blasted techno-house, an eerie mix of screeching and drilling that echoed in my legs. The DJ turned up the volume and the decibels started to pulsate somewhere around my solar plexus, then went higher, hitting my brain. Stunned, I covered my ears. My heart was racing like a frightened horse, stumbled, limped, and finally stopped. I coughed, pounded my chest with my fist, and engine jerked, reluctantly restarting. I could have a heart attack! the thought flashed through my mind. I know it sounds strange for a dead man, but I kept forgetting that I was dead. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. I looked around to see if I was the only one who wasnt feeling well. In the darkness cut by the laser beams, distorted faces flashed, bodies wriggled and writhed glistening with sweat. Hands reached greedily for the bar, I didnt have time to get the cans of power drinks out of the boxes C people grabbed them in an instant. The only way to endure such a cacophony was to consume a lot of caffeine, I suggested. Then I glanced at the mediator screen and saw that the green scale was almost a third full. And the party was just getting started! In my mind, I was already calculating how much I would earn here without too much effort, but when I went to the cash register in the morning, completely deaf and dazed, I found out that my income was not so great C only one-tenth of one percent of the profits. Out of the megaton of downloaded cream I only got a thousand. Half of it was immediately deducted from my debt, so I went to the exchange office with a measly five hundred. There I made another unpleasant discovery. With a click of a button, the money changer announced that my exchange rate was one to two, and that I could get 250 coins. Why so few?! I protested. Oh, really? the money changer raised an eyebrow. It is the best rate on the Island! Hes telling the truth, Randy confirmed, as he approached us, I have a rate of one to five, but I know guys who get one in ten and nobody complains. What does it depend on? I asked, hiding the money. On your past merits, on how you used your energy when you were alive. Are you saying Im not hopeless? Everybodys not hopeless, Randy said coldly. Its just everyones past is different. So put your nose down and stop being proud that your rate is better than others. Youre here, which means you certainly didnt have a halo over your head. I think Ive heard that somewhere before. There was nowhere to sleep. Honestly, I thought Randy would give me shelter while I looked for a place to live, but it didnt look like he was going to help me. Dude, its every man for himself here, was the answer. So I trudged to the beach. It wasnt long before dawn. I lay down in a chaise-longue and immediately jumped up as if stung, when something noisily twitched, moaned, and shook beneath me. A minute later, yawning and scratching, a shaggy dog ?crawled out from under the chaise-longue. He stretched out, wagged his tail in a friendly manner, and then froze, his snout turned toward the sun, which was already rising over the horizon. So, together with the dog, we met the morning of a new day. To be continued Chapter 9. Lost in the “Sands” In the afternoon I walked around the shore looking for a free bungalow, but everything was either occupied or too expensive. Would I have to sleep on the beach again? I turned onto the main road and couldnt believe my eyes. Randy emerged from a hotel that rivaled the palace a Chinese emperors palace in luxuryCgolden fountains, glittering pagodas of individual rooms, melodious bells, and red paper lanterns, rustling in the wind. He was brisk, fresh and obviously in a hurry. Do you live here? I ran up to him and grabbed his elbow. How did you do that? Randy was stunned. As for me, I felt betrayed. He had told me his exchange rate wasnt great. Maybe he hadnt mentioned something? Dude, did it ever occur to you that I might be working somewhere else? Randy pulled his hand out. Or that my percentage of the profits is higher? Youve been here two days and youre already trying to make up your own rules. Ive been on this Island for a quarter of a century! I fell silent, ashamed. After all, it wasnt his fault I had no place to live. Im sorry, I said, I just dont know all the rules yet. Never mind, Randy softened and looked at his watch. I know a place. Follow me. He led me to the White Sands Bungalows C the last hippie and backpacker hangout on Samchang. Wooden houses with palm leaf roofs, bamboo fences, white sand underfoot, thickets of hibiscus and plumeria. When viewed from the sea at night, the bay resembled a white-toothed smile. The only black hole in glittering splendor was the Sands. No lights, no glow C the night is for sleeping! The Sands was owned to an elderly couple from New Zealand. Jerry, a stocky black-haired man with the face of a Maori warrior, spent all day on his laptop. Lydia, the plump wife, was busy with household chores, and in between laundry and cleaning, she liked to chat with the guests. Slightly shabby rockers and rastamans, lounging in hammocks listening to Bob Marley, were, to her, a substitute for the internet. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I liked the place right away. Besides, the rent was symbolic C two hundred coins a day. I thanked Randy and made my way to my new home. Of course, it wasnt like the palace chambers where the bearded man had lived, but it would have to do for now C a bed under a mosquito net, a wooden table and a rickety chair. A few nails in the wall served as a coat rack. The shower was cold. The flush tank in the toilet was replaced by a barrel of water with a plastic ladle floating in it (I later adapted to washing my clothes in this barrel). As soon as I entered the bungalow, a huge black cockroach crawled out from under the bed, looking at me and ran off somewhere. I wanted to catch it and squash it, but I changed my mind C let it live. Its more fun to be together. I have to admit that life on the Island was not varied. I usually woke up around noon and the first thing I did was shave under the cold water. At other times this would have seemed difficult, not to say impossible, but the humid climate made my skin so soft and supple that the blade cut the stubble easily. Then Id go to Magic Hell and get a pack of flyers and hand them out with ease. Our club was the only one whose doors were open to everyone. Thats why the tourists at the temple were so eager to visit the nightclub C those who had flyers didnt pay money for energy drinks. I had a lot of time after the invitation cards were handed out, and I spent my days on the beach, not knowing what to do with myself. I couldnt walk very far; it was too tiring in the heat. With my income, it would take years to save up for a motorbike. I could barely afford the rent. I stopped by the cafe a few times, hoping to meet Austin there. I wanted to learn more about the Island and its rules. I also wanted to know if I could trust Randy. Even through he helped me to find a job and a bungalow, I had the feeling that he was deceiving me and that he really wasnt as simple as he seemed. To be continued Chapter 10. Life on loan I found Austin on the beach. He was leaning against a boulder, drawing something on the large sea pebbles. He was squeezing paint from a tube onto a palette and applying a pattern. A few pebbles C butterflies and ladybugs C were already drying in the sun. Children crowded nearby, watching his work with curiously. When Austin saw me, he put the paints in his bag, wiped the brushes with a rag, and with a glance invited the children to take the crafts. We settled under the stone parapet that separated the rows of bungalows from the beach. How do you like your workplace? Austin asked. I have a little headache, but its okay. I am getting used to it. Did Randy offer you something else? No. Why? Well, hell do it soon. It is customary here to work hard from morning till night. One job is enough for me. Maybe, but you have too much free time. They dont like it. Im sure theyll try to keep you busy with extra work in the near future. What do you mean by that? Its no coincidence that Randy brought you to the Sands. Its the quietest place on the Island. No fun, total silence. I like it. Thats for now. Soon youll be bored to death. Youre already bored. Thats the way humans are, its hard for us not to do anything for a long time, and we cant stand it. You seem to have forgotten that I didnt do anything in the bamboo hut either, but I was happy, I reminded him. Yes, but unlike the Island you could leave at any time. And you thought you were going to die, so you enjoyed your last days. But you didnt want to stay in the White Room when you were really died. How can you compare that? I fidgeted, trying to figure out what he was getting at. You really dont see the difference? Austin, what pisses me off about you is that you always talk in riddles! I couldnt stand it. Why are you picking on me? Maybe youre just envy of me? I wonder what I am envy of? That Im doing so well here. Yeah, so good that soon youll be begging Randy for overtime? Why would I do that? Because when you get bored here, you wont be happy with your position anymore, so youll get sour and compare yourself to other people who have more money and more fun, like Randy. But youre not him, and you probably wont make a good living here. Why is that? I frowned. I have a great job that others can only dream of. Giving people crap that sucks them dry and melts their brains? Great, theres nothing to say! I dont, they ask for it themselves. Yeah, its got nothing to do with you. Shut up! I jumped to my feet. It dawned on me. Youre not a provocateur, are you? Maybe youre pumping something out of me, too? How? Youre dead. Show me the lock pick! I cant. Its at sea, Austin said calmly. I drowned it as soon as I quit the casino, where I was doing the same thing you were doing in the nightclub C taking advantage of peoples stupidity. See? Youre just like me! I blurted out gloatingly. So dont tell me what to do, you damn moralizer! I didnt want to spend another minute with him. Who was he to talk to me like that? He doesnt like my job Youd think I had a choice. But Austins words struck a chord with me. I felt myself becoming stupid, lazy, and indifferent to anything. And if I had an eternity ahead of me, was handing out drinks all I could to do? I once asked Randy why at the other nightclubs people had to pay either for a ticket or a drink, while we have both for free. I mean, they sold alcohol at Magic Hell for money, but not many people took cocktails C why would they when the bar was full of free stuff? But to give away energetic drinks for free was to take a loss. Randy laughed: Youre wrong! The energy people leave in the club is worth more than money. I deducted that the cream we harvesting was some kind of raw material that would be used in some way. But Randy didnt say by whom or for what. Energy drinks were sold all over the Island. In supermarkets, they were on a par with yoghurts and juices, and implication was that they were safe and even healthy. Power drinks were consumed by housewives, school children, taxi-and bus drivers. But they were especially popular with nightclubbers, especially in our Magic Hell: first, it was free, and second, the doping released so much energy that people could dance all night. They didnt want to eat, drink or sleep; the magic liquid seemed to give them strength and vitality, even though it was actually taking it away, or as Austin put it, sucked them dry. And I was the one offering the poison, the huckster. And the fact that I knew the truth, and they did not, sometimes depressed me greatly. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.Dude, its their life, their choice! Randy objected. Believe me, even if you were Count Tolstoy yelling at the crowd: Come to your senses! no one would hear you. Everyone decides for themselves how they want to live. And you cant argue with that. But today Austin poked me in a sore spot. How angry I was C at him, at myself, at everyone!It reminded me of my work in the editorial office, where I wrote reviews, went to music festivals, to theater and movie premieres, which gave the editor the impression that I earned my living too easily, and worse, with pleasure, holing up in the rear, while others fought on the front line. Dubonos considered art to be something useless, and kept trying to liquidate my department, which did not bring the editors any obvious profits, like, say, the industrial and municipal departments. There was no point in arguing C money talks, bullshit walks. On the eve of the holidays, when the paper was flooded with advertisers, the boss would redirect the efforts of all his journalists to satisfy them. Sometimes I was tempted to do the same, so I wrote advertising articles for a lot of money. And it would have been fine if I had praised something that really deserved it, but no, often under the guise of sweets I gave the reader a product that tasted rotten... And now, after my death, am I not doing the same? I suddenly wanted to escape from the cursed Island and forget it like a bad dream. I knew there was a ferry crossing on the Samchang. So I hitched a ride and asked the driver to take me there. It was sunny day, but no sooner had we reached the Buddhist temple, where I was waiting for the rain when the sky filled with clouds and it rained so hard that the road disappeared from sight in an instant C as if it had been erased! An impenetrable wall of water grew before my eyes, and in a second later I found myself on the beach, where the sun was shining again. I looked around. What the hell was that? I wondered if I was overheating, because I wasnt dreaming, was I? Tonight I told Randy about my confrontation with Austin. Forget it! he winced. Austin is a loser. Dont ever try to follow his example! the bearded man jokingly wagged his finger at me. Was he an artist? Pretty mediocre. He couldnt stand the fact that he wasnt lucky enough to be born a genius, so he started drowning his sorrows in wine and ended up with us C the usual story. But if he doesnt work for them, how does he survive on the Island? Didnt he tell you? No. Well, Randy rubbed the tip of his nose. I think hes moonlighting somewhere, maybe stealing. But he said he threw the lock pick away, didnt he. Hes lying! Theres no other way to survive around here. You mean without lying? I looked at Randy questioningly. Lets not play semantics, he winced again. I meant without energy. And for that you have to actively pump it out of other people. By the way, have you ever thought about moonlighting? What for? I earn enough. Really? I thought you werent satisfied with the amount. But you said it would increase over time. Dude, I didnt say that, Randy laughed. I just implied that my percentage of the profits might be higher; but what if I was lying and the job at Magic Hell is just another trap for suckers like you? I thought we were friends... Dont be silly, there are no friends here. Better think about it: you just arrived on the Island and got a trump card right away C for what merit, huh? I guess, Im different from the others, right? My pride showed. Yeah, you want to emphasize your uniqueness again, dont you? No way, dude. Its not about you. All newbies are put in the bread places C casinos, nightclubs, brothels. Drugs ... Too bad theyre illegal on the Island, otherwise Id be a billionaire by now. But you can make a living with roulette and girls. You dont have to do much and the cream is plentiful. Even with a low interest rate, its easy for newbies to pay off their debts. Thats the end of the fairy tale, Randy grinned meaningfully. Theyll be shown the door. Only whores dont get fired; theyre like the hens that lay the golden eggs. Theres always demand for them, so theyre allowed to stay in the brothel, and what else are these chicks supposed to do in Thailand? Are you saying that I will also be thrown out into the street? I didnt believe it. Sure, you will. After that, you will have to look for a job on your own. But where else are you going to find so much vitality on the Island? You have to make do with little things like gyms, cockfights, and video games rooms, or trolling in chat rooms. Let me tell you a secret C basically all the dead people here do it. All of them? I lowered my voice. Are there many dead people? A lot. So before its too late, buy a laptop and get to work. To be continued Chapter 11. I Find an Abandoned Hotel The prospect of being unemployed and trying to make a living 24 hours a day stunned me. Yes, a nightclub wasnt on my bucket list, but at least here I had money to rent a bungalow and some free time to live well enough. I glanced at the mediators screen; my debt had already decreased significantly. What if I could cheat and turn off the device? But then I would lose my income. I walked somewhere in a sad mood, and before I knew it Id turned off the main road into the jungle. I could hardly see the path through the thick and thorny bushes, but whose was it? I pushed the vines apart carefully and moved forward, trying not to step on the thorns that protruded everywhere. A strip of water shimmered ahead, and soon the path led me to a stone staircase with chipped steps and a sign on the railing that read Mangrove Hotel. An abandoned hotel! Driven by curiosity I ran down, and small bungalows with mossy roofs came into view. From a distance the houses looked inhabited, but when I tried to open the door of one, another a third, they were all locked. There was chaos and devastation everywhere. Walls were peeling in places, and glass broke underfoot. Through the dusty windows you could see heaps of rotting mattresses piled inside the rooms. The rusted remains of sunshades creaked sadly in the wind. There was no beach. What I first thought was the sea turned out to be a shallow bay with mangroves and sharp rocks on the bottom. The water was ankle deep. Judging by the pier on the seawall, this seascape once looked different. But something had happened. Perhaps, the natural balance had been disturbed during the construction, or perhaps the site had been poorly chosen in the first place, but work on the hotel complex had stalled. I approached a lone tree on the shore. It had strange nut-like fruits with green lumpy rinds. I took a bamboo stick, knocked dawn a cone, smelled it, but did not eat it C what if it was bitter or poisonous? I couldnt get the conversation with Randy out of my mind. As I wandered around the overgrown tennis court, kicking a rotten coconut, I wondered what I was going to do. I guess Ill have to save up for a laptop, or at least a phone. Gotta make a living somehow. I didnt want to waste time arguing on the network, but I couldnt think of anything else to do. Except for writing, I knew nothing. Should I start writing advertising articles again? Ehh... Suddenly, some movement to my left caught my attention. Whos there? Monkeys? Vagrants? A guard? What a surprise! I heard a familiar voice. How did you find me? Austin was standing on the porch of one of the bungalows. I wasnt looking for you, I muttered absently. I was just walking by. Actually, its rare that anyone comes here; the hotel has been abandoned for years. Even the locals avoid it, believing its cursed and haunted by evil spirits. In a way, its true, because Im a ghost, right? He made a scary face and laughed demonically. But the legend is good for me. I dont like intruders, but since youre here, come in. Austin gestured for me to enter his bungalow, which, to be honest, wasnt much different from the one Id rented at the Sands. Most of the room was taken up by stretchers, canvases, and sketches of variations on a single landscape C the one the artist observed daily from his window C a rocky bay with a lone tree. The unusual thing was that, despite the apparent similarity of detail, none of the drawings looked like the other. Doesnt the same thing happen in life? Austin smiled. But not everyone notices. I suddenly realized that I didnt dislike him anymore. I may not always understand what this hermit is trying to tell me, but at least he is honest. I learned from Austin that he was once a really promising artist. Maybe even a talented one, he said thoughtfully. I lived with my parents in Texas until I was ten, then my mom died, and my father and I moved to Arizona. I had loved to draw since I was kid, and I got a lot of compliments, but mostly from family and friends. It was nice, but I wanted to hear from professionals. However, they were in no hurry to praise me, and that, I must admit, upset me very much. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He was silent for a while, and then continued: One day at a college exhibition, where my works were, an old man, the famous master, came up to me and said he liked my drawings and was willing to take me as an apprentice. I agreed and spent a year with him until I imagined that I had already reached some heights. The critics started talking about me; my opinion was taken into account. I started to get orders; money was flowing to me like a river. All this turned my head, and I told to the Master that I was leaving. And he began to persuade you to stay, I guessed. No, Austin shook his head, he didnt hold me back, he just told me that it was just the beginning, that the offers I was getting were cheap, and that I was capable of more, if I continued to improve my painting. But youth doesnt like to wait; I wanted to get everything at once. Big money and envy of other artists fame spurred me on. I thought I was a genius, so I painted day and night. I told myself: As long as I am fashionable and famous, I should use it, then others will come and everyone will forget about me. I didnt know then that if youre really worth something, people will always remember you and wait for you. Austin stood up and paced the room. Then he sat back in his chair. I was a successful artist; my paintings were in demand, my muse never betrayed me. I realize now that I was just filled with the Teachers power C like a balloon of hot air rising lifted to the ceiling. I dangled there for a while, and when I cooled down, I lost my former lightness. Inspiration had left me and I was devastated. It is impossible to work hard and not lose quality at the same time, you should know that very well. Every ascent is invariably followed by a descent, thats normal, but it takes effort, a lot of effort to reach the next high. And free energy. As for me, I wanted to be oat the top forever, so I didnt give myself a minute to rest. I kept emptying myself to the bottom, and didnt have time to fill up. I was getting orders for years in advance and I couldnt disappoint my customers. And guess what I started doing? I started drinking. Its a bad idea to mix creativity and alcohol. It might work at first, but not for long. Under the wine fumes, I hoped to see things I couldnt when sober, but in vain. I drank more and more, and painted worse and worse. The old passion was gone from my paintings. He smiled bitterly: But the saddest thing is that no one noticed. Everyone thought I was still great, but I knew I wasnt! Theres nothing more terrifying for an artist than knowing youre worthless. The thought of being mediocre is worse than death. The Teacher was right; I could have achieved more, but I was in too much of a hurry and became an ordinary craftsman. My friends consoled me by saying: Austin, you are being too hard on yourself. I am not! Whenever I compared my paintings with the work of others, I was convinced that my feelings did not lie. I may have looked good against the backdrop of bad artists, but I despised them; I didnt want to look up to the weak. I admired the work of true masters, but I felt a black envy of them C why would they become the best and I would not? In the end, I completely gave up painting, went on a long drinking binge and drunk myself to the point of throwing myself out of the window. Everybody says that, but I dont even remember it. And it was only here, he looked around the bay, that I could return to what I had begun in my youth. I felt a taste for life again, the inspiration, the joy. But I had to die for it. So your addiction was alcohol? I asked. Did they take you for that? Alcohol is just a consequence, Austin disagreed. There are two ways to be successful C the easy way and the long way. I chose the easy way, and look where it got me. To be continued Chapter 12. Waiting for the Miracle I became more and more convinced of how similar Austin and I were. Even though I wasnt looking for insights in the wine, I had dreams that someday, in a year or two, something would happen that would change my life C Id write a bestseller, win a million in the lottery, or have a rich uncle leave me an inheritance. But as the years went by, no miracles happened. I was too lazy to change anything myself C there was no reason to, I was generally happy with everything, although it was not easy to admit. I had never been lucky in the lottery; and if I had rich relatives somewhere, they used their money for themselves or left it for their favorite cats. As for the book, I always found more important things to do. Sometimes I thought I was a great scribbler, who could handle any subject, but sometimes I felt like a complete jerk, unable to write a single word. I was constantly distracted by little things in life, or I invented my own activities to amuse myself. Work on the manuscript was delayed again and again, and the happy future never came. It wasnt even an easy way; it was a vicious circle. It seems that Austin, his paintings and the hermitage at the Mangrove Hotel should have inspired me to take decisive action, but I kept coming back to the question that always blocked my way C who needs it, especially here, among the dead? Austin is fine; he has a favorite pastime C painting. As for Randy, he has a million different things to do. Besides being a nightclub manager, he runs a chain of brothels and motorbikes rentals, where he harasses the customers with his nagging, and he often goes to the gym and to the stadium. Do you think I care about sports? he once said to me. Dude, I dont care, and neither does anybody else who sweats in the gym or on the treadmills. They just have no place to put their energy; and frankly, theyre there for sex. They dont care about their health. If you really care about your physique, you dont go on steroids and eat cake after a run. No, Im not going to let the nice ladies and dumb-ass jocks shake out the fat for nothing; we have to be able to make the best of it. I bet he did. His mediator was always at the ready. I doubt he ever rested. And considering Randy had lived on the Island for a quarter of a century, how much debt did he have to have to work so hard? Randy is not and never has been in debt, Austin surprised me. Hes too practical for that. The boy grew up poor. As far as I know, his mother didnt even give him a pocket money, and his father left when he was two and disappeared. It was rumored that he was a man with a criminal record, a card cheat. So it wasnt easy for little Randy. To help his mother somehow, from the age of twelve he took all kinds of jobs C walking neighbors dogs for pay, delivering newspapers, and in the evenings after school mopping floors at the cafe where his mother worked as a waitress. This boy had no childhood. That explains a lot, I exclaimed. How did he get here? It was stupid, Austin said hesitantly. Actually, Randy cant stand to be reminded of that, not everyone is lucky enough to die a Darwin Award-worthy death. Austin, stop talking in riddles! I was really excited. Please, continue. Well, at the age of thirty after working as a loader, a car washer, and a truck driver, our bearded man realized that only fools work for a pittance. Maybe it was his fathers bad blood, but Randy was addicted to roulette. , after all his money, he went outside and saw a Coke machine. like I said he have a penny in his pocket, so he decided to get Coca-Cola for free and kicked the machine. And do you know what happened? The damn thing fell on the poor guy! The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Oops! I shook my head. That was really ridiculous. But why didnt he age in a quarter of a century? The dead dont age, Austin said. But thats not the point. Now you know why he didnt care about the White Room and any of those waking dreams. Randy immediately agreed to make a deal with The Shadow. Thats why he gets to leave the Island and we dont. I was so shocked that I didnt believe him at first: If this is true, why doesnt he leave, then? He wants to make all the money in the world. Austin grinned. Everyone has their weaknesses. You think he lives in the Imperial Hotel where you saw him, but no, Randy lives in the White Room, or rather sleeps in it, so he doesnt have to spend money on rent. But you said that it is impossible to go back to the White Room. He can. They know he wont leave without the Golden Ticket. What the hell is that? Do you believe in the lottery? I do. Well, Im not judging you. Theres a mouse in almost all of us thats greedy for free cheese. The Island also has its own instant win game. Mondays, one of Randys jobs is to hand out lottery tickets. Hes a Wish Master. Wait, I got nervous. Is Randy the good wizard? Are you kidding me? But he really does fulfill the most cherished wishes we all have. For example, I dreamed of fame. Randy wanted money, which he thought would buy him freedom. So when The Shadow hinted in the White Room that working for them would make him rich, he didnt hesitate. No one on the Island pumps as much energy out of people as he does. Hes already pretty rich, but hes still hoping to get the Golden Ticket and hit the big jackpot before he leaves. Legend has it that the Golden Ticket finds its own owner, but if Randy can trick him or her, he gets everything the lucky person has. I do not understand how hes going to do that, I interrupted the artist. Randy cant play the lottery himself, can he? No, of course not, the tickets are drawn by others; but in exchange for their innermost desire, he can take the most valuable thing they have. Is it life? He has little interest in other peoples lives per se. But the fact is most people have nothing but life. Randy could take their mind, their health, their love, but first, thats so rare these days, and second, all he wants is money. Thats why he only looks for customers in expensive hotels. Can only the rich draw the Golden Ticket? I dont know, Austin replied, and then added after thinking about it: Honestly, I think the Golden Ticket is a myth. In all the years Ive been here, no one has ever found it. On the way home, I thought about what I had in common with Randy and Austin. Why do I despise Randy in my heart, think hes a crook and a liar, but at the same time I enjoy his company because its fun to be with him. And he doesnt mind chatting with me when he has a free minute. Its not like that with Austin. Im interested in him too. Hes not a rascal, and Ive learned a lot about the Island from him; but he hardly talks to anyone, doesnt look for friends, lives alone, and that doesnt seem to bother him one bit. One has completely renounced luxury, the other only thinks about it; but both are devoted to their pursuits. What about me? What do I want? I could like Austin, lock myself in a cabin and write, but life in a palace beckons. But I dont want to step on people, like Randy does. The eternal dilemma: I can afford one thing, but I dont want it, I want the other, but I cant afford it yet. So I adapt, I make do with what I have. It is said that over the years we become like the people around us. Everyone we have ever been close to, everything we have seen or heard or read C all of this somehow affects us and leaves its mark. And then, imperceptibly, we begin to speak in words that are not our own, to copy other peoples facial expressions and gestures, and even appropriating other peoples dreams. But why does this happen? Why cant we remain ourselves as we change? I dont want to be like Randy or Austin, I have my own way. But I guess Im off course and stuck. Im torn between two paths, doing all kinds of nonsense, and all I can think about at night is how to get out of here, seeing escape as my only salvation. There must be a way off this damn Island! To be continued Chapter 13. Cherchez la Femme One day, as I was thinking about the past and the limbo I was in now, I looked at my lock pick and noticed that the yellow scale had gone up. But hadnt Randy assured me that this was an outdated option and that yellow meant nothing? That night at the club, I cornered Randy and demanded an explanation. He took the mediator, twirled it over in his hands, and looked at me suspiciously: Dude, when did this happen? I dont know. I wasnt paying attention before. Whats wrong? Oh, nothing. I think its a glitch. It happens with older models. Listen, he suddenly changed the subject, arent you tired of screwing around? What do you mean? Well, you are a cool guy, but you live like a bear in a stinking den with cockroaches. No rest, no visiting chicks. Or dont you like chicks, dude? Randy poked me playfully in the side. Just say a word and Ill have it set up in no time. Ill get you a boy or a girl, or both at the same time. What do you say? Are you ready to have some fun? Are you going to bring the lady-boy here? I asked. Id seen these gorgeous girls on the beach. Beautiful faces, busty breasts C they meowed something in their own language and wiggled their hips invitingly. One of these beauties twisted her leg, so I went over and offered to help. The girl, caught off guard, replied in a voice so low I was numb. The guys sunbathing nearby laughed, thinking that I was trying to pick her up, but miscalculated because my inexperience. I learned from them that its very easy to recognize a transvestite, you dont even have to go up her skirts C its the Adams apple that gives it away. From then on, I tried to stay away from tall, pretty Asian women. To hell with lady-boys! Randy told me. Regular girls are what we need! Ha! Where are those girls? I grinned. Unlike men single girls rarely vacationed on the Island, usually coming with someone, a boyfriend or fiance. One such couple from foggy Albion, oblivious to anything or anyone around them, were my neighbors at the Sands. John, a macho twenty-years-old, cocky and muscular, and Sarah a slender blonde with shoulder-length curls C they had recently arrived, and as soon as the door slammed shut, they made love on the creaky countertop. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The bungalows here almost side by side and you can hear sounds as if there were no walls at all. Johns mating growls and Sarahs voluptuous moans often kept the neighbors awake at night, but the Brits, raised in the best tradition of an Englishmans home is his castle, had no idea anyone else could hear them. I wish! Sometimes my neighbor behind the wall, a burly, balding Frenchman, could not stand the pangs of passion and would run out at midnight to find a prostitute. In the morning I would meet these slanting priestesses of love. For some reason, they were afraid of me and straightened their skirts, moving away with small steps on their crooked legs. I never had the urge to stop them. I preferred to dream about young Sarah to the sound of the table creaking Maybe old Randy was right, and I really was a fool? The club was full of girls in the club, so what was stopping me from going on a date with one of them? But I couldnt. Oh, come on! Randy winced. Are you a man or not? I think buying love with money is low. Try it before you tell me. The bearded man snapped back without malice. So you want me to dive into a cesspool to see if it stinks? Well, smarty pants! He looked at his watch impatiently. You think its okay to jerk off to a pretty English chick, but your conscience wont let you take a Thai chick home for the night. By the way, does John know what you do in your fantasies with his girlfriend? Wait a minute! I froze. Where do I get these fantasies? I hadnt noticed this before, thinking that libido, like hunger was unknown to the dead. A hunch hit me. I quickly pulled out the lock pick C the yellow scale was at zero. See, Randy looked over my shoulder. I told you it was just a glitch. And before I knew it, he was offering to join him on the hunt. Do you mean the hunt for the Golden Ticket? I couldnt help bit blurt it out. What did you say? The bearded man flinched. How do you know about that? Well, I guess. Actually, I was talking about another hunt, but since you mentioned the Golden Ticket, I think I can take you along. Just remember, you wont get anything out of other peoples wishes. Dont even dream about the ticket, its mine, is that clear? Okay, I nodded. Ive always wanted to know how you do it. You pull hairs out of your beard and blow them into the wind, dont you? Youre so weird. Randy shrugged. Where do they find guys like you? To be continued Chapter 14. Memento Mori Monday was the night off at the club, and in the evening we went looking for freeloaders, as Randy called those who agreed to play a win-win lottery with him. Dont get involved in anything, he warned me. Ill do it all myself. We walked up and down the main street for a long time; Randy looking into the faces of passers-by, trying to guess the victim. He only got one shot at week, and he didnt want to miss. Sir! Randy ran over to the tall gentleman who had just finished talking on the phone. Excuse me; are you from the Imperial Hotel? Excellent choice, sir! Would you like to play the lottery? Im sure youll be lucky. Its free. Choose your ticket, please. The man looked at Randy doubtfully and walked rudely around him, about the way one walks around a puddle or a pole on the street. Sir, the first prize is a trip to a palace of incomparable beauty, dont miss your chance! But the man walked away without looking back. Bastard! my partner cursed. I bet he would have pulled it out. Can I try it? a guy with a camera appeared out of nowhere. Dude, what do you need that for? Randy asked with barely concealed annoyance. What for? I heard you talking to that guy. What if I get lucky? Kid, get out of here. Randy looked like he wanted to get rid of the guy, but the youngster had a death grip on him. Oh, the hell with you, pull! The photographer quickly reached into the bag, pulled out a sealed piece of paper and ripped it open with shaking hands. What have you got there? A cap ... he sighed disappointedly. Too bad for you, dude, Randy yawned. The guy held out his hand for the prize. Oh, not so fast! Come back to the Sunset Restaurant in an hour and youll get everything in the best possible way. He handed the guy a business card and spat angrily as soon as the boy left: Missed again! Where the hell did this asshole come from? I could have had that tall dude. I bet hes got money. I could have him right now. Really? I wondered. I dont think he wanted to play. What do you know! Randys eyes bulged and he swung at me jokingly. Shut up or Ill kill you! Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.Speaking of killing, I suppose this guy is doomed? How should I know, he shrugged. Its not up to me. Whose is it? Its up to him. What if he doesnt come? He will, no doubt. Theres never been a case where someone hasnt come. All these mugs, caps, T-shirts, watches C its a freebie, dude, whos going to say no? Doesnt the name of the Memento Mori lottery freak anyone out? Sounds creepy. Nope, they think it has something to do with the sea. Like, seize the moment and get high. At the appointed time, we entered the restaurant. The boy was already there, sitting at the table and waving at us. What did I tell you, Randy winked at me. Are you going to kill him right here? I whispered and looked around. I dont like this idea... Dude, this isnt Russia, the bearded man laughed. Do I look like a gangster? Watch and learn how the professionals work. He sat down at a table, ordered a beer, and started talking to the guy, word by word. The youngster told him that he recently graduated from college in Poland and had come to Samchang for a vacation. They chatted about the weather, the local food, women and cars, discussed politics and soccer, berated the Oscar-winning movie for a long tine, and finally moved on to photography. Randy ordered another beer. While the two of them were waving their arms and arguing about the laws of composition, I was bored, but suddenly I heard a guys drunken exclamation: Id give anything to be a famous photographer! No doubt about it! Anything? asked the bearded man, pouring a beer. How about your life? Take it all! the photographer knocked over the bottle in a fever and for some reason reached under the table for it. Dude, you look ready, Randy patted him on the back. Can you walk? The boy mumbled something and reached out his hand blindly to see if his camera was in place. Your prize, Randy placed the cap on the table and called for the waiter. After paying, we grabbed the poor fellow under his armpits and dragged him to the exit. Nah, guys Im fine. I can take care of myself, okay? he weakly resisted. Okay, the bearded man replied. Be healthy, dont cough. For some reason, I thought the photographer would drop dead at those words, but he staggered to the freeway, took a taxi, and drove away. Is that all? I looked at my companion in disappointment. What did you expect? That he would burst like a soap bubble or go to hell? Well, something like that. Randy grinned but said nothing. To be continued Chapter 15. The Weak Heart On Friday, Magic Hell was packed. The go-go dancers were performed there, and people came in droves to see them. The music was blaring and the red lights were raging in clouds of thick smoke. I could barely see the stage of half-naked beauties from behind my bar, but I didnt have time to stare at them anyway C the drinks were too quickly snatched up by crowd. I reached for another can of the energy drink and noticed that all the boxes were empty. I motioned to the brute security guard to keep an eye on the bar, grabbed the keys and walked out into the courtyard. It was a starry night. Cicadas crackled. Somewhere a gecko toki screaming hoarsely: ek-ke, eke-ke-ke. It was nice to stand like that under the southern sky, looking at the constellations above my head. I wonder how much longer I could hold on. I still didnt know I what to do next. All my thoughts about the future, after wandering through a maze of doubts and fears, invariably rolled into the well-worn rut and took me straight to my newsroom. I knew I could not bring back the past, but I couldnt help it. Sometimes I even dreamed at night of coming to get my paycheck, standing at the cash register, waiting for something. I felt like a beggar, like I didnt deserve the money, but I couldnt leave, how could I live without it? My family wanted me to be a doctor. Before I was born, my grandfather died of a heart attack, and my grandma decided that we needed our own Aesculapius. They even named me Vikenty after the Russian writer Veresaev, the author of A Doctors Notes. The prospect of digging into someones guts did not inspire me; I was afraid of blood and I had no idea how I was going to learn the names of all the bones in Latin. I wanted to fly. But my grandma had told me since I was a child that I have a weak heart and that overexertion was bad for me. I remember how often she would sit me down in an armchair, take a tonometer out of the desk drawer, and wrap a Velcro cuff around my biceps. Then she would take a rubber bulb and squeeze it several times. The air hissed, the grip on the cuff tightened, causing my heart to beat faster, and I watched in horror as the needle of the tonometer crept upward. Vikesha, my Granny used to say, touching my chest with the cold bump of the stethoscope, you need to see a doctor right away! Although I felt fine, the way the adults were worrying about me and shielding me from the effort, made me wonder C what if I really wasnt well? In the end, my grandmother was right, I didnt get into Flight School C I failed the medical. So I was faced with a choice C what should I do now? I remembered that I had once dreamed of travelling, and I went to an institute to study foreign languages. In my third year, I saw an ad in the City Newspaper that they needed a correspondent and I came to the editorial office. I was sent to the local film studio to write an article. That was easy! Then I wrote more and more, until there was a vacancy in the cultural department. The former head of the department was retiring, but none of the staff was interested in culture C it was too petty, unpromising. As for me, I was not thinking about a career; I was just so interested that I left the institute to become a journalist, despite my parents obvious dissatisfaction. I was not afraid to experiment, to find outstanding people, to mix genres C I felt that the readers missed the novelty, but unfortunately my initiative made my colleagues angry. I was accused of being too conspicuous, as if to belittle their work. They tried not to notice my articles in the staff meetings; the editor made no secret of the fact that he considered me a parasite. And it would have been all right if I had not been so dependent on the opinions of others. How many times has this happened to me: I write a great story, go to the staff meeting expecting a laurel wreath, but my colleagues at best ignore my masterpiece (even though everyone was talking about it the day before), or even reduce everything to the fact that the story is not so good, leaving me completely perplexed: Did I really write crap, what is wrong with me? Why does Kubyshkin, who reads your reportage with passion, rush to turn the page as soon as he sees you? And why does another colleague, smiling in your face, never miss an opportunity to do mean things behind your back? And why are all yours ideas met with hostility by your bosses? Nobody cares!, What did you mean by that?; This is a serious newspaper! Once, when I was just starting out in the newsroom, I wrote a funny story about childrens games that the kids play on the street. At the staff meeting, I was the only one who didnt throw a stone at me. Why did you write this?, Our subscriber are old people, they wont understand us! Well, lets face it, not only those over sixty subscribe to the paper, but even if its true, they all have families, children and grandchildren. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.Besides, all old people were once children and played the same games C Touch and run, Blind mans buff, Cops and robbers. They will read about these games, remember their childhood and smile. Thats good. But it took years for our newspaper to have a regular childrens page! Then I started looking for travelers who had been on Arctic expedition, who had built socialism in Cuba, who had conquered Everest. And again I was met with avalanche of reproaches: We are not a magazine called Around the World. I fought tooth and nail to keep my topics, but my editor insisted: Only you are interested in this! Finally, I gave up and moved on to the history of the city in old photographs. I spent a lot of time in the archives, looking for rare images, and meeting with old-timers. And again I could hear the disgruntled whispers of me colleagues behind me: Hes always writhing nonsense while others are busy doing important work, We are sick of this retro stuff! But the funniest part was that the editor soon called me into his office and demanded that I give up my useless old photos and start writing about travel. Thats what the readers wanted, he said. As it turned out, they liked reading about travelers. And the history of our hometown in photos was what they liked, too. The idea for the Old Book project had been in my head for a long time. Ever since a business acquaintance of mine opened a bookstore and asked me to review new books for the paper. The traditional: cover plus synopsis seemed a bit boring to me. I wanted to see a photo of the writer and, above all, read a short excerpt from the book so that I could immediately understand whether the author was mine or not. Unfortunately, the businessman was not impressed with my idea, but I was. How many fascinating but undeservedly forgotten books are gathering dust on the shelves! The same goes for movies. Dubonos was categorical: Nobody needs books anymore! Theyre thing of past. Nevertheless, I defended the project. The Book Review came out once a month, and only when there wasnt a serious article, or when there was nothing in the paper to put in it. But even one issue a month was enough. Old Book became my outlet and quickly won the love of readers. Librarians said that the demand for books in libraries always increased noticeably after the publication of this thematic page. Readers also called the editorial office to ask where they could find the novel they were interested in; they couldnt wait to find out what would happen next and how the characters would turn out. Many people, and not only teenagers, discovered Sergei Dovlatov, Jack London, O''Henry and other famous writers for the first time or from a new angle. However, colleagues continued to treat the book page with coolness. But when Old Book won a silver medal at the All-Russian Journalism Contest, the editor, without a word to me, went to Moscow himself to receive the award and congratulations. Then why am I trying to do my best, to whom and what am I trying to prove with my work? I became frustrated. Wouldnt it better to keep quite, to write bullshit like everyone else, and to sit in an office from eight to five? That way I could crawl to the title of honorary journalist and get a pension. So I started to seek solace in travel, but you know where that led. Okay, enough of the sad stuff! I took a deep breath and headed for the warehouse. To my surprise, it was unlocked. Pushing open the door, I fumbled for the light switch. There was some commotion on the crates in the corner, and a minute later, squinting against the bright light, our guard Bob came out with his pants unbuttoned. Oh, its you, he muttered, frowning. Dont you ever knock? Why the hell would I knock on the pantry? I snapped at him. What are you doing here? Whos that? A disheveled redhead peeked out from behind Bob. A bat in a hat, Bob turned back to the girl. Lets finish this, baby. Giving them a withering look, I grabbed the box and walked out, slamming the door behind me. At the end of the shift, as I was loading the cream, I noticed among the dancers this red-haired girl who was having fun in the warehouse with Bob. She noticed me, too, and seemed embarrassed, but not for long. There was a Japanese guy who had been drinking hard at the bar that night. When everyone had left, he was still sitting behind the bar, his face red from drinking. As the bouncer was dragging him to the exit, his wallet fell out his pocket. Several dancers immediately rushed him. A short but heated argument ensued. The girls debated whether to give the money back to the Japanese or keep it for themselves, since he wouldnt remember anything tomorrow anyway. Irene walked up to them, took the wallet without a word, and returned it to its owner. I thought: well done! Cream was almost loaded down when I heard a familiar, cheeky voice behind me: So youre one of us? Im not a go-go dancer, and I dont make out with security in a dark corner, I snapped, turning around. Fool! She flared up. Thats not what I meant. The girl put her bag on the table and sat down next to me, drumming her fingers on the desktop. I dont care. I disconnected the mediator. Stay out of my way. Boor! Hey you The red-haired girl looked in the eyes defiantly. Her pupils narrowed: Well? Speak! You..., I stumbled, trying to think of a more delicate way to say it. Youre wasting your time... baby. Find someone dumber, at least him, I nodded at the big guy at the entrance. Youre an idiot! she slapped me, grabbed her purse and ran out the door. To be continued Chapter 16. Irene A pink lock pick remained on the table. Ah, thats it! I rubbed my burning cheek. Poor Bob! He thought he fucked a cool chick, but actually she fucked him. I put the device in my pocket and headed for the exit. The girl didnt go anywhere, she stood on the porch and sniffed her nose. I think this is yours. I returned the mediator to her and wanted to go home before the storm C it was stuffy, the clouds were gathering over the sea and the lightning was flashing. But then a black jeep drove into the courtyard and the same people who had been in the unfinished temple got out. One of them, looking like baboon, pinched the dancers buttocks as he passed. She giggled and stepped aside. The men in black disappeared behind the door, and when they reappeared, the baboon was holding an aluminum briefcase. This time he didnt even look our way. Do you know them? I asked as soon as the jeep was around the corner. Yes, I do, she said reluctantly. Who are they? What do you care? The conversation didnt go well. The girl was obviously still mad at me. Listen, I apologize for being rude, I said in a feeble attempt at reconciliation. I dont know what came over me. Yeah, she replied, not looking up. I know. Vikenty, I held out my hand. You can just call me Vik. Irene, her palm was hard and hot. For some reason I didnt want to let go of it. Why dont we go for a walk? I suggested. My bungalow is not far from here. She raised an eyebrow in surprise and suddenly agreed, which startled me a little; but I couldnt back down, the girl was really nice! She had big gray eyes were full of cheerful curiosity, a bob haircut, a slightly upturned nose, and dimples on her cheeks. If it werent for her tidy breasts sticking out under her tight t-shirt, she could have been mistaken for a cute teenager. At the Sands, everyone was asleep. Only the British neighbors window was lit, and a lone fire burned on the beach. Who could it be at such a late hour? Leaving Irene at the entrance, I went to find out what was going on. By the fire, an unknown fat man, who called himself Hans was drinking beer. Sipping from his bottle, he complained that he had lost his keys on the beach and asked if I would let him stay in my room for the night. I said no, I wouldnt, I had a girl with me, and there was only one bed in the room. The fat man snorted angrily and for some reason started complaining to me about the laws in his native Bavaria, where he would have been fined for such a bonfire a long time ago, but Thais do not care about anything. Not that it makes him sad; on the contrary, he even likes it. It was clear that the Bavarian wanted to talk, but he didnt want to share his beer with me. I would have refused anyway, but stingy Hans didnt know that and was sweating profusely, looking for something to talk about. So you wont let me in? he asked again. I could give you a relaxing massage... Brilliant! That is the last thing I need! Bye! I replied dryly, letting him know that this trick would not work on me. Im already sick of sex-crazed midnighters! The British were still living the vampire lifestyle, sleeping in during the day and then playing poker and making love until morning. I unlocked the front door and listened: the bed didnt creak as usual C thanks for that at least. The creaking had already triggered a conditioned reflex in me, but I didnt want to drag my guest into bed right away, shed think we men were all the same. Im not. Wheres your bathroom? Irene called me. Where? She said it as if there were ten rooms and she was afraid of getting lost! There, I nodded at the bathroom door and took a clean towel from the nail. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. While she washed herself, squealing under the cold shower, I fought sleep and myself. I shouldnt have invited her. I had neither the energy nor the desire to sleep with her, but I was sure she would seduce me. Why do I always get into trouble? Irene came out of the shower naked, quickly turned off the light, and ducked under the mosquito net. But even in the dim light I could see that she had a great body, so I undressed and lay down next to her. She was lying quietly on her back. I waited anxiously for her hand to slip under my blanket. But Irene didnt seem to tempt me. She said goodnight and turned to her side. I breathed a sigh of relief, but after a second I felt uneasy. She hadnt come here to sleep, had she? I wanted to turn her roughly against me, to pile on top of her, to crucify her to prove that I was no worse than anyone else C how many men had this slutty girl had? Easy, easy, I said to myself. It seems you wanted to sleep, so sleep, dont think about her. But I was not to sleep that night. A familiar creaking sound came behind the wall, then music blared from the loudspeakers, and, as if in unison, thunder rumbled C a thunderstorm was beginning. Whats that? Irene turned around in fear. Neighbors... The first raindrops rustled on the roof; the bed creaked harder and more rhythmically. And then Hans appeared The Bavarian, who had been drinking heavily by this time, did not tolerate the disturbance. He knocked on the British couples door, urging them to be quite, but they did not respond to his shouts C most likely they simply could not hear him because of the music and raging elements outside the window. Hans rushed to the front desk, dragged a sleepy Lydia out into the rain, and demanded that the hooligans be restrained. Not knowing what was going on, the hostess of the Sands went up to the porch and knocked gently three times. The music stopped, but no one answered. Then the angry Bavarian pushed the lady aside and began kicking at the door. Lydia tried to calm him down, assuring him that she would talk to the guests in the morning, but the fat man wouldnt even listen to her. Finally, after half an hour, he calmed down, but the thought of retaliation must have been in his drunken head. After a short rest, Hans began with renewed vigor to break down the door my neighbors had barricaded. Now the fat man insisted that Lydia evict the tenants immediately. He shouted that he didnt care where they could go in the pouring rain at night. Im surprised he didnt set fire to the house of his enemies C a little more and he would have starter World War III. The neighbors had long since gone to bed, but the Bavarian was still raging. Suddenly my guest, who had been silent all the time, jumped up, wrapped herself in a towel, and rushed to the front door. Ignoring the shaking house and water pouring from the palm roof, she shouted something to Hans, who was instantly silenced. What did you say to him? I asked when Irene, soaked to the skin, was back in bed. I told him to shut up and get the hell out. And he left? Yes, he left. Hmm, this is strange. Lydias warnings didnt have much effect on him. Do you want to know the truth? Irenes eyes twinkled mischievously and she pushed her wet hair away from her forehead, I offered this Bavarian sausage a threesome, but he, such a fool, got scared. Youre kidding me now, right? Do you want me? She threw back the blanket, revealing a lithe, slender body, and as I stared at her, she loomed over me like a panther C so fearless and attractive... What makes you think that? I barely averted my eyes. Is that a yes or a no? An hour ago you wanted to prove something to me, didnt you? Damn it! Can that redheaded witch really read my mind? Are you afraid that you wont have the strength to make love with me? Dont worry; Ill share it with you. Itll be great! Irene, I gently pull her away from me. Its late; Im tired, lets go to sleep. Well, at least thats fair, she leaned back regretfully. I really like you very much, Vik. As much as Bob and all the other men, huh? I wanted to tease her, but I didnt. Although, the way the kitty snorted, she seemed to hear me. To be continued Chapter 17. (Don’t) Be Afraid of Your Wishes At night in my dream I see a white hospital room. I had seen it many times before. It was a recurring nightmare: I was lying on a bed with a fever. In the darkness under the ceiling there is a white ball that looks like a pale moon. I want to get up, go to the bedside table at my feet, take a decanter and pour water. But I cant get up. All I can do is bite my parched lips, hoping for blood or a little saliva. Im terribly thirsty. I fall asleep, and when I wake up in the morning, I would see a glass of water on the headboard, and I know it has always been there, all night long, while I was thirsty. When I woke up in my room in the morning, Irene was gone. Maybe it was for the best, I thought; otherwise she would have started flirting with me again C I know these womens tricks very well! Before you know it, youre tied up hand and foot.Behind the wall, the British hurriedly packed up and left the Sands. I took a shower and went for a walk. The beach was fresher after the night storm. The leaves and petals of the hibiscus glistened with pearls C the waking sun had not yet dried them, and the air was full of the sweet scent of flowers. It smelled like the roses in my grandmothers garden at dawn. Birds whistled in the bushes. The sea was cool. Bare footprints stretched along the surf line, which meant that the lovingly French neighbor had been on the beach C he had recently taken up jogging, apparently to sublimate his libido. Afraid of getting his sneakers dirty, the Frenchman usually carried them in his hands. I dont understand what prevent him from leaving his shoes at home. A trio of old men appeared C Angry Thai, Strict and Laughing. Angry looked like an albatross frowning in the rain, Strict never smiled, and the third, Laughing, the oldest of them, always walked with a stick. A woolen scarf was tied around his waist, but despite his lameness and sciatica, he enjoyed life like a child. The old men were replaced by treasure seekers. They were not interested in shells, they were looking for gold. Theyre always digging in the sand like moles. In fact, after the storm, the beach was littered not with treasure, but with all sorts of garbage C rotten coconuts, unpaired slippers, and scraps of fishing nets C so I used to call the treasure seekers trash seekers. But maybe some of them were lucky. Once I overheard one of clubs visitors, a bald-headed bandit, complaining to another that he had lost gold the first morning he dived into the sea with a hangover C his finger-thick chest chain had been washed away by the wave. During the day, peddlers in broad-brimmed hats and baggy shirts roamed the beaches. Their dark faces were wrapped in cloth, and they wore knitted gloves on their hands to protect them from the sun. Each man carried a stick with two plywood boxes over his shoulder. One was full of small watermelons, boiled corn, pineapples, and mangoes, and the other contained the rinds the vendors peeled off the fruit for the lazy farangs. An ice cream vendor waddled past the tourists, dragging his load across the sand. Hati-mati-i, he sang sadly, which apparently meant ice cream. On his chest hung whistles, figurines of monkeys and cranes, skillfully carved from copra. As an old journalists habit, I sometimes bought newspapers from peddlers, where the most interesting ones were criminal chronicles. For example, an article about a German couple who decided to ride an elephant. After a few steps the elephant slipped, the tourists rolled down head over heels, and the fat burgher crushed his wife to death with his carcass. The police did not prosecute the poor animal C it was not its fault that it stumbled, in general it was not the elephant that flattened Frau Another note was about an Australian man who was riding his motorbike home from a Full Moon party. He stopped at a supermarket along the way, bought a beer and rode tipsy back to his hotel. But he didnt make it C he crashed into a lamppost and blew half of his scull off. The victim was clutching an unopened can of beer in his left hand, the reporter wrote. And then, with manic meticulousness, he listed the things the police found in the pockets and bag of the corpse: documents, some cash, a sandwich, a dozen chicken eggs, which the chronicler noted with surprise, were not damaged in the accident. When I opened the latest issue, the first thing I did was find my favorite column. Amateur photographer blown up by landmine read the big headline. It was further reported that the young man, who had rented a bungalow on Samchang went on a self-guided excursion to a neighboring country where the recent military operations had taken place, in search of rare footage. Ignoring the barbed wire fences with warning signs, he entered the uncleared area of an ancient temple, where he died. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.Isnt that our Pole? I had a thought. That night, as we were cleaning up and getting the club ready to open, I showed Randy the paper. The bearded man ran his eyes over the article and nodded in satisfaction: He wanted fame, he got it. Whats wrong? So I was right, this is the same photographer who pulled the ticket! Do you think he meant that kind of fame? I asked Randy. Dude, how am I supposed to know what he meant? Didnt he dream of being in the papers and on TV? He was even willing to give his life for it, remember? His got his wish. Whats the problem? Hell be forgotten in a week! Of course he will, but today hes a star, right? Randy, dont you feel sorry for him? Dude, I feel sorry for all the time I wasted on him. Ive been looking for the Golden Ticket for years, but every time I find someone I can use, some dunce comes along and ruins it. Im tired of these ragamuffins and their endless narcissistic chatter about themselves. They could take their prize and walk away quietly, but no, they want to talk. They are willing to talk for hours about their precious personality, and they dont care if I listen or not. You wont believe this, but not one of them has ever asked me my name or who I am. And Im supposed to feel sorry for these narcissists? You saw me trying to get rid of that annoying youngster, but you have no idea how many of them there were! And they all wanted fame? Not all of them. One lady liked living on the Island so much that she wished shed never have to go home. A week later, a coconut fell on her head. She had no family, so the urn with her ashes never left the Island. Another woman was upset with her neighbors for playing loud music at night. Instead of moving out, she wished they would die and stop disturbing her sleep. So what happened? I was curious. Nothing unusual C a fire; the wiring in the bungalow short-circuited during the night, and the music lovers were burned alive, but the fire spread to the neighboring house So now its very quite where the lady sleeps forever. Another guy wanted to make a quick buck for his family. Well, the widow and kids got a big insurance payout, because the applicant drowned or got eaten by sharks, I cant remember. Are you saying that every wish is doomed to failure? Of course not. If you can do it yourself, but instead you want others to do all the work for you, then Im sorry I see, I sighed, although it was strange to hear it from a guy who had no objection to profiting at the expense of others. But I didnt dare say it out loud, I just asked: Will you take me hunting again? Sure, no problem. By the way, what was that mess at the Sands last night? How do you know that? I asked suspiciously. Its my job, the bearded man grinned. I told him about Hans and the British couple. Randy listened attentively and casually asked me where the troublemaker had gone, if Id seen him again. I answered that I hadnt and decided to ask him about Irene instead. Did you like the girl? Randy patted me on the shoulder. I know, dude. Id like to have some fun with her myself, but she wont let me. And she wont let you either. So forget about her. Why? His words hurt me. This girl doesnt look like a virgin. Did I say shes a virgin? The bearded man chuckled. Shes the hottest chick here, but we cant deal with her. Irene is only interested in the living, you know? So you dont stand a chance, dude. Believe me, Ive tried. Listen, I hesitated. How can dead people like you and me do that? You know what I mean. Pills, Randy replied without blinking. Or Butea, a local tonic herb. We just have to get started, and then the mediator will adjust and pump those bitches dry. The key is not to miss, not to stick your dick in a dummy like you, otherwise youll lose. I dont know about you, but I dont want to make love on credit. So thats why the local hookers shied away from me! Randys girls, as dead as I was, had nothing to take from me. I wasnt attracted to them either. But Sarah? I was attracted to her. Although it was only a fantasies, my body worked perfectly. And I was attracted to Irene as well, though Im embarrassed to admit it. Something was obviously wrong. Randy, tell me, if Irene is a dummy, why were you hitting on her? Dude, the bearded man threw the rag on the counter. When have I ever said that? But shes one of us, right? So what? Irene is special. Not only can she take someone elses energy, but she can also share it with others. What does that mean? Get her into bed, and youll find out. Randy chuckled again. But that wont work, dude. What can you give her? The boy is poor as a church mouse. Im sorry, but she doesnt even look at men like that. Oh, really? I wanted to tell him that she stayed at my place last night. Yes, we didnt make love, but it would be cool to see his surprised face. But I didnt. What if Irene was just playing with me? I looked at my watch, it was time to open. Just in case, I asked: Do you know where I can find her? I have no idea, Randy shrugged. This pussycat walks all by herself. Of course he was lying. He knew everything. To be continued Chapter 18. What is my power? The next day, I decided to ask about Irene at massage parlors until I finally found one where she worked part time when she wasnt dancing. I cant say she was happy when I sat down in a chair and ordered a foot massage. Okay, she said. But lets not do it here. She took my hand and led me up the stairs. We found ourselves in a small semi-dark room with a wooden couch in the middle, covered with a colorful mat. Lie down! she ordered. Ill be right there. I obediently lay on my back. Irene brought a basin of warm water from somewhere and dipped my bare feet in it, squatting in front of me. As she was washed and massaged my feet, I silently blissful, willing to pay any price to keep her gentle fingers on me longer. I could hardly feel my legs, the drowsiness spreading through my body in warm waves. I began to fall asleep. Her fingers moved from my feet to calves and up. Irene, what are you doing? I mumbled weakly. Please, stop it. But I could not and I didnt want to resist her. I was in her power from head to toe. In a moment, the shorts shed pulled off of me fell down. Her fingers were replaced by her lips, and as Irene straddled me with the dexterity of a horsewoman, it seemed to me that I was falling into the abyss, or maybe flying to the sky C such a sharp, incomparable pleasure I experienced, completely dissolved in tenderness I dont remember what happened next. I woke up to someone caressing my cheek. What have you done to me, Irene? I moaned and opened my eyes. Didnt you like it? she smiled. You were even better than I thought. So fresh and clean, like birch sap. What are you talking about? Your energy, ninny. You used me? I blurted out involuntarily. She frowned: Dont talk nonsense. Do you feel bad? I listened to myself C it seemed to be fine. I didnt feel guilty; my conscience didnt bother me. There have been a few times in my life when, after casual sex, Ive wanted to run away as fast as possible, to erase that shameful episode from my memory, to cover my tracks C thats how bad I felt. But now I was not embarrassed by Irenes presence. On the contrary, I wanted to spend more time with her. I pulled her towards me, but she gently pulled away from my embrace: Dont, Vik. Dont want more? I do, but it wont be the same. I know that this Mr. Sausage will come again where I dont want him. He wont cum there, I promise, I reached out to hug her. You misunderstand me, Irene pulled herself out of my arms. If we do this again, you will lose your power, but I dont want you to waste it on presents for Hans. Hes already hanging around you like a fly. She leaned over and quickly kissed me on the lips: Do you know why? Because youre so sweet! Is he gay? I looked sternly at the door, as if Hans was hiding behind it. She laughed: You guessed right. But above all, Hans is an outcast. To hell with Hans! I took her hand and pulled her close to me. Dont go. Vik, she said stubbornly. Dont do it. Youll feel bad later. Not with you, I touched her hair. Dont argue with me, I know better. She sat down with one leg under her and told me that the outcasts on the Island are those who having lost their place, cant find another job or dont want to look for one. Instead, they start stealing energy from others in order to survive. They can steal a cell phone or a wallet, and in general anything that is lying around C they have to live on something. They try not to allow it, because the outcasts do not share the stolen cream with anyone, do not add it to the common pot, but only maintain their miserable existence, so they hunt them down like stray dogs. Usually, Irene explained, former alcoholics become outcasts. If I understand correctly, theyre the most unpredictable people. On the one hand theyre the easiest to manipulate C its enough to replace the addiction with a vigorous activity, then the alcoholic will work like a hell foe a while C after all, alcoholism is the same as workaholism, but as soon as a lover of Bacchus breaks down, he will be stuck in the old quagmire again, where he will have only one consolation C to drink. And it doesnt matter what it is: vodka, other peoples energy, or blood. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Hans sucked you like a leech when you started fantasizing about your neighbor, Irene pocked me lightly in the stomach with her fist. Tell me, is she really that good? I began to remember. Sarah was, of course, was what you would call sexy, such girls are quite rare among English women, but after imaginary sessions with her I was really broken and sluggish, only I put it down to fatigue and lack of sleep. It was a loss of energy, Irene assured me. The fat man found you like a shark finds prey in a drop of blood. He moved in next door and came under your windows like a gourmet in a restaurant. Is that why you chased him away? Yes, I told him Id turn him over to them, and hed become the Shadow, she got up from the couch. Otherwise, he wouldnt have left you alone. Wait, if thats true, then why did he make such a mess? John and Sarah left because of him. First of all, dont laugh, Hans was jealous of you and Sarah, he didnt want to share you with anyone else, Irene winked playfully. And secondly, he is hungry. Im afraid he wont leave you alone anyway. Youre too tidbit for him, youre his type. Ha-ha, how funny! I teased her. But hes not my type, is it not clear? Its clear to me, but Hans seriously believes that he has managed to hook you there, by the fire, so he has the right to demand your attention and sympathy, thereby draining your energy. He wants to live off you! Tell me isnt that what the crazies in your newsroom did? Have you ever asked yourself what attracted them to you? And what was it? Life force! You have enough for four people, its hard not to use it, especially when youre allowed to she threw me my t-shirt and shorts. Get dressed, you have to go. Irene, but that was a long time ago. Im dead. What life force? Thats a good question, she said, opening the door. Go and dont come back. But I looked at her expectantly. She didnt let me finish. The door slammed shut. What kind of place is this? I was angry as I walked down the hot street. Everyone talks in riddles, everyone knows everything about me, and Im the only one who knows nothing about anyone. I couldnt help thinking that Irene was one of the bearded mans clever baits. The way he described her to me! He said, She is special, not for the likes of us. But whats so special about her? Shes just an ordinary girl, like a million others. Yes, shes pretty, and she doesnt look like a bitch. Theres definitely something human about her C just take the episode with the Japanese guy and the wallet. But then I remembered what she and Bob had done in the warehouse, and I felt like Id been stabbed in the heart. Not a bitch, you say But what about the foot massage? Does she serve everyone like that? What about half-naked dancing in the club? I gasped with rage, imaging a crowd of horny men wanting to fuck Irene on stage. And she doesnt seem to mind all this attention at all. I slammed my fist into the palm tree in anger and spun around in pain C the trunk was as hard as concrete. Why did she ask me not to come back? Had she had enough of me? Did she get what she wanted? What an idiot Id been! Id trusted a flighty girl, let myself be deceived, and now Im suffering. I decided to refresh myself in the sea. Then I worked out on the horizontal bar and uneven bars and did a little jogging. I felt fine physically, but my thoughts kept returning to Irene. What kind of life force was she talking about? I took out my lock pick and almost dropped it. The yellow scale had gone up again! So Randy had lied about the glitch. But then what is it? The only one who might know the answer and who was honest lived in an abandoned hotel on the shore. I hadnt seen him for a while C Austin hadnt been to the beach much lately. The path to the mangrove ruins was overgrown from the rains, and I was covered with scratches as I trudged through the thick, thorny bushes. Austin was sitting on a chaise longue with a book in his hands. In front of him was an easel with an unfinished landscape, a familiar tree against sea boulders. Hey, buddy! I plopped down on the sand next to him. Where have you been? Austin put the book down and looked at me curiously: Youre in good shape, buddy, he said instead of greeting me. A woman? How did you know? I even blushed a little. I can see it in your face. Oh, come on? Yeah. Are you here to brag? Not really. Here, I handed him the lock pick. Can you tell me what this means? Austin turned the device thoughtfully and asked: Shes not a tourist, is she? Did you see that in my face, too? No, I guessed, he handed the lock pick back to me. I think not doing anything has been good for you. So tell me. Tell you what? When did you realize that you could generate energy by yourself? Generate? I stared at him in astonishment. This is the first time Ive heard of it! To be continued Chapter 19. The Artist’s Way Austin paused, as if considering whether or not to continue the conversation. Remember I told you never wanted to work for the Dark Ones? he finally said. What kind of dragons? I tensed. Not dragons, the Dark Ones C thats their name. Is that clearer? Uh-huh. I see. I didnt want to do it either, so what? The fact is, when I missed my chance for freedom in the White Room, I didnt know that things werent as hopeless as they seemed. I had a job in a casino, where I was afraid every minute that I would end up on the street as a penniless outcast. Then they would have easily destroyed me, and I would have joined the ranks of the Shadows, because there is simply nowhere to fall below. I tried to escape, but every time I ran into a wall of rain. It always happened near the temple on the shore, and one day, when I ventured in, a monk came out to meet me. An older one with glasses? I clarified. The artist nodded: He invited me for a cup of tea, asked me who I was, where I came from, and how I got here. I told him everything and added that I hated working in the casino, but didnt know what else to do. The monk asked me what I wanted to do. I said that I dreamed of taking up painting again. Whats the problem? he wondered. Paint if you want! Im afraid I wont have anything to live on. I said. Dont be afraid, he replied. Just do it! And try to recapitulate your past life, think about your mistakes, why you came here. It will help. We talked for hours, Austin went on. I cant say my doubts disappeared right away, but at least I realized that I wasnt alone. Did you visit him often? No very often, I didnt have enough time. I had to work harder to pay off my debts faster. But I listened to the monk, I bought paints and canvases, and little by little I began to paint, until one day I felt that I was coming alive. After paying off his debts, Austin quit the casino and moved into the Mangrove Hotel. From that moment on, did not depend on anyone, he drowned his mediator and earned his living (or, as he joked, his death) by selling his paintings which he signed as Elias Immortales. But why a pseudonym? I didnt understand. Are you ashamed of it? Its not shame, he explained, but the desire to be myself. I assure you, if I signed with my real name, sales would skyrocket. Unknown paintings by a famous dead artist! A sensation! And here some guy is painting some tree, so what? There arent so many connoisseurs of my works on the web. Doesnt it hurt? It did at first. And that was the thing that got in the way of painting the most. But I asked myself, do I want to seek fame again? No. Ive had enough of that life. Now I just like to paint, as I did in my childhood, when the process itself gives me pleasure, and whether my paintings are bought or not is not so important. I like to work in silence, taking my time, watching how the light changes, how shadows fall, sunlight, how the waves glare. If someone besides me needs it, fine, but I will paint even if no one will ever see or understand my paintings. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. I dont know I said uncertainly. I wouldnt be able to write just for a desk drawer. Maybe thats why you havent tried it? He gave me a sideways glance. I wanted to remind him of my journalistic achievements, but I didnt. Yes, I had written stories and interviews for the paper for many years, but the book remained in my dreams... O maybe I had nothing to write? No Austin said. You just didnt know how to do it, and werent willing to learn again, with no guarantee of success. So you convinced yourself it would be easier to hide down a rabbit hole and die quietly. What bullshit! Its not bullshit, and you know it. So what should I do? I frowned. I think its time you started writhing. You already have experience and a lot of time. Austin replied. Who knows, maybe thats why youre here. Oh yes, they brought me here to tell the world about the Island. Do not make me laugh. Do you remember Romashkin? he asked suddenly. I wish I didnt remember him! And your last conversation? I pricked up my ears. I think he said something about new life. Heck! I clutched my head. So he was one of them? A Wish-Master? Austin shook his head: Romashkin never served the Dark Ones. Hes an Undercover Angel, so to speak. Oh, wow! And what does that mean? He knew you were being watched, but they had doubts about whether to kill you or milk you. How did you say C milk me? What am I to them, goat? Not literally, weirdo. Its more profitable to milk some people than to kill them. Proschelygin thought that you would be more useful in the press service and it would be better to let you live, but Romashkin managed to convince them otherwise. So Im here by his grace? Good angel, damn it! He seemed such a nice guy... Dont be angry with him. He gave you a chance. Thanks! Did I ask him to? Actually, you did. Oops! I slapped my forehead. But I had no idea what the offer was. Yet you said yes. It was true, but that didnt make me feel any better. I asked Austin how he and the others knew all about me; was there really a dossier on every newcomer to the Island? Turns out, yes, the Dark Ones have a personal file on everyone, but its not accessible to everyone. The monk could look into it, so hes the one who told Austin my story. Who is he? Undercover Angel or Dark One? Neither. Hes much more complicated. Can you tell me who he is? Youll find out soon enough. Yeah, thats what I thought! Keep wandering, Vik, like a hedgehog in a fog, and maybe one day youll find the truth. But Romashkin is like that, huh? A benefacror! Id rather work for Proshchelygin as a press secretary; at least Id be alive now instead of hanging out with dead people from all over the world. But who knows whats worse To be continued Chapter 20. If it be your will Before going to work, I decided to have a rest, took a shower and fell into bed naked. I was almost dozing off when I heard a knock at the door. I had to get up. Irene was standing in the doorway. I quickly grabbed a towel, covered myself and opened the door wide. The guest smile slightly and took a small step forward: What, a siesta? Why did you come? I grumpily blocked the entrance. I missed you. Arent you happy to see me? She took my hand and stared into my eyes for a few seconds: Are you offended? Well, Im sorry. Absolutely not, what makes you think that? I didnt want you to come because I dont come to the salon very often, she said in her defense. I thought if you came and I wasnt there, then... I saw our masseuses staring at you. I didnt like it, so please dont be angry. Irene, are you jealous? I couldnt believe my ears! Are you? I know, I know everything about me, she put her finger to my lips. You dont have to say anything. But I really dont want those cheeky girls to use you. Im not a child! I took her hand away. What do you want? Did someone send you here? No one, she blinked, confused. I just wanted to see you. Did I come at a bad time? She tried to get in again. I guess she thought I wasnt alone. I stepped aside. Irene took a quick look at the made-up bed and visibly relaxed: Since I woke you up, why dont we go to the cafe? No money, I lied. I didnt want to go anywhere with her, shed think it was serious. But Ive got some, my treat. I already owe you. Really? She was surprised. Did you forget the massage? Oh, you mean that, she blushed slightly. Well, I thought this was what we both wanted. I pretended not to hear her, and asked with some sarcasm: May I know how much your mm... services cost? She looked at me with a long, studying stare and, of course, gave tit for tat: Dont you think you should have asked in advance to avoid any misunderstandings later on? After all, I can now tell you any price... How much? Im afraid you cant afford it, my boy. Can you be serious? What about you? Can you stop being rude to me? Then tell me how much. I have to pay you. All right, two hours of your precious time. Do you agree? That depends on what youre going to do to me. Do not even think about it! She turned to the door. How about a little hike? Theres a waterfall in the jungle not far from here. I cant say I was thrilled with the idea of trudging around in the heat at the whim of a feisty girl, but debts must be repaid. As I pulled on my jeans, Irene stood in the doorway with her head tilted to the side, shamelessly watching me. I pretended not to be bothered by her presence, but it was embarrassing, I couldnt get my leg into my pants. Youre so cute, she smiled. Cute? After everything Id said to her? What the hell is happening to us? When Irene isnt around, I want to see her, touch her, smell her and kiss her. But as soon as she appears, I get cold as ice, deliberately rude, pretending to be busy. Her behavior is no better C sometimes she avoids meetings with me, sometimes she comes as if nothing had happened. She also teases me, when she sees that I can hardly stop myself from tearing off her dress, under which I know the little wretch has no panties. The sign at the bend said it was 5 kilometers to the waterfall. I hurried forward, glad that the sun had stopped burning C a light breeze blew in from the sea and covered the sky with clouds. But before we were halfway there, it started to rain. So we ran into a roadside cafe. It was empty. Round plastic tables had been moved to the center of the room, cases of Coke and Sprite were stacked in the corner, and bundles of green coconuts lay on the concrete floor. On the sea side, the cafe was protected from the wind by transparent cellophane; heavy raindrops rushed down it and disappeared in the wet sand. A sleepy waiter came out. When he saw us, he silently took a machete, tore a nut from the bundle, and deftly sliced off the top. After quenching his thirst, he wrapped himself in a raincoat, picked up a broom and began to sweep the already perfectly clean path. When he left, we were alone. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Beyond the weeping film, the waves roared and frothed. On a promontory jutting into the sea, a Buddhist temple was barely visible in the gray gloom. It was getting chilly. Irene shivered and childishly buried her face in my shoulder. Her wet hair smelled of the sea. I wanted to stroke it, but I didnt dare, standing there like an idol, unable to move. Then, boldly, she cuddled up to me herself, pulled my shirt out from under my belt and slipped her fingers under it, lightly running a fingernail along my spine. I jerked convulsively, as if an electric current ran down my back; my heart sinking into a pit of air I felt a sweet pain in my lower abdomen... I tried not to show that I was losing control, even though there was nothing I could do about the growing sexual arousal. And she could feel it. Music was playing somewhere nearby C not the ubiquitous Jingle Bells favored by the Thais, no, someone was listening to Leonard Cohens If it be your will. I knew the song from the movie Pump up the Volume, which I was crazy in my youth. Shall we dance? Irene looked up at me. Instead of answering, I held her tighter in my arms and kissed her frantically. She didnt resist, just stood on her tiptoes and responded in a way that made me feel like I was flying, lifting us both into the air. The melody had long since stopped, but we didnt even notice. Vik, did you have a girlfriend? she asked suddenly. A girlfriend? I was confused. I dont know. I guess I did C a long time ago, back in high school. Dont you even remember? Her eyes widened in surprise. Of course I remember, I leaned over and kissed her dimpled cheek. Im just not sure if she was my girlfriend. Does that happen? Sure. You know, like in melodramas C he loves her, she loves another guy, but that guy doesnt love anyone but himself. We had the same thing. It sucks, Irene sighed. Was she beautiful? Very, I kissed her again, this time behind her ear. Is it okay that Im telling you this? Nothing, go ahead, she said. How old was she? Sixteen like me. We were in parallel classes. The girls, my classmates, didnt understand what I liked about her C short, cheekbones, a little moustache on her upper lip, dark-skin, like a gypsy. I didnt pay attention to her at first either, but then I didnt need anyone but her. There was something wild, witchy and even beastly about her that attracted boys. She looked at you with her emerald cat eyes, and they burned you like fire. I fell madly in love. And she? Irene held her breath. She didnt love me... She went out with me to make the other one jealous. She went on secret dates with him, sent him notes through her friends. When I found out, I almost lost my mind. Poor boy! Why get upset about a girl? There are plenty more fish in the sea. You probably went out with someone else after that, right? I did, I sighed. But it wasnt the same. I told you, I was madly in love with her. I couldnt live without her. I almost slit my wrists. I even started writing poems. About love? She got excited. Read them to me, will you? Oh, Ive already forgotten all the words, I tried to refuse. Its been so many years. But wait, I do remember one. But its not about love, its about the love of life. Read it! she nodded determinedly. I cleared my throat and began, a little worried: Its so sad now to look Into the crater of the black moon. No water, just thick filth, And beaten souls drowning in it. I was here and someones hands Dragged me mercilessly to Hades. I remember my death rattle, And my fear and pain in battle. No one wants to die young In the mildew-smelling mud. If you want to be with your love, You must fight and not give up. But Im so lonely and so tired, I dont feel alive and inspired. I want to cry and get it over with. But I can feel the wings behind me. So I leave the moon in the past I make my way to the sun at last. Who believes that love can save, Will save the world and survive himself. When I finished, I forced myself to smile: Too naive, huh? No, its sweet, she praised me. I didnt know you were a poet. How could such a romantic boy turn into such a gloomy man? Is it because of unhappy love, Vik? Is that why you dont trust women anymore? Youre still in love with her, arent you? No, not anymore, I shook my head. But youre right, theres still a part of my heart that feels like its covered in ice. Do you like it? I wouldnt say I do. But I have no idea how to melt it. Maybe youre just afraid? Maybe, I replied quietly. You women are so treacherous. Not all of us are like that, she wrapped her arms around me, resting her cheek against my chest. Im so glad you didnt kill yourself. Yeah! I waited until I was shot like a dog so I wouldnt suffer, I joked. To be continued Chapter 21. Loss of Innocence The rain was almost over. I wanted to go on, but Irene said it was impossible to get to the waterfall after a downpour, and she seemed to have chafed her foot. I dragged two plastic chairs over to the transparent screen that shielded us from the fresher wind. Tell me about yourself. I asked. How did you end up on this Island? Do you want to know if Ive always been like this? The shadow of a smirk crossed her lips. No, not at all, I answered hastily, even though that was exactly what I wanted to know. Vik, she moved her chair closer, did your parents love you when you were a child? I think so, her question caught me off guard. What about yours? I was a nuisance to mine. My mother didnt want me to be born, and didnt love me. Dont interrupt, she stopped me with a gesture. When she got pregnant with me, she was so afraid of getting fat that she decided to have an abortion. My father objected, but she got some pills and started poisoning me. She sat in hot bath for hours and bandaged her belly tightly. But I was born anyway, a tiny, six-month old. They say this baby didnt even have fingernails, but the doctors saved me. I guess it was for nothing, they shouldnt have bothered with me. Did your mother tell you that? I was surprised. My grandma. My folks didnt have time for me. We lived in Glasgow, Scotland, my father was a carpenter and he drank like a fish, and my mother was all about her body, she was on a diet, she didnt eat sweets. She worked as a costume maker in the theater and had hoped to settle her love life, to find someone better than her carpenter husband, but instead she was constantly beaten by him. Although my father was a drunkard, he loved my mother, but not me. Why not? If I understand correctly, he wanted a child, right? I dont know, she shrugged. Maybe he thought I wasnt his daughter, because my mother could say anything in a fight. She loved to blame my father for all her troubles; she had married him not out of love, but because she had grown up in the country and longed to move to the city, where my father had an inherited apartment. He earned a little, and as long as I can remember, my mother always nagging him about it, and at the same time nagging me about being born and ruining her youth. In the summer I was sent to my grandmothers house in Kilmun, but she didnt need me either, and sometimes I didnt even have anyone to talk to except a doll. My granny didnt keep any books, except for herbal and medical books. So there was nothing to do. But soon I had a friend C we were about five or six years old at the time. His name was Ashley. His family lived next door to us and I used to visit him. Ashley had a brother, Ethan, who was a year older than us. The three of us used to climb trees in the woods, go swimming at the lake, and play hospital. The three of you? Yeah. Id lie in the bed, and the brothers would take turns examining me. Ashley would pull up my shirt and put a cold phonendoscope on my chest C their mother was a nurse and the house was full of all kinds of medical stuff. He would listen intently to my breathing for a few minutes and then ask me to turn my back to him and pull down my pants a little so he could give me a shot. The injection was real, but without a needle, so I wasnt afraid, I did everything he asked, and it even felt good. Ashley was so sweet, so gentle. Unlike him, Ethan was a rude one, he was always trying to pull down my underwear, and when I resisted, he told me I had bugs in there, and he just wanted to catch them so they wouldnt bite me. Did you really believe him? Yes, I did. While he was catching bugs with his fingers, I lay quiet as a mouse. Only sometimes would I ask him to show me what hed caught, but Ethan would lie and say hed dropped a matchbox and all the bugs scattered. At first I was terribly ticklish, but then I began to feel such excruciating sweetness in my lower abdomen that I was ready to forgive this clumsy boy anything, especially since after the hunt he always covered me with kissed from head to toe and begged me not to tell anyone about our game. What a trickster! I grinned, remembering how I used to play doctor with my friends in kindergarten. Did nurse Irene treat the rascal brothers the same way? No, she blushed. The boys always resented me for that. Sometimes theyd take their pants off and ask me to give them a shot, but would pretend to be asleep and they would just lie down next to me, and the three of us would cuddle together foe long time. Oh! she suddenly exclaimed. Enough talking, you have to go. I didnt want to leave, but there wasnt much time before the club opened. I squeezed her hand: Promise me youll tell me everything later! Okay, she smiled and pushed me towards the exit. Dont wait for me, Vik, run. When I burst into the club Randy was already waiting for me behind the bar. Judging by the scowl on his face, the old fox had gotten wind of something and was nervous. Where the hell have you been? he grumbled. Do you want to lose your job? The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.Im getting fired anyway, what difference does it make when it happens C a week earlier or a month later? I counted the cases of drinks, calculated in my mind if there would be enough for the evening, and asked: Will you stand at the bar for me instead? Im going to the warehouse? Damn, dude, whats wrong with you? Randy got angry. You think you fucked that redhead and got tough? Oh, how could I! I retorted. Didnt you say she doesnt even look at guys like me? Well, if you want to know, she fucks everybody, shuffles men, like a card dealer. She rejected you, though I looked under the counter. Have you seen the keys to the warehouse? Fuck you! Randy threw the keys at me and pointed his index finger at me. Youll see, with the Golden Ticket this bitch will be mine! Youll see! And youll be left with nothing, just like your artist friend. He turned and walked quickly to the door. Thats not going to happen! I yelled after him. Did you forget the yellow scale? Without turning, he gave me the finger. Well, the hell with him, it was not me who started this fight. But Irene, what if Randys right and the untold riches of the Ticket really do turn her head? I dont care, though. I cant give her everything this baby is used to, so whats the point of trying to keep her? Since that night, Randy had been avoiding me, never speaking to me, and funeling all work orders through the club administrator. Irene was nowhere to be seen either. She probably figured she had me hooked and now I had to go after her myself. Shes got the wrong guy! A man shouldnt let himself get trapped. If she wants to see me, shell come, if she doesnt, thats her right. And yet I missed her. But when she finally came, I hinted that I wanted to be alone on my day off, citing a headache. She bit her lip, but didnt leave. She offered: Let me help you? Irene! I snapped, I have a really bad headache. I can see that, she came close and placed her palms on my temples. Dont be angry. Relax, itll ease the pain. After a few gentle strokes, I started to feel better. So youre a witch? I glared at her. Yeah, Im an evil Bastinda! she snapped her teeth as if to bite me, and then laughed: Come on, Vik, my grandma was a healer, I think its from her. The pain was gone, and with it the resentment and anger towards Irene. I put my arms around her and laid her down on the bed. It didnt matter where or with whom shed been all this time C she was here and that was all that mattered. I just wanted to lie there be with her C so gentle and desirable, watch her lowered lashes quiver in the light, stroke her hair, kiss the dimples on her cheeks. You promised to finish the story about your friends, I reminded her. Yes, indeed, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling as she continued her story. Ethan and Ashley and I had been inseparable friends until their cousin Sean and his mother came over for the holidays. He was fifteen and had something wrong with his leg, a slight limp. When Sean found out that we were playing Doctors, he got terribly excited and wanted to examine me. I was a little embarrassed to undress in front of him C he is almost an adult, he even had a mustache growing. But he said I shouldnt be ashamed of my body in front of the doctor. He gave his cousins money for ice cream and soda and pushed them out the door, and then he pulled my dress off and told me to get into bed. Then he took out his dick, which was huge, not like the boys. I was numb with horror You should have called for help... I couldnt take it anymore. The grown-ups must have been home. Do you really think I didnt do it? she burst out. I cried and begged him to let me go, but he put his hand over my mouth and told me he was going to operate on me. I almost wet myself C thats got to hurt. No, Sean reassured me, he was going to give me a potion, and I wouldnt feel a thing. And before he went into the kitchen to get the medicine, he threatened me: If you make any noise, itll be worse for you! Why didnt you run away? I took her hand. Her palm was ice-cold. I was afraid. He came back with a glass of some cloudy liquid and told me to drink it. I took a sip and bitterness almost made me vomit, but he made me drink it all, and everything went blurry before my eyes. I woke up because Sean was doing something to me, breathing heavily into my face and poking his lips into mine, his eyes glassy, and his lips drooling like a puppy. And then his mother burst into the nursery, dragged to the floor by the hair, slapped my cheeks, and screamed that I was a mean girl, who had deliberately seduced her son by taking advantage of his mutilation. I remember a terrible pain between my legs and then I fainted. What a bitch! I clenched my fists. She saw what her precious offspring did to you, didnt she? She did, so what? She had to protect him somehow, blame it on me. The neighbors forbade the boys to communicate with me and complained about me to my grandmother, who immediately called my parents and asked them to take the little whore home, because she felt guilty about me in front of the neighbors C such a shame in her old age. Oh, how angry my mommy was with me! Irene grinned, but tears filled her eyes. Come on, dont cry, I hugged her and pulled her closer to me, trying to calm her down. It did not help C a waterfall of tears fell on me, as if a dam had burst inside her. Wait, I said, Ill be right there. At the table, I took a deep breath, poured water into a glass and brought it to her. Thank you, she sniffed her nose. Im sorry, Vik. Never mind, I waved my hand. Maybe wed better get some air? Good idea! she agreed, wiping away her tears. Ill just wash up, okay? To be continued Chapter 22. To drink the cup to the end The sun had already dipped below the horizon. Blue and yellow lights flickered along the shore, outlining the silhouettes of the hotels across the bay. The sea in the distance also flashed with garlands as fishermen set out to catch squid. The waves hissed over the beach and dissolved into the white sand, turning it into a smooth road as hard as concrete. I decided not to ask Irene about anything for a while C it was obvious that memories of her childhood were hurting her and she couldnt handle it right now. When we reached the smooth rocks over which the stones called Grandma and Grandpa (their shapes resembled the genitals of a man and a woman) towered, she undressed, and stepping gently on the silky wool of seaweed, slid into the inky water. Come here! I heard from the darkness. Its deep. Come on, Vik! Go, dont be afraid. But the dark water always frightened me. Who knows whos hiding in the abyss? I heard that predators come to the shore at night. Once a friend of mine almost drowned in a pioneer camp. After lights out, the boys and I ran to the sea; my friend was splashing on the shoal when a fin appeared in the distance. Although Sasha knew that there were no dangerous sharks in the Black Sea, he was so scared that he choked on the water and lost consciousness. The poor guy could hardly be saved. And it was only a dolphin that swam by I strained my hearing to make out the movements of a person swimming among the splashing waves, but I couldnt make out anything. Hey, its dangerous out here! I shouted into the darkness. Irene, get out of the water now! No one answered the call. Irene! I called again. Dont be stupid, do you hear me? The answer was a deafening silence. With a curse, I quickly undressed, threw off my sneakers, and then I heard laughter from somewhere off to the side. Irene emerged from behind the rocks. In the shimmering light of the young moon, her skin was silvery, like a mermaids. Water trickled from her hair in thin streams. I caught my breath. Youre so beautiful, I whispered. Really? She looked embarrassed for some reason. My mother used to tell me that my appearance scared even the crows. Nonsense! You know thats not true. Oh, no! she snorted. How should I know? Do you want to know what she used to call me? Fat caterpillar! She turned away in shame, covering her nakedness with her hands: Do not look at me. For a second, I thought I was looking at a resentful moth who had been taught since childhood that her wings were a sign of some morbid mutation. Wasnt that the reason for her desperate desire to be liked by everyone, to prove to herself that she wasnt ugly? Why a caterpillar? I went over and hugged her. Her firm body was pleasantly cold. You dont have a drop of fat in you; look, youre shivering like a sheeps tail. Thats now, she snorted again. But before, when I sat down, I used to get these nasty fat folds here, here, and here. My mother never missed an opportunity to laugh at me for them, telling me that I should eat less. She bullied me all the time, and after that mess with Sean, she literally went crazy, calling me all kinds of bad names and threatening to put me an asylum. And when I turned fourteen, she suspected me of sleeping with my father, can you believe it? No, I cant, I admitted. Wheres your dress? Over there, she nodded vaguely. It was terrible! My mother was mad with jealousy. She spread rumors that I was out with older men, hanging out somewhere in the evenings. It was so hurtful! I had never kissed a boy before. After school, I would straight to go to the park and walk around for hours just to avoid coming home and seeing my drunk father and hearing my angry mother scream. Or I would stay late at the library. When I was a child, my father sometimes told me fairy tales before the bedtime, so I learned to read early. I especially liked Alices Adventures in Wonderland. Then there were Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Catcher in the Rye C books about love and friendship, which replaced friends for me. By the way, it was in the library that I first heard about Freud and his psychoanalysis. So I decided to study psychology at the University of Edinburgh, where higher education is free for Scots. You know, I noticed a long time that many people who have problems with their relatives want to become psychologists, apparently hoping that their studies will help them to solve these problems. Were you successful? I wondered. As you can see, not so much, she bent down to pick up her dress, pulled it over her head and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. Shall we go? Yeah. But be careful, its slippery. We walked around the rocks and back to the beach, where we sat on the sand under the stone parapet. I leaned my back against the hot wall; Irene snuggled up next to me. The stars shone brightly in the sky, the sea breathed humid warmth, and the white plumeria blossoms exuded a delicate tropical scent of lemon zest into night. I lived that scent, it seemed to come from Irenes skin, as fresh and clean after the swim as the morning dew. Its strange how this generally not bad girl could have fallen prey to the Dark Ones... You never told me why they took you, I turned my face to her. Did you do something wrong at the university? Did you break bad there? I wish she sighed. You know what they say C its better to do something and regret it than to regret something you didnt do. This is my story. What do you mean? Well, when I left home, it seemed to me that now I would start a new life, that I would finally become uninhibited and brave, that I would hang out in clubs, fall in love, go on dates C in a word, everything would be fine. I really wanted that. I could see that the boys on campus liked me, and they were always hitting on me, but as soon as I was tete--tete with one of them, my mothers image came back to me. You little slut! she yelled. Get him out of here right now! So I had no choice but to push the horny suitor out the door in fear. I wanted to look like a good girl, but it turned out the other way around C the guys decided that I was just playing hard to get, that it was such a cunning trick: first to get the guy excited and then to get him out. For some reason a lot of them liked it very much. Rumors started to spread that I was a hot girl, and the number of guys who wanted to make sure of it was growing. Quite often they told me: Come on, dont be so unassailable, everyone knows who you really are, theres no need to pretend to be a saint. In short, everything was the same as when I was a child at my grandmothers house C I was considered a whore. And soon I met Ilya, her eyes flashed for a second, then went blank again. Funny, he was from Russia too C so ambitious, so determined. He got into the business school at the university and immediately fell in love with me. He was handsome, rich, sent me flowers, gave me presents and showered me with compliments. On the third date, he told me he loved me, but nothing happened between us C just a few kisses. I did not know how to behave with him C what if someone had already told him something bad about me? But a month later he asked me to marry him. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.Wow, just like that? I almost choked. Didnt that surprise you? Of course, I was surprised. But I thought, love at first sight can happen, why not? Did you love him? I dont know, she smiled embarrassed. I dont think so. I just wanted to be needed by someone. And you said yes? Of course I did, she nodded. Although some of the things he said and did should have made me wary. Like hoe reluctant he was to talk about his family, mentioning only once that his father was a big official and his uncle was a real estate in Cyprus. Or the way Ilya insisted on a prenuptial agreement that would leave me with nothing in the event of a divorce. Hmm, thats really weird, I hummed. But you could have said no, right? I could have, she sighed. But I didnt want to seem selfish. We began to prepare for the wedding. But as it turned out, the Dark Ones had been after Ilya for a long time. They needed him alone and alive, so they decided to get rid of me. How did this happen? We were on our way back to campus from a weekend trip and got into a car accident, her voice trembled. It was terrible, Vik! My fiance survived, but my head was blown off Im sorry, I didnt know, my hand touched her shoulder. Dont worry, Im fine, she said without looking up, drawing a few lines in the sand with her index finger. What happened next? The White Room, the lines in the sand turned into a circle. What were you doing there? The same as you, she erased what shed drawn with the palm of her hand. I had a lot of fun. Not right away, of course. I cried the whole first night, couldnt come to my senses, couldnt believe in was over. And then The Shadow came and told me that instead of crying, I should do what I dreamed of doing. So I went to Disneyland. I always wanted to go there. Ashley and Ethans parents took them there when they were kids, and the boys loved it C the hunted castle, the pirate ship C but they werent allowed on the roller coasters yet, and I more interested in those than anything else. So I had a great time in the White Room. But then I decided to find out what Ilya was doing, if he was sad and missed me. Aha! Not only did he not miss me, but he was courting Maggie, my classmate Oh, I was so angry! I decided Id had enough of my limitation. So I became Cleopatra. What does that mean? I dont get in. Did you really turn yourself into an Egyptian queen? Not exactly, she replied with a smile, only in my imagination. In those fantasies I had a palace and a bunch of lovers crowded around my chambers. And like Cleopatra, you always executed them after a night of love? Do you think Im that bloodthirsty? she grinned. No, its simpler than that, I lost interested in them. And then? I was curious. The fairy tale ended quickly and I ended up on the Island, where there is only one way for girls to pay off their debts. At least thats what Randy told me Yeah, hes a Jedi master of bullshit, I hummed. And soon I found out that Ilya and Maggie had gotten married. Cant you forgive him? It wasnt about him, she shook her head. Id realized by then that all he cared about was getting a British passport so he could do some shady business with his father. As for me, I thought I was different, but I wasnt. You have no idea what Ive been through, how low Ive fallen. The very first night I slept with a disgusting old asshole. He came on vacation with his wife, but the first chance he got, he ran to find the girls. He bragged in the bar about what a great lover he was, but when it came down to it, he cum in two minutes and didnt have the strength for more. I thought I was going to die. I stood in the shower for an hour and couldnt even look at myself in the mirror. In reality, it was nothing like Id imagined. I decided that I would never go back to the brothel, I dont want that shit, and I dont want to be somebodys toy. Did they let you go? No, I was told: If you dont want to be a toy, play by your own rules, you have the psychology skills and grandmothers instincts. From now on I could choose who to be with and who to send away, and I went almost entirely into the virtual. Does that change anything? I asked carefully. Nothing, she replied silently, but I didnt think about it at the time. I was flattered that I always had the last word. I could spend hours on dating sites and chat rooms, relieving in the power. Men, women, it didnt matter; thats what the virtual world is good for. The fantasies I had mastered in the White Room were enough for me. I loved finding out the hidden thoughts and desires of my victims by tasting their sexuality. Dont be surprised, its like alcohol, stronger in some, weaker in others. Some are bubbling and sparkling like champagne, and some have long since gone sour and turned into vinegar C I tried not to mess with them, preferring dry red wine. Its like blood, just as tart and heady. I used to drink my lovers to the last drop. It was a high! Did you hack my brain, too? I pulled her pale face closer to me. Yes, she lowered her eyes. But you were different. You were like a sip of pure water; I thought there were no more men like that. You didnt just want me; you had feelings for me And yet you ripped me off. No, I didnt Vik! Listen, are you really dead? she looked at me doubtfully. What a question! Cant you see it? Thats the thing, no! Irene whispered hotly. I swear I didnt want to empty you. On the contrary, I wanted it with you, but you You were as if you were alive! I dont know how, but you and I energized each other. Usually in sex you either give or take, but this is the firs time Ive made love as an equal. So Im asking you, are you really dead? Wheres your energy coming from? Hmm, I wondered. Austin had suggested that we could generate it ourselves somehow. Whether through creativity or reflection on the past and present, I havent quite figured it out yet. Is Austin the hermit living in the abandoned hotel? Yes, he is. I think the monk opened his eyes to this theory, I pointed towards the temple. Over there. Sure! she rejoiced. Why didnt I think of this before? Have you seen him? You mean the monk? Only briefly. We didnt talk much. I think he has something to do with them, I said casually. But suddenly Irene confirmed my suspicion: Youre right. He really has a dark past, so dark that when he died they didnt change his residence and left him on Samchang, where he had lived before. Theres even his grave down in the cemetery. But the tourists hardly pay any attention to it C for Europeans, all Asians have the same face, although he is not Asian at all, he just looks like them. But you noticed him right away, didnt you? Maybe, I said. I couldnt wait to know the monks story. What happened to him after that? He turned against his colleagues, Irene replied. The Dark Ones thought that by taking him on as a partner, they would have a loyal ally and be able to get their energy mining going, but Gee ruined those plans. He would not forgive the betrayal, and their paths parted. Lord! I groaned. What kind of betrayal? Who the hell is Gee? Who the hell is he? Who? Irene was surprised The monk. Gee Kerrigan is his real name. She stopped talking, then got up and said she had to go. I was dying to know what happened next, but she obviously didnt want to talk about it anymore. Well, okay. Whats stopping me from meeting the monk myself? Ill wait for another day-off at the club and find out everything. To be continued Chapter 23. Hanss up to escape On the appointed day I left home early in the morning, but when I heard some commotion on the shore, I turned toward the beach. It turned out that some tourists, Germans by the way they spoke, had rented a kayak designed for two people. But these guys, each weighing at least a hundred pounds, managed to fit three of them in. I recognized Hans among the fat men. He had lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw him, and I thought he was tipsy again. His friends in their orange life jackets looked cheerful. With their oars resting on the seabed, they pushed off once or twice, overcame a steep wave and slide forward, but suddenly the boat capsized before it could gain speed. Instead of pushing the kayak to the shore, which was within easy reach, the Germans tried to climb into it in deep water and capsized again. They did this ten times. I thought they were screwing around, that it was a game, but there was a look of confusion on their faces: whats wrong? Whats our mistake? Meanwhile, the rip current began to carry them away. The kayak took on water and almost disappeared under waves. One of the sailors turned toward the shore, the second floundered a bit more and swam after him; but then Hans for some reason pulled off his life jacket and leaned on the guy from behind, trying to rip the jacket off him as well. For a second, both of them disappeared under the water, but quickly resurfaced like a cork. Without giving the poor guy a second thought, Hans attacked him again. The German rolled over on his back and tried to fight back with his legs, but Hans managed to grab him by the hair, pulled him down and started to drown him. Hey, what are you doing? I yelled. Stop your stupid jokes, its not funny anymore! I threw off my sandals and jumped into the water, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the first swimmer had been caught in the rip current again. His eyes were bulging, and he was flailing his arms and legs in the water with all his might. But the more he struggled, the further he got from shore and the more exhausted he became. Oh, damn you! I swore. Swim sideways, towards the cape! Turn left! But he only turned his head wildly and continued to fight the treacherous current. To hell with him! I thought. At least he has a life jacket, and unlike his friend who was attacked by a crazy outcast, he wouldnt drown. As soon as I get to shore, Ill call for help. So I turned and swam quickly toward the struggling couple. My maneuver sobered up the German was sobered by; he stopped churning the water, automatically followed me, and in a few seconds he was out of danger. Meanwhile, we were seen from the shore; someone jumped into the wave, and now the stranger and I both moved toward the drowning men. I got there first. When Hans saw me, he left the Potbelly alone, but suddenly disappeared under water himself. I followed him with my arm out in front of me, but I missed him in the cloud of bubbles, and when I surfaced, I saw Randy in front of me. Where is that son of a bitch? he gasped, panting. And without waiting for an answer, he took a deep breath and dove in.I swam up to the martyr, who was barely alive, dangling in the waves like a rag doll. I had to slap him on the cheeks before he opened his eyes and groaned. Randys head popped up next to me: Is he alive? he shouted. Swim with him to the shore. Make sure the dudes conscious or hes dead! He took a deep breath and dove in again. But the Potbelly was so weak that he couldnt swim on his own, and my strength was running out, too. Fortunately, the first German had time to call the rescue team, and a boat was already on its way to help us. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Hans was brought to the shore, but he stopped breathing C he lay like a toad, exposing his pale belly. When the rescuers turned him on his side, water gushed from his mouth and nose. While he was being revived and resuscitated, Randy cursed Hans up and down. Then he ran over to the rescued Potbelly and asked him something. The he just mumbled something back, still in shock. I heard one of the rescuers say about the outcast: Its no use! The guys not breathing. What do you mean not breathing?! Randy jumped up to Hans. So make him breathe! He kicked the fat man in the stomach with all his might. Something gurgled there. The drowned man grunted, and suddenly coughed violently, then pushed himself up and spat out the jellyfish onto the sand. Bastard! Randy kicked him again. You wanted to get out of here? Here you go! Take that! Kicks and punches rained down on the outcast. Id never seen Randy like that before C Hans must have really pissed him off. Leave him alone! I grabbed the bearded mans elbow. Cant you see hes already in trouble? Really? He broke free and hit the fat man again and again. It wouldnt be Hans who was in trouble, but this guy, Randy nodded at the Potbelly, the doctor was working on. If that pig had penetrated him. What do you mean C penetrated? I was stunned. Nothing, he said. Go where youre going. Well figure it out without you. No, I want to know whats going on! I insisted. Hans was harassing him, right? What? Randys mouth dropped open in surprise. You said C harassing? And then it dawned on him. He bent in half with laughter: Oh, no, dude, no! Its not what you think. You misunderstood me. How was I supposed to understand you? Randy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked at the Bavarian sitting quietly in the shade. Well, to cut a long story short, he turned to me. Hans wanted to take over this dudes body and get off the Island C so he came up with this whole drowning thing. How is that? I didnt understand. He almost killed him and almost drowned himself, didnt he? Its a good thing you caught him in time, the bearded man grinned. A year ago, an outcast ran away like that. He took over the body of a pregnant chick who was drowning. She was saved, but his headless skeleton washed ashore after a storm only a month later. We found him in a pile of seaweed. By the time we realized what had happened, the woman had already left the Island. Wait, youre not saying that he escaped in her body, are you? Yeah, thats exactly what happened, he grinned. He must have been born somewhere, the damn bastard! I hate these smart-assed outcasts always trying want to take advantage of someones hard work! Are you kidding me? That sounds incredible. Yeah, like your afterlife, huh? So any of us can be reborn? Hey, hey, I didnt say that! Randy was worried. Why the hell would you want to be a snotty asshole in diapers again? Whats the point? Besides, who knows what kind of woman will give birth to you and in what God-forsaken place it might happen. Will you end up somewhere in the Tumba-yumba tribe? Fuck that! Dont worry; Im not going to change my body just yet. Im pretty happy with the way I look. I tell you the same thing! They give you shit and then you have to live with it. Listen, why did Hans need a man? Or maybe that Potbelly is pregnant too? Oh, dude, no! Randy chuckled. Although No, science hasnt gotten that far yet. But then why? What would have happened to the guy if Hans had finished what he started? The dude wouldnt be himself anymore. Have you ever heard of split personality? Thats what this is. He and the faggot would have a suit for two. Sounds like a dubious pleasure to me. What are you going to do with Hans? Will you give him to them? Sure! Randy spat. Actually, your redheaded girlfriend was supposed to do it, but the girls too busy, he winkled, with matters of the heart... Shut up! I besieged him. Shut up yourself and get out of here, because the monk is probably waiting for you.Are you spying on me? Fuck off! He turned his back on me. Dont forget your sandals. Bye-bye, dude! To be continued Chapter 24. Who Needs It? I ran up the stairs to the terracotta temple, skipping the steps. The monk was there, but he was receiving guests. The courtyard was crowded with tourists C while some gazed at the Golden Stupa, where the relics of Buddha rested, others tied ribbons to the spirit tree or bought bricks to write their names on and donate to the temple. For a few coins, anyone could get a paper with prediction from a fortune-telling machine, and for a larger fee, the monk would personally sprinkle holy water on the visitors and tie rope bracelets on their hands. Tourists were not stingy and willingly exchanged cash for spiritual souvenirs. However, there was a but: since monks are not allowed to touch money, the banknotes were placed in the offering box or handed to the cult servant on a stick. The locals made offerings to the spirits C they placed bunches of bananas at the feet of the clay gods, burned incense and prayed fervently for health, good fortune in business and family life. From time to time some elderly Thai women would approach the spirit houses. They would kneel down and touch the ground with their foreheads and mutter something. Then they started to clean up. They swept away sand with a broom, put rotten fruit, wilted flower garlands, and candle ends into sacks, removed the Fanta from the shelves, that the spirits had left unfinished, and made room for new gifts. Judging by they diligence, the women cleaned the sanctuary willingly and happily. In the shade of a huge banyan tree in the center of the courtyard, the Buddha was sitting in the lotus posture. I walked around him and approached the tall stupa again C in its niches stood Buddha figures glistening in the sunlight. You could buy a petal of gold leaf and stick it on the part of the sculpture where you were in pain. Judging by the thickness of the patches, tourists and local parishioners were most often afflicted with heart and eye ailments. Noses, lips, cheekbones and below the waist were less densely but thoroughly covered. I also bought a piece of gold and stuck it on the sages shining chest, right on his heart. The monk came up to me and spread his hands as if to say: I would like to receive you, but you see I am busy with tourists. I decided to wait until he was free, and went downstairs. In the cemetery I found a familiar turret with the picture I had noticed last time and sat down beside it. I wondered if the monk himself had ever been here. What would it be like to know that the body of the person you were has turned to ashes? And how would I feel if I were him? Unfortunately, I dont know where my grave is, maybe I was cremated too. I also thought that if people knew the date of their end, they would probably live differently. Isnt that why this information is kept from us? Its easy to act without looking back, when the Grim Reaper is right behind you. But if there is no one around to drive you with a stopwatch, what is the point of changing yourself or changing anything C when the illusion of eternity lies ahead No, I dont want to spur my horses all the time, but I also dont want to rely on immortality. Otherwise that someday youve been dreaming about all your life might never come. Look at me: I even managed to die while I was planning to become a writer. But after I died, did I write much on the Island? Not a single line! I leaned over to the monks tombstone and pointed my index finger at the glass: Because no one fucking needs it! The crows flew from the branches overhanging the cemetery and cawed, awakened by my scream. No more excuses! I heard the voice. You need it first and foremost! I shuddered and nearly split my eyebrow on the ledge of the mirror turret. The voice came from downstairs in secluded gazebo where Austin had been sitting all along. Sorry, I didnt mean to scare you, but you look so much like Hamlet, I couldnt help myself. He came over and sat down across from me. Are you seriously hoping for the monks blessing? Or are you waiting for him to write you a check so you can finally get to work? Im not waiting for anything, I muttered. You are, he patted my shoulder. And for nothing. Any fool would write a book with that kind of support, but no one needs it. Why are you telling me this? I frowned. How about writing selflessly, not for money or fame, but to know yourself better, to understand who you are, what you really want, where youre going and why C arent you interested in that? What if I have no idea about any of this? Youll find out. Yeah, but what if I find out that I dont want anything and Im not going anywhere, because my motto is: All this is a waste of time? Well, thats also possible. But you cant know that in advance, you said it yourself. I told you many times C the main thing is to start. Yes, its not easy; Ive been through it myself, but its better than deluding yourself that youre already good and only circumstances prevent you from reaching your full potential. Open yourself to the new, be honest with yourself, when you change, the world around you changes. Thats why you came here, right? You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.Oh, you hit the nail on the head as, usual! I snapped at him. Im so tired of this kind of talk! There is nothing worse than hearing from others what you already know, even if these gurus are right a thousand times and wish you the best. So, what did you want to hear from him? The artist nodded at the portrait. That your yet-to-be-written book is nonsense, so dont sweat it and keep burning peoples brains in the club? Or oh yeah, buddy, youre a real genius! Your expeditor will read it and burst into tears, when he realizes what a scumbag he is... I just wanted to know who the monk was, I tried to avoid the unpleasant subject. What difference does it make? He has his way and you have yours. You cant help him, and he cant help you. But he helped you. The monk told me exactly what Im telling you: take care of yourself, dont look at others, otherwise youll be stuck in the same place for the rest of your life, suffering from complexes and doubts. Is that all? Is it really that simple? Simple? Austin laughed. Then why do most people do the opposite? He got up and walked toward the stone fence that separated the cemetery from the beach, where the children I had watched from the arbor had once swum and squealed with joy, were splashing with a cheerful squeal. Where are you going? I called to him. Can I come with you? Youd better not, he replied. Its going to rain. I looked at the sky C there was not a cloud. You cant go there! Austin repeated. Debtors cant leave their zone. He swung over the fence and disappeared into the bushes. I stubbornly followed him, hoping to find out what he meant by zone. As I climbed up, I jumped down onto the rocks and at the same second, out of nowhere, a torrent of water fell on me. It was as if a sea wave hit me in the face, knocked me off my feet, spun me around and threw me on the beach, but not the one where the children were frolicking. Spitting up sand, I lay at the edge of the sea where Randy had first found me, and where I had regained consciousness while trying to escape from Samchang. Lord! I pleaded. Again! Im so sick of it! To hell with this kind of eternity! Im a miserable insignificant worm. Make it end soon! I was shaking all over, I curled up to keep warm, but it didnt help. Then I jumped up and, without giving myself time to recover, rushed to the massage parlor where Irene had first tried me out and where she claimed the girls had taken a liking to me. I grabbing the first Thai woman I saw and dragged her up the stairs, tearing off her robe as I went. Im alive! I repeated over and over, as if in a delirium. I want you! The Asian woman fought back, screaming and shouting. A tough guy came running, put my hand behind my back and started pushing me out into the street, threatening to call the police if I didnt calm down. I wanted to punch him in the jaw, bit I got a knee under my breath and fell into the grass, bent in half. It was as if all the air had gone out of me, just as it had in the White Room, when The Shadow came after me. Vik, what happened? I heard Irenes worried voice. Can you get up? She dropped to her knees and tried to look me in the face, but I jerked my shoulder as if to ask her to leave me alone. Naive! Its not so easy to get rid of a woman, especially one like her. Irene was gone through, but only for a few minutes, and when she came back she started laughing so infectiously that I rolled over on my back and glared at her angrily. Ha-ha! she laughed, pointing at the sign. Honey, you were in such a hurry, you got the wrong door. Its a spa, aha-ha-ha! What do you mean? I remembered the Thai girls indignant face and felt both ashamed and amused. Poor girl! What she thought of me! Did I really mix up the signs? Idiot! I should probably go apologize, but I dont the massage parlor will be happy to see me again, and before I can get a word in edgewise, this Fury will scratch my eyes out. And a second Muay Thai lesson would be unnecessary. I got up and waddled over to a bench in the shade of a bamboo tree. After laughing, Irene turned serious: I can guess why you did it, she said. Why? Honestly, I didnt know it myself. You know, there are people who always get sick before an important job interview, twist a leg at the finish line, are late for a date, get on the wrong bus Here we go again, I groaned. Do you think its an accident? No, they just dont know what to do with their success. Loser, number two forever, sucker C they have many names. My father, as you remember, was a heavy drinker. Whenever he got sober, he promised hed quit drinking, start a new life, but it was just words. One day when he was in delirium tremens, my mother dragged him to the doctor and the doctor said that my fathers health was in a very bad state, his liver was about to die. So my father quit. He didnt drink for a month. But then he got bored and realized that without alcohol he would have to change everything. So he chose cirrhosis. Irene fell silent, waiting for me to answer. Are you and Austin in cahoots or something? I grumbled. Would you stop preaching? Dont you have enough problems of your own? Im not your father, so dont try to save me. Yes, I was stupid, but I can handle it. Are you sure? She looked at me in disbelief. Youre so devastated by this outburst. You should get to some rest. Do you want to come visit me? No, really, Vik, Ive been to your place, but you havent. Ill tell you about the monk. Youre still interested in him, arent you? This she-devil knew how to hook me! To be continued Chapter 25. The Monk Irene lived nearby, in a mountainous area C a cozy house on a high hill overlooking the bay, a swimming pool, and a well-kept green garden. Maneki Neko, a money cat revered by Thais, stood on a console table at the entrance, greeting guests with a friendly paw wave. The air conditioner hummed quietly, filling the room with coolness. There wasnt much furniture C two armchairs and a sofa made of thick bamboo, a closet with sliding mirrored doors, and a double bed. The walls were decorated with copies of Hokusais engravings of Red Fuji and The dream of the Fishermans Wife. An interesting choice, though perhaps unsurprising for such a hostess. There was a laptop open on the low table, the bed unmade. I tried not to think about who Goldilocks had spent the night with, but I was still desperately jealous as I watched her serenely flutter about the room. Why are you so interested in my love life? she turned around, laughing. Irene, stop rooting around in my head! I lost my temper. I already have the feeling that you are always spying on me, I dont know what you have in mind, why you need me... She didnt let me finish, wrapped her arms around my neck and covered my mouth with a kiss. There are never any guests here, she whispered. Youre the first C the one and only. Yeah? I realized I was blushing. Okay, Ill pretend to believe you. What do you mean C pretend? She pinched me. Dont you believe me? What if youre making it up, I bit her lip lightly, about the only one. Aw! she yelped. What are you doing? I said I never bring anyone here. But you brought me here for some reason. So what? I just want that asshole Randy to know that Im with you. Was there something between you and him? I raised an eyebrow threateningly. Nothing. Hes just been stalking me lately. Oh, really? What does he want from you? The same as everyone else, she said with a twitch of her shoulder. He sticks to me like glue, follows me around, promises some golden mountains. And you? Oh, you think I dont know Randy? He clings to every penny. Hes a miser! But if he were generous, would you go with him? Randy? Generous? Ha! Dont shirk, answer me. Okay, let me think about it, she wrinkled her nose funny, as if trying to figure out if the game was worth the candle. No, not with him. Hes kind of shady, I dont like men like him. What kind of men do you like? Why do you want to know that? I want to know everything about you, I insisted. You know, Vik, she looked up at me, you unbearable. You definitely need a recharge. This time I didnt mind, I picked her up and put her on the bed. But later, when we were lying on the sunny terrace, hugging each other, pushing the deck chairs together to make a kind of bed, I asked her what kind of recharging she meant C wasnt it the one we had just done? If so, I am really better, I am fresh, full of energy, even ready to move mountains, like the other day, in the salon, after massage. Im happy for you, she said. You will succeed. How do you know? Some women inspire men, make them stronger. Like a muses? I got up on my elbow. And you must be one of them. Dont be ironic, please, she asked. Remember I told you that when I got to the Island I thought I was better than other girls C more decent and honest, but it was more complicated than that. Yes, I could chose my partners, but, as you noticed, it didnt make much difference, except for one thing: when I felt good with a person, you know what I mean, his or her energy would flow into me, bypassing the mediator, which didnt take it into account. Until one day I realize that I could read other peoples minds. You dont think I was always able to do that, do you? Although, when I was a kid, I vaguely felt something like that because my grandma is a healer. Hmm... So you can see through people? Not exactly, she said. I can just see the world through their eyes at certain moments. Is recharging men your superpower, too? I think so, she sat up and hugged her knees. Although it took me a while to discover this ability in myself, but Gee didnt become a monk right away either... What was he before? He served in US military intelligence. Wow! I whistled. What a twist. How did he end up on Samchang? Thanks to his military service. After World War II he came to Bangkok, where he met a local police general, rumored to be a drug lord, and fell in love with him. Are you kidding me? I stared at her. Honey, this is Asia, and things like this have always been easier here she continued, as if was nothing unusual. Gee had a boyfriend back in the States, but here it was true love, and it was mutual. The general was powerful and rich, he even had his own newspaper, and to keep the handsome Gee around, he offered him a job as a journalist and soon the position of editor. So he and I are colleagues, huh? Yeah, Irene said with a smile. The affairs of the former intelligence officer were brilliant C he became a talented reporter. One day he heard about a fabulous Island in a distant province and decided to visit it. The voyage took a week. At the pier Gee was met by crowd of islanders who had never seen white people before. Among them was a Thai named Kuhn, a dead man who had been one of the first exiled to the Island. Few in the Big World knew of Samchang then, but the Dark Ones had already set their eyes on it. Kuhn had been a businessman in the past, so he was able to trade here as well. He started a coconut farm, then a hevea plantation, where workers extracted rubber sap. Work was scarce on the Island at that time, and local labor cost nothing. Thats how Kuhn made a living and paid off his debts to the Dark Ones. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. She interrupted herself to get some fruit from the kitchen. Sometimes, like me, she wanted to indulge in something sweet, to eat a ripe mango, or a juicy pineapple C to savor the forgotten taste of food we didnt need but missed. Here I realized why my grandmother used to leave candy on graves C souls long remember earthly habits and have the illusion that eating food somehow brings them back to life. Would you like a piece? Irene held out a plate with half an amber mango. Yes, with pleasure, I sunk my lips into the fragrant flesh. Mm, Ive love mango juice since I was a child! I dont know where it came from in USSR, but the shelves of stores in our town were filled with exotic nectar in green bottles. Maybe it was because Chernobyl happened in those years, and mango pulp, as I later learned, is a perfect radiation absorber. Or was the juice brought to us because the local factory processed uranium ore? Or maybe it was simpler, and some banana-mango republic was paying with fruit for the Kalashnikovs they needed to build socialism in their country Anyway, the sweet fruits on the Island turned out to be almost my main consolation. They always remained me of the taste of wild strawberries that grew in the meadows across the river in my homeland C in hot summers, the ripe red berries smelled like the best tropical fruits. I used to think mango were too sweet, Irene said. But here Ive learned to love it. What was I talking about? In those years there was not much to do on Samchang, it was in the middle of nowhere C no roads, no electricity, no telephone service. But Gee liked that wildness. He rode his bicycle around the Island, swam and sunbathed naked, and had love affairs with Kuhn in the company of handsome young men. What? I squinted at her. What about the Big Shot? The Big Shot, Irene stifled a laugh, was far away. Besides, the general was officially married to the daughter of a Thai military chief. As for Gee, he was young, hot, human nature came into its own, plus the romantic setting. Oh, yes, I couldnt resist. The call of nature. He couldnt resist the temptation Dont interrupt me, she said. Ill try, I replied, taking another bite of the cool mango. Kuhn had once complained to his lover that such opportunities were being missed C the Island was full of young people who didnt know what to do with themselves, while somewhere rich farangs were languishing in boredom. Wouldnt it be great if they were here? Too bad no one had ever heard of this paradise and the money was flowing away, even though it could have been in his, Kuhns, and not gust his pockets. Gee took the hint and in the States, using his connections and talent, he published a dozen articles describing the exotic Island, and tourists flocked there. Gee thought he was just helping a friend, Irene dabbed at her lips with a napkin. Not selflessly, of course But he didnt know the most important thing C that Kuhn was dead and this idea with tourists was just an excuse to create an energy funnel. Kuhn was counting his profits and rubbing his hands, while Gee was growing more and more depressed every day, seeing what the once quiet fishing village was turning into. He realized that it was also his own fault. Many times he wanted to leave, especially since the general began to suspect something and demanded that the prodigal Gee return to Bangkok. But Kuhn would not want let him go, swearing his love and threatening that if he left, both Gee and the general would be dead. This is crazy! Its like a love triangle, I laughed. Yeah, she agreed. Asians in general are very jealous C they will stop at nothing when it comes to their feelings. But Kuhn thought the reason for the breakup was that his lover wanted more money, and if he made Gee an equal partner, their alliance would be saved. But Gee left anyway. And soon the general was in big trouble. Rumor had it that the opium tycoon had crossed the path of the Special Services and fled abroad, but his enemies got to him there as well. Was he killed? The official version is that he committed suicide. What about Gee? When he was left without a patron, he wanted to go home, but then Kuhn reminded him of himself. He called him on Samchang, said he missed him, that he was opening a rubber factory, where he needed a smart assistant, and that he trusted only Gee Did Gee really believe that? Well, he thought it was a legitimate business. But in reality, it turned out to be nothing like that. Kuhn wanted to process more than just the milky sap of the hevea tree When Gee found out who his partner really was, what he was doing, and who was behind him, he flatly refused to join him. And he paid with his life. It was unlikely that Kuhn really wanted to kill him, but he could not let him escape again... No one ever found out how Gee died. However, Kuhn was able to beg the Dark Ones to leave his stroppy lover on the Island, believing that he was now in his hands and that the guy would have no other choice. But he failed; Gee, not listening to The Shadow, immediately locked himself in the White Room, where he spent many years in thought. And who let him out? What do you mean? Irene looked at me in surprise. He came out on his own. I dont understand. Is it really possible to leave the White room of ones own free will? Why not? Anyone who hasnt taken energy from them is free to leave at any time C anywhere, no one keeps you on a leash. Gee returned to the Island, but not because they or Kuhn wanted him to. He became a Wanderlord. Bandarlog? No, she laughed. Bandarlogs climb trees, while Wanderlords are eternal wanderers. Gee choose to be a monk to guide lost souls. The lost souls, I suppose, are us? Including us. And how can he help them? Any one of us can ask him a question and get an answer. How does he know everything about us? I insisted. From the Dark Ones? Yes. Kuhn gets a dossier on all newcomer from them, but Gee has the right to read it, too, she explained patiently. That is why the Council is meeting on the Island. Wait, is Kun still on Samchang? Where would he go from here? Irene giggled. Hes the representative of the Dark Side, just like Gee is representative of the Light Side now. Here, as everywhere else, everything is in balance. Then why have I never seen him? Because he has Randy to communicate with you. To be continued Chapter 26. Yin and Yang The wind had died down and it had became stuffy. The air had thickened like jelly after a day of humidity. I walked over to the railing and leaned against it, looking down, to where the treetops stretched like clouds of green smoke in a multi-tiered terrace. Birds, roosting for the night, chirped in the foliage. The setting sun hung in a pink haze over the sea. Below, a ship crawled lazily along a snails pace. I imagined what Samchang would be like if Gee had never come here. Perhaps it would have remained forgotten in the middle of the ocean, without roads or hotels, an amazing jungle island where fishing boats go out to sea at dawn, coconuts ripen on palm trees, the sun shines by day and the moon rises at night, year after year, century after century. If it wasnt Gee, someone else would have done it, Irene interjected. Sooner or later tourists would have found out about Samchang. It was inevitable, just like the Human Energy Factory. With or without a partner Kuhn had opened it. Where is it? I turned to her. How far is it from here? Not very far. At the southern tip of the Island. And how long ago? Right after the he broke up with Gee. The factory has only expanded since then. As far as I know, all the cream is usually shipped there along with the latex. Remember those guys in black? They work for Kuhn, drive around the Island, download the loot into a battery case and bring it to the factory. Wait, I interrupted, how did they do it in the sixties? They didnt have computers back then, and Im guessing they didnt have mediators either. There were computers, but only in the military. Kuhn had hoped that Gee with his intelligence connections would solve this problem, but it didnt work out. So they used katoeys and girls like me as live storage devices that stored other peoples energy the old-fashioned way. The batteries, as they called them, worked in brothels, pumped themselves full, and then they were taken to the factory and burned. Are you serious? I went cold with horror. Like garbage? Look, Vik, I dont even want to think about how it used to happen, she shuddered. All I know is that ritual killing were common in those years. The Dark Ones disguised the release of accumulated energy as sacrifice, and Im glad I didnt come to this Island before progress got here. Whats going on in the factory now? Have you been there? Yeas, I have, she sighed. Theres a lab where Chinese scientists work. They are distilling the cream into something, but no one has told me the details... Wait, what did you do there? I didnt understand. Irene looked at me pitifully, as if begging me to stop torturing her with questions, but something in my face made her realize that it would be better to come clean. The Dark Ones feared that the Chinese might misappropriate some of the energy during the transformation and become uncontrollable. So they always kept them entertained Was that you? I looked intently into her eyes. She nodded silently. As it turned out, Irene, posing as a lab assistant, got into the minds of scientists and fished out their hidden erotic fantasies. At the end of the work week, a pleasant bonus awaited them. The men were invited to a relaxation room and put into a trance, where they were shown pornographic films according to individual scenarios, so that there was no energy left for irrelevant research. Scientists fantasies were usually not original. Irene thought Asians dreamed of orgies with Pokemon, aliens with dragonfly eyes in latex bodysuits. But it turned out that they were more attracted to shy schoolgirls, although some of them liked to crawl at the feet of arrogant busty blondes in leather with whips in their hands. One day she saw herself in the group leaders fantasies C in a white robe on a table, her hands tied and her knees spread. It amused and even aroused her. She wanted to know him better... The Chinese man was handsome, smart, and rumored to be on the verge of some important discovery. But at the average energy level he could not manage a breakthrough, and Irene decided to help him. Secretly from everyone, she began to disconnect him from the general sessions, and then even arranged a private session, dreaming to him in a cherished robe. The virtual therapy was a success, the erotomaniac from the Celestial Empire became stronger and soon realized that he had to go to the mainland to continue his experiments. I asked Irene why the Dark Ones wouldnt let him go in that case. Because, she replied, they didnt want the factory to be known outside the Island, so they offered to bring everything he needed for his work here. But the scientist insisted on doing his own thing, and since he couldnt break the contract, the only option was to flee. It was a risk, but he managed to convince his favorite lab assistant that he was acting in the interest of humanity. She had connections among the rubber pickers, and they helped organize a soon-to-be genius to escape. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. By the time the Dark Ones found out, the scientist was already out of their reach. Irene had managed to cover her tracks, her guilt unproven. She had been assigned a matter of special importance, so she was not easily disposed of. It was then that she met the monk for the first time. The thing is, having lost hope of reconciling with Gee, Kuhn, with Irenes help, planned to get into inner sanctum C his mind C to destroy the memories of the conflict between them, and to find out if his ex-lover still had affectionate feelings for him. Most importantly, he wanted to prevent the monk from converting the dead, as had happened to Austin C the Dark Ones could not allow such liberties on their Island. Irene eagerly set to work, believing she could break the stubborn old man in an instant. But no matter how hard the red-haired hacker tried, no matter what tricks she used, nothing worked. Gee controlled himself perfectly even in his sleep, not letting anyone into his subconscious. There was one last resort: live intimacy. Kuhn knew that womens charms were unlikely to work, but he didnt want to involve outsiders, and there was no guarantee that it would help, since Gee wasnt what he used to be. So during the Council, the monk was given a lethal dose of stimulants in his tea, to which his body was powerless, and Irene was summoned. Alone with him, she was supposed to incapacitate the ideological opponent by rummaging through his memory and deleting dangerous files about the past. But instead, Gee began to whisper to his seductress that there was a power hidden in her that could inspire people, make them stronger, more confident, and richer... She thought the monk was referring to himself, but he shook his head, signaling that he could take care of himself. They talked for half an hour before Irene was called up and told that her services were no longer needed. Did you get away with it again? I asked doubtfully. Women get away with a lot, she grinned, especially pretty ones. Didnt you know that? Theres always someone willing to take care of them. Are you saying that in addition to virtual donors you also have men, um, I coughed delicately, sponsors? Where do you think all that comes from? She nodded towards the house. Many people are willing to pay for a womans beauty, and especially for the fulfillment of intimate fantasies. Irene, they pay you to sleep with them! I couldnt stand it anymore. Yes, for that too, she looked at me defiantly, but not only that. I dont stay in debt either. Oh, yes, you save them; you sacrifice yourself like Mother Teresa. Why do you say that? She lowered her eyes. Am I wrong? But thats what the monk urged me to do, right? I think you took the old mans words too literally. Hes not that old! she interrupted me sharply. He has a young, muscular body and the strength of an aged Scotch whiskey. I didnt fail the assignment because he disgusted me, but you probably dont understand. Irene, listen to me, I grabbed her shoulders with both hands. Maybe you really are able to help others, to share your power, whether its borrowed or your own, who knows? Maybe you can even bring happiness to people. Okay! But what do you get from them in return? Love? Faith in yourself? I doubt it. So is money and comfort all you need, all youve ever dreamed of, and at this price? Her lips turned white, and a shadow crossed her face. I thought she was going to hit me, but Irene suddenly broke into a nervous half-sob, half-laugh: Its amazing how much everyone here loves to lecture each other. The worse things are for someone, the more they insist on prying into other peoples lives. But I care about you, and you called me here, where others, as you said, have no access! She shot me a look full of bitterness: What do you want, Vik? Do you want me to leave everything and stay with you? But you despise me; you think Im a slutty and frivolous. What nonsense! Youre my friend. Dont lie to me! she winced. Ever since the night you caught me with Bob, youve been wondering why I went with him, why I needed that prick. Ill tell you: women respect power! Bob didnt ask if I wanted to be with him or not, he didnt try to buy me or impress me. This asshole is so confident that he just took me and led me with him. She said it with such pathos that I couldnt help but jump up from sunbed and scream: Where? Where did he take you?! Irene, do you know what youre saying?! Every woman wants a strong man to guide her through life and make decision for her, she repeated stubbornly. Really? I started put on my T-shirt. Dont you have a mind of your own? If you thought that I was a leader who would save you, that youd be like a stone wall with me, you were wrong. I thought you wanted to be a human being, not an appendage of a man, but youre thinking like a common bitch. Sorry, I have to go. I hurried to the gate, white in the darkness. Irene ran after me, blocking my way. I dreamed of writing screenplays, her voice trembled, and making movies, you hear? I took a directing class at the university and even made a short movie. Vik! Please dont go, dont leave me here alone. I love you, Vik! Stay with me I pushed her away, without looking and walked away. She sobbed, covered her face with her hands and sank helplessly into the grass. I ran out of the garden, closing the gate C just in time, as tears were already clouding my eyes. I dont know what frightened me more C the responsibility for her or how easily she relied on man, believing that nothing depended on her, that there must be someone who would make her happy and she would thank him. But wasnt I expecting some guidance and a magic kick from the monk today? So why am I so angry? To be continued Chapter 27. Game On The shoreline was alive with the usual nightlife, with street musicians beating rhythms on drums and blowing trumpets in the glow of advertising lights. I walked on, not knowing where I was going. What kind of friend am I? Why did I shout at her for and push her? But her? If she wants protection, she should stay with Bob. She said she maid a movie. I wonder what its about. I guess Ill never found out. Hey, are you blind? I heard a sharp shout. You stepped on my foot! A tall, red-faced man in a T-shirt that said Im Russian bumped my shoulder. Sorry, I mumbled absent-mindedly. Relax! my compatriot grinned and said to the Thai woman hugging him. Hes drunk. She giggled submissively and they went on their way. I looked around. In the street cafes, cooks were cooking fried rice over open fires, generously sprinkled with spices and garlic, and poured with soy sauce. Vegetables stewed, knives clattered, and slices of meat sizzled on hot pans. Tom Yam was gurgling, spreading the sweet and sour smell of lemongrass. Banana pancakes were browned until crispy. Crushed ice melted under fresh fish, sugar cane and tangerine juices frothed in tall glasses. At the entrance to the Green Parrot Restaurant, I noticed a familiar figure in a panama hat. Randy! He wasnt alone, but he was with a drunken long-haired man, who could barely move his tongue, demanding a lottery ticket. Randy was nervous. Apparently, he had his sights set on another victim in the restaurant, and the hairy man was in his way. I didnt want to see him or talk to him after the morning confrontation and the conversation with Irene, but after thinking about it, I decided to intervene. Mr. Brown! I waved my hand. Where are you? All the guests are already here, we are just waiting for you. Randy gave me a puzzled look, but quickly realized my ruse. He pushed the clinging man away and came rushing up to me: Ah, Vincent! he said, smiling broadly. Im so glad to see you! And then, muttering through his teeth: Lets get out of here, he dragged me away. We trotted a block before we could catch our breath. Grand merci, dude, Randy said, puffing up and popping down on the bench. I dont know what I would have done without you. I was all set at the restaurant, the rich Yankee had agreed to pull the ticket as soon as hed finished his dinner, which I had paid for by the way, but then that orangutan came out and spoiled my game, damn him! Why are you looking at me like that? Randy, I said as firmly as I could. Stay away from Irene! Oh, thats what you mean, he grinned. What happens if I dont listen to you? I dont know, maybe youll fall and break your leg or your nose. Dude, are you threatening me? Just stay away from her, thats all. Oh, Im so scared, Randy hummed. Have you ever heard the saying: a dog doesnt worry an unwilling bitch? Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.Ive heard it. Shes not a bitch, and she doesnt like you. Well, well see, he stood up. All right, the Yankee has probably finished his dinner by now, so I have to go, before he leaves. What makes you think that the Golden Ticket should only go to a rich person? I asked him a question that had been bothering me for a long time. Who do you think should draw it? Maybe theyll get lucky? he chuckled. I followed the careless wave of his hand. A couple came out of the supermarket. He was in his mid-thirties, tall, athletic, with a short dark hair. In some ways he looked like me C shorts, linen sleeveless shirt, holding a Seven-Eleven bag of yoghurts and water. His date was even younger. Pretty, in a denim sundress, she walked lightly, eating waffle ice cream. Oddly enough, she also looked like Irene. So you think the Golden Ticket will be drawn by one of them? Randy repeated. Why not? I replied. What do we know about them? Randy looked at the couple again and hesitantly took a step toward the man. I beg your pardon, arent you from the Imperial Hotel? He asked his usual question. Why do you ask? The man smiled. Want to come in? Actually, no, Randy laughed ingratiatingly. Would you like to play the lottery? Lets go, the girl touched her companions sleeve, I dont like this guy. Theres no deception! Randy hastened to reassure them. You can win a trip to a wonderful palace, where you can rest and regain your strength. Everything is in your hands. Guys, you dont want to miss this chance, do you? Meanwhile, the couple turned to bamboo huts that were neither luxurious nor particularly beautiful, just cheap bungalows for backpackers. So youre from here? said the bearded man disappointedly. Why didnt you tell me right away? If I understand you correctly, you are not coming to visit us, the man said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You know what, give me your bag, I think Im ready to try my luck. Im sorry, but I have to go, Randy backed away from him. No, youve been trying to get me to play for so long, I just have to, he insisted. The bearded man sighed heavily and held out a black bag: Okay, dude, take it out. But dont blame me later. No! Dont do that! I rushed towards the stranger, intending to stop him, but he had already taken the ticket out of the bag with the dexterity of a magician and was unfolding it. Randy watched him, his eyes bulging. The Golden ticket, the man read with a smile. I suppose this is your super prize? Thats impossible! Randy muttered. They studied each other for a few seconds, as if pondering something, when suddenly the bearded man let out a wild yell and snatched the coveted rectangle out of the lucky mans hands. I wont give it to you! he shouted. This is some kind of mistake! And then incredible happened. Randy was gone. He didnt run or hide or even fall through the ground. He slowly disappeared into the air, like mist in the suns rays. On the spot where he had just stood, there was only a small piece of gold paper. The couple stared at it in horror without moving. I bent down and took the ticket: Take it, its yours. No, keep it! They blurted out in unison and hurried away. I put the ticket in my pocket, walked back to the supermarket, then circled the block C Randy was nowhere to be seen. So I went home to bed, feeling like Id had enough adventure for one night. To be continued Chapter 28. Super Prize I still had the ticket in the morning, so I hoped in vain that Id just dreamed it. I had to find Randy or hed think Id pocketed his winnings. We made a deal, Im not a thief. Magic Hell was closed. Randy wasnt absent at the motorbike rental either, and no one had seen him. He was probably busy with other things, I thought. But even in the late afternoon the bearded man didnt show up. Instead, I was met at the club by an administrator named Bulldog Cwe called him that because of his always wild face and slightly forward lower jaw. He demanded my mediator and tapped meaningfully on the red scale. It was almost at zero, which meant I would soon have to leave this place forever. To be honest, the thought of that worried me C just as it had on the eve of my death, when Id thought about leaving the newsroom. But what did I have to lose? My work was becoming more and more like a merry-go-round Cnight after night, the same wild music and frenzied faces that for me had long since merged into one C mad and insatiable. At first I envied the regulars of the club, their carefree attitude, then I sympathized, but a little later I began to condemn their way of life. There was a moment when I felt sorry for them. But the more I watched and listened to them, the more I was tended to think that Randy was right C it was their choice. Whether it was conscious or not was another question, but they usually came to the club of their own free will. Take Dimon from the St. Petersburg, for example. He looked like a convict C skinny, tattooed. He could not string two words together in Russian without cursing, but he spoke perfect English and had traveled the world. He imported meat, signed contracts on the Internet, supervised deliveries during the day, and hung out in our club at night. The girls liked him, but since Dimon was always high, I think he saw no difference between them, preferring professional whores, which he said were easier and cheaper. After a week of drinking, he began to feel bad and often complained to me: Man, what a rotten place! No life! I have to get out of here! And he really did disappear somewhere all the time, but he always came back. I cant help it! he would to moan in the bar. Im drawn here like a magnet. Hed go back to drinking gallons of alcohol and shaking on the dance floor. Often, at the end of the night, he would run down to the beach with the most desperate partygoers, where he would set off firecrackers in the sky and yell: I love the smell of napalm in the morning! Each time, Dimon looked worse and worse. The old French kept to themselves, stomping awkwardly around the bar and chatting non-stop. They seemed to be cackling geese, trying to speak human language, but in strange way, stretching the words, saying them backwards, or changing the places of letters. An old woman in an indecently short outfit stood out among them. Very active, with a pink ponytail at the back of her head, she hung out with the young Germans, and all night long her guttural laugh could be heard here and there: Ja-ja! This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.The Frenchwoman shamelessly exposed her flabby thighs, kissed boys with hickies, and once I even saw her unbutton the pants of her dance partner and give him a blowjob right in front of everyone. Ive seen all kinds of things in the club, but its one thing to see young people making out in the corners, and another to see a lecherous old hussy who you wouldnt think was capable of such a thing. I mean, looks can be deceiving, and people arent always who they say they are. What if that couple I met yesterday really are millionaires? I mentally replayed last nights incident in my head. Not all rich people like to flaunt their wealth; there are those who dress modestly, eat plain food, use public transportation, and rent rooms in hotels that look nice but are not expensive; in short, they do not stand out from the crowd. What if the wily Randy hit the jackpot and flew to the Bahamas, or wherever he was going? He might not even be alone. I imagined Irene was with him, and I wanted to make sure she wasnt. But I remembered the last time wed talked and gave up on that idea C it was up to her. The next day I showed my trophy to Austin. What is that? he wondered. The Golden Ticket. I told him about Randys mysterious disappearance. Are you sure this isnt a joke? The artist took off his glasses and held the ticket up to his eyes. What guarantee is there that this isnt a fake? It looks like a wrapper. I could draw a hundred of these. Wait, theres something written on it. He checked the ticket up to the light for something, trying to find the watermark, and handed it back to me: You know, I dont read Thai very well, but I think it says this thing is for two people. You said there were two lucky ones? Yes. The guy pulled it out of the bag while his girl stood next to him. So, if the ticket isnt fake, then Randy robbed this guy, took something that didnt belong to him, right? Right, I nodded. You think they punished him for that? Possibly. They could have turned him into a Shadow for such antic. But hes already serving the Dark Ones, and theyre in on it. Thats true, but there are rules. If Randy had gotten the ticket by cheating, that would be fine, but he just stole it. The Dark Ones dont forgive things like that, even for their own, or their whole business goes down. What about the couple? Are they going to die, too? Why do you think so? Austin didnt understand me. You said yourself that you could take something valuable from the Golden Ticket holder. Yes, thats right, but dont forget that Randy only wanted money, and as I understand it, he didnt ask the supposed Rockefeller to make a wish, and therefore didnt fulfill it. No way! He didnt even let him open his mouth. Here, you see. The artist furrowed his brow: Something about this story still puzzles me. What if Randy was wrong and the secret of the ticket is something else? Do you think its possible? How should I know, I shrugged. It was not I who pulled it out. According to legend, the Golden Ticket is supposed to find its owner on its own, Austin continued. Maybe it didnt come to you by chance. Think back to that night. What should I remember? Randy disappeared and those two ran away when I picked up the ticket. There! Austin exclaimed. You didnt pick up the ticket, the ticket chose you. Wow! I was more discouraged than happy. Why was I chosen, what and who do I owe for this? And am I even eligible for the mysterious super prize that I didnt even expect? To be continued Chapter 29. Im free The monk could clear the things up. If Irene was right and I could ask him my main question, he would have to accept me. So I went to the temple for the third time. This time the yard was empty. The monk came out to meet me, smiling broadly, and immediately invited me to follow him to the terrace. We sat down on the wooden floor covered with colorful cushions and mats, tucking our legs under us. He poured green tea into cups and smiled, indicating his willingness to talk. Then I realized that I didnt know how to address him C Reverend? Venerable? Master Gee? Just call me Gee, he guessed the reason for my confusion. Gee, I cleared my throat and took out the ticket. Please explain what this is? This? the monk looked at me calmly. That, my friend, is freedom. Freedom? I asked uncertainly. What do you mean C freedom? Thats what it means, he answered nonchalantly. You mean I can leave the Island right now? You see, he scratched his chin thoughtfully. I meant freedom in the broadest sense of the word. Freedom of choice? Thats right, he nodded. What are my options? Well, you can stay here, take the prize, or go back where you came from. Back home? I couldnt believe my ears. But how? Im dead. Vikenty, the monk sipped from his cup, this isnt the first time youve mentioned your home. Let me ask you, where is it C your home, and why do you want to go there so badly? Why? I was confused. Its the city Ive lived in since I was a kid; I still have a family there, friends, work, and familiar places. Thats what I thought, he sighed and put the cup down on the table. I didnt like his tone. No, my interlocutor was still nice, but it was as if he had lost interest in me. He was either dozing off or thinking about something with his eyelids slightly closed. Gee, I called to him, are you asleep? I dont understand, am I alive or not? Is that your main question? He asked without opening his eyes and took my wrist. Yes, Id like to finally make up my mind... Well, all right, the monk said after a moments thought. Follow me. We got up and went to the secret cell C a small shaded room where there was nothing but a miniature statue of Buddha in the lotus position, a bedside table, and a low wooden bed with a hard cushion in the headboard. Lie down on the floor, he said. Close your eyes and breathe deeply. I lay down on the mat with some trepidation, remembering the monks turbulent past, and stretched my arms out along my body. The next second I was standing on the deck of a large ferry leaving the pier. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.I couldnt remember how I got there. Thats what happens when youre half asleep, when youre still awake, but strange images float before your eyes. I was depressed. The sea was stormy, screaming seagulls flew low over the gray waves, salt spray reached my face. In addition, it began to drizzle. I was chilled to the bone in the wind, so I decided to go to a bar to warm up. Money was tight, but I have enough for a hot drink. Coming down from the deck, I pushed open the door, ordered an Irish coffee, and sat down at the far table by the porthole. Soon the waiter brought a glass, and I cupped it in my hands, savored the invigorating aroma. I imagined how I would appear in my hometown either as a living corpse or as an undercadaurus. And who would believe where Ive been, what Ive been through. I took a big gulp, burned my throat and coughed. Do you need some help? Someone slapped me hard on the back. Is that better? Better, yes, I exhaled and almost choked again. Romashkin was standing next to me, smiling, cocktail in hand, tanned and beaming with happiness. From vacation, he was ahead of my question. And you? Were you on vacation too, or was it a creative business trip? Dont pretend you dont know where I was! I glared at him. You sent me there, on this business trip, undercover angel from the emergency service... Damn, who would have thought it was you! Angel? Romashkin blinked. What are you talking about? Are you all right? Never mind, I waved him off. You visited the monk, didnt you? Are you sure youre okay? Romashkin leaned over to me. Oh, you have a fever! Ill call the doctor. He put the unfinished cocktail on the table and disappeared out the door. What a trickster! The cocktail smelled sweet like melon. I think there was rum in it. Out of nowhere, a wasp flew in and began to crawl along the edge of the glass, wiggling its tendrils. To chase it away, I waved my hand once, then again, and accidentally caught the straw, almost knocking the glass to the floor. The wasp took off, circling dissatisfied over the table, looking for a place to land, and suddenly swooped down on me. Oh! I grabbed my neck, staggered and slowly slid under the table. Attention, please, hes regaining consciousness, I heard a distant voice. Romashkin, you always get me into trouble, I grimaced. My throat burned like a hot iron. I did not speak, but hissed like a siphon. How do you feel? A face in a medical mask leaned over me. So-so, I whispered. My neck hurts. Whats this tube in my throat? Youve been unconscious for a week, the doctor said. Do you remember what happened to you? A wasp stung me, I paused, forcing my memory. In the bar on the ferry. No, the doctor shook his head sympathetically. You have a bullet wound in your neck. You were shot. From where? By who? Some crazy man. Dont worry, the artery was damaged, but youll live. And then I remembered the beekeeper with gun, the blood-soaked snow, the White Room, the Island A week?! I gasped. It cant be! Its been a whole year... Katya, the face in the mask turned away. Give me a sedative. Then the face turned back to me. Tired eyes looked sternly and attentively: You cant talk much now, get some rest. Ill come back in the evening. To be continued Chapter 30. A Lost Soul After the injection, I began to lose consciousness, and no matter how hard I tried to focus on the lamp hanging from the ceiling, it didnt help, it blinked twice and went out. But I recognized the ward from my dream! And then I was in the cell again. The monk was sitting next to me, watching me. What was that? I struggled to open my lips, numb like anesthetic. Where am I? In a coma, the monk replied. In a coma? I looked at him. Thats why I kept seeing this ward in my dreams! So Im alive after all? Half alive, he reassured me. But you can wake up at any moment. Just answer me first, do you still want to go back? Cant I? I thought he wanted to warn me about something. Of course you can. Its just that when youve thought about it and made a final decision, dont delay your return. A long coma has never been good for anyone. The doctor said I was unconscious for a week. Is that true? Yes, it is true. But thats impossible! Time flows differently in the world of the living and the dead, the monk smiled. On the Island, many people feel it more densely. Even in life, it can be like that C a week seems like a year, and vice versa. So if you come back now, you can still recover. You may even be able to walk again. But the longer you stay here, the harder it will be for you there. Are you saying that if I stay on the Island, Ill die back home? You might not die, but you definitely wont regain consciousness. And then theyll take me off life support, I guessed. Sooner or later, I suppose, the monk replied evasively. I remembered the way The Shadow had rushed me to answer, and I thought it might not be a good ides to rush now. I had to weigh the pros and cons and only then take decisive action. I dont know I was a bit silent. By the way, what about the super prize? Randy kept talking about some kind of palace. Can you at least give me a hint where it is and how long I can stay there? I cant tell you where it is. But you can stay there as long as you want. Really? A lifetime? If it takes a lifetime, yes. Are you sure Ill be alive when I get there? Just in case I asked. No doubt about it. What do I have to do there? Whatever youve always wanted to do. I assure you, youll have everything you need. Wow, thats great! But the ticket is for two, right? Yes, it is, the monk nodded. Have you thought about who you would like to invite on the trip? Of course all my thoughts were with Irene. Who would refuse to travel with such a companion? One thing bothered me: we were too different. Suppose I start writing a book, but what will she do? Will she just lie in her room and be bored? Flip through magazines? Surf the web, demand entertainment? That way wed get bored with each other quickly, or turn everything into a sex trip C well, what else can you do on an eternal vacation with a girl with such skills in that area? Somehow I was sure that we would have a VIP resort with pools, spas and other delights C maybe because thats how Randy described it. Then Irenes presence in that posh paradise would definitely keep me from concentrating on my work. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. And thats when I thought of Austin. Im not interested in men, but Austin is an artist, he wont waste his time, he will paint a lot of pictures that will give people real beauty, just like he dreamed! Ill have to talk to him about that. As soon as I left the monk, I rushed to the abandoned hotel to tell him the news about the ticket. The artist listened to me in silence, gazed thoughtfully into the distance through his sunglasses, then took them off, breathed on the glasses, and carefully wiped them with the edge of his Hawaiian shirt. Sounds like fun, he finally said. Its like a dream trip. Would you like to come with me? I put the cards on the table. He looked at me in surprise, as if he saw me for the first time. No, Im serious, I said quickly. This ticket is for two. But why did you come to me and not to her? He asked after a moments hesitation. Because I thought it was the right thing to do. Really? Well, I appreciate that. Austin put his hand to his heart. But let me show you something. He put the paints in a box and went into the house to get his laptop. You know, he said. The monk once suggested in conversation that we dead people are not so simple, that we are just stuck at a crossroads. I sometimes try to find out where some of the newcomers are from. It rarely works, butTake it, heres a link, read it. An article appeared on the screen about a girl from Scotland who had been in a car accident a six month ago. She had fallen into a deep coma, and it was not hoped to save her, but suddenly hopeless patient opened her eyes and began to respond to sounds, even moved the finger of her left hand. Recently the girl was transferred to a private rehabilitation center in the north of Scotland, reported the author of the article. And although she is still very weak, confined to a wheelchair and does not remember anything, the doctors hope to put her on her feet. The picture was of Irene. The hospital photo bore little resemblance to the sassy girl C short haircut, absent, vacant gaze, dark circles under the eyesWhat about the story about her head being blown off? Or when you lose consciousness, does it feel like a part of you has actually separated from your body. I experienced something like that when I was dying. Does Irene know shes alive? I dont think so. Fortunately or not, there are some things we cant know about ourselves until certain time. Why did you show me this? I gave Austin his laptop back. I thought you should know. What am I supposed to do with this knowledge now? I think you should take her with you, he replied simply. Thats what you want to do, isnt it? What about you? I told you, Ill be fine. I dont know. What if she wants to go back to Glasgow? Im not the monk and I cant show her what awaits her there. Judging from what Ive read here, nothing good. She has little chances of recovery. Its a nice super prize C to be a vegetable, huh? I imagined Irene coming to her senses, happy that she survived, and then hating this life and wishing she were dead. No, I dont want to be the cause of her suffering. Maybe she should remain blissfully ignorant. On the Island, at least, shes a hetaera, a seductress of men, but who will she be at home? A lonely soul lost between two worlds, with no memory, no friends. Even her fiance left her. Are you sure you have the right to decide for others? Austin intervened. What if you were deprived of the right to choose your own path? Whether she wants to go back to Glasgow or stay here is up to her. But I think shed follow you to the ends of the earth, if you asked her to.I sighed heavily. That was the catch. I wasnt sure if I could go that far myself, and I wasnt sure if I should ask Irene to follow me. I wasnt sure about anything anymore. To be continued Chapter 31. At the Crossroads In the middle of the night there was a knock at the door of my hut. I was awake, but I wasnt expecting guests. Vik! Irene rushed to me from the doorway. Hes back! Whos back? I got a shiver down my spine. Randy? Is he back for you? No, the Chinese guy, she groaned. Chen. Who is Chen? I didnt get it. Stop crying! The scientist, Irene sniffed her nose. I told you about him, remember? Oh, the one you... um... helped to become Einstein, I realized. Did he miss the virtual caresses or did he want the real thing? She wiped away her tears and gave me a sharp look that said: Dont be sarcastic, Im tired of this. Okay, I sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to me. Tell me what happened. Nothing, she sat up and sobbed again. I told you, hes back on the Island. So what? I stared at her. You came to tell me that? Well, congratulations. I hope you efforts have been worthwhile and your genius has made an important discovery after all. Hes not mine! Irene snapped at me. The point is, he didnt make a discovery. Hes here to work in the Dark lab again. What a bastard! Wow! You used to think he was talented and just needed a little help to save him from the bad guys, didnt you? Im such a fool, Vik! She was in tears again. I thought he really wanted to do science, not pump life out of people. I mean, he assured me so much! He said his energy storage technology would change the world, and he didnt want the Dark Ones to get all the profits. I couldnt bear her tears, so my heart softened. I stroked her hand and held out a handkerchief: Thats enough, calm down. Did he say why he changed his mind? Ill be right back. Irene slipped into the bathroom and came back calmer. It was the money, she said. Kuhn promised to triple his salary. I see. And hes decided its better to be an errand boy? Does he realize hes finished as a scientist? Yeah, as well as the fact that he will be paid handsomely for it. What about his professional pride? I insisted. If he had succeeded in the Big World, he could win a Nobel Prize, immortalize his name C isnt that important to him? I guess its important, she shrugged. But all this is still up in the air, nobody knows when it will happen, and here a gold mine is guaranteed for him. If he doesnt agree, others will take his place. I dont think so, I hesitated. Not everyone is as brilliant as him. If they wanted to, they would find a replacement for him, although it wouldnt be easy. Thats why his income is as good as the biggest scientific prize. Who would say no to that? What about you? Would you refuse? Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.Me? she looked at me astonished. Yes, you. Could you leave the Island and go nowhere? Start a new life? she smiled weakly. You know thats impossible for us. Im not asking if its possible or not, Im asking if you could? Irene was silent. Meanwhile, the first birds in the jungle had awakened, and dawn was approaching. I yawned involuntarily. Like through cotton wool I could hear Irene saying that she was confused, that she had nothing and no one but the Island for a long time, and that sometimes it seems to her that the Dark Ones were after her instead of her fiance from the beginning. Although, they probably needed both: him there, her here. And now shed have to deal with the scientist-werewolf. He would probably reveal to Kuhn who had helped him escape as a sign of loyalty, and then she would owe them again, or be turned into Shadow if she didnt pay them off. Listen, I interrupted her. What does it matter now? I have the Golden Ticket. Lets go away together, forever. If you agree, Ill be waiting for you at the pier tomorrow at six in the morning. What? She flinched. The Golden ticket? How did you get it? It doesnt matter. Are you coming tomorrow, Irene? Do we have to leave here? she asked timidly. Irene, if they kick me out of the club, I wont even be able to rent a room. You could move in with me Are you serious? The remnants of sleep left me. Do you really think I could do that? Why not? I have money. I know, I snapped. I even know where it comes from. You expect me to wait for you at home while you move your ass in front of the daddies? But its all for us, she lowered her eyes. I could take their power and give it to you. Great! Just great! I was furious. So you think Im a weakling who needs to be spoon-fed, huh? Thats not what I meant! She rushed to make up for her mistake. Youre strong. I just really want to help you, but I dont know how. You mean I need to be saved? I cant help myself, can I? Maybe we should find another job? she suggested cautiously. Come on, Vik, dont be angry. Ill straighten things out with them and we can open a coffee shop on the beach. A coffee shop? Yeah. Coffee is also an energy drink. Kuhn will take the cream and well take the money. I understand, I stopped her, but Im sorry, no. I dont want to spend the rest of my life behind a cash register, much less continue to parasitize on other peoples weaknesses. And I wouldnt advise you to do that either. So what are we going to do? We have to get out of here, Irene! I grabbed her arm. We wont get another chance. Vik, I dont know. Is something bothering you? No, Im just scared. Of what exactly? Change, she reluctantly admitted. As for me, Im afraid of the lack of change for the next thousand years. Make up your mind, Irene! Are you with me? Tomorrow at six, on the ferry. Yes or no? I dont know. I really dont know, Vik. And Im afraid I never will. Im sorry. She ran her hand through my hair, kissed me on the forehead, and slipped out of the house. What did I expect from her? But I was a little hurt, she could have said yes. To be continued Chapter 32. Last Day There was something else that really bothered me: my parents. When I found out that I was alive and could go home, I thought about them a lot. They didnt have social networking accounts, so I couldnt find out how they were doing, if they were healthy or not. My dad is probably spending time in the garage or fishing, my mom is watching TV while the cake is in the oven Once, after borrowing a cell phone from Dimon, I tried to call them, but a womans voice kept saying: The number is not available. My fathers cell phone didnt answer. And what would I say when I got through: Hi, its me? How would I explain where I was calling from and how I got here? Maybe I shouldnt go to this mythical palace, why couldnt I write the book at home? But I knew that when I came back I would try to forget what I had experienced. And not to upset my parents C What about your pension, son? C I will continue to work in the editorial office, on weekends I will dig beds in the cottage, get married, have a cat, children, and get fat. I wont have time to write a book. Or maybe Im just a bad and selfish son C Im leaving my old parents, for some inexplicable goal I felt a pang of guilt. Well, what if I return to them after the trip, as they say, victorious on a white horse? I decide to do so and went to the Mangrove Hotel to talk to Austin again, since Irene had refused the ticket. The bungalow was locked. I looked in the window C no one. There was an audio player with headphones and a tape on the porch. And old A-ha album: Minor Earth-Major Sky. My favorite! With the airplane cockpit on the cover. How old was I when I heard the first time C nineteen? I put the tape in the player, walked down to the bay, sat down in a lounge chair under a tree and pressed a button. Something creaked and rustled inside, and a pleasant male voice sang: To love me true or let me go In between I dont want to know This is how it was to be No more us and no more we My thoughts involuntarily returned to Irene. Tears came to my eyes, goose bumps ran down my spine, and the Norwegian continued to torment mu soul: Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Once again on the station See your face in a crowd Comes again the sensation You cant hear yourself think With their voiced inside your head Hey, I wish I care I fast-forwarded through the tape. Heres another one of the best: Thought that it was you. Like so many years ago, something that seemed gone forever tore at my heart. I wanted to press play button over and over again C why arent we together, Irene? You know my deepest sin Youve seen me deep within So fill me now like wind And let the miracle begin I sat on the beach until evening, listening to music and reminiscing about my life on the Island. Austin didnt show up. The red sun had set behind the mountain and the silver moon had already emerged from the bay. In the distance, two bright scarlet points shone over the sea. They slowly rose into sky, getting closer and further apart C someone in the beach was shooting burning paper lanterns into the sky. According to Thai legend, this is the way to purify the human soul. Couples seal their love with them, and some make a wish. As soon as the twinkling lights were lost in the stars, I turned the player off, put it back, and headed for the club. The red scale on the lock pick was empty and the yellow scale was full, so all I had to do was return the mediator and I wouldnt owe the Dark Ones anything. Where are you going now? Bulldog tapped his pencil glumly on the counter. What are you going to do? Ill take care of myself, I said nonchalantly. Dont screw around, he glared at me straight. Did you hear about Randy? Im running the club now, and the job of administrator is open. Do you want it? Where did this generosity come from? I squinted at him. Im not a rookie. Thats why Im offering you the job, Bulldog grumbled. Youre a proven guy with experience. The bosses dont mind. We can sign the contract right now. I dont want to, I opened the door. Why not? he raised his eyebrows. The money is good. Im sick. Are you poisoned or something? Bulldog didnt understand. Shall I give you a pill? Im sick of your club, I said calmly. And of this work. I am tired. Take a rest, Ill give you a weeks vacation, you deserve it. It wont help. I have to go. I wont ask you twice! the new chief growled in my back. You dont have to. Youre an asshole! He snapped. Okay. But at least Im alive. On the street, after counting the rest of my money, I went to the souvenir shop, where Id been eyeing one thing for a long time. The price didnt matter anymore. To be continued Chapter 33. Exodus In the morning, as soon as it was light, I packed my things. A black cockroach crawled out from under the bed, probably the same one that had made itself known the first morning. It appeared for a moment, as if to say goodbye, and then disappeared back into the crack. So long, buddy! I stepped over the threshold and put the key under the mat. It was very quiet. The cicadas were silent, and the birds were quite for a while, gathering their strength for the morning song. The lanterns at the Sands were still lit. I walked out onto the beach. The three old men C Angry, Strict and Laughing, were already there, walking on the sand, waiting for the sunrise. The same shaggy dog came out from under the chaise-longue, stretched, yawned, fell on his back and began to twitch his paws impatiently, as if to say: Pet me! I crouched down and scratched behind his ear. The dog closed his eyes blissfully. A golden beam flashed across the sea. The fluttering edge of the rapidly growing dazzling disk followed, and soon the whole bay shone in the suns glare. A lump rose in my throat. I stood up, threw off my shorts and T-shirt, and dove headfirst into the lazily rolling transparent surf. My sad thought immediately dissolved and I floated in the water, warm and soft like mothers palms. I wished I could wallow in those waves forever and forget everything! To do that, you have to swim as hard as you can, then dive in and exhale there, in the depths. But then who I am would disappear as if I never existed, and it would all be for nothing. My parents sleepless nights beside my crib, the dawns with my father at the pond when we went fishing, my childhood friendships, my rafting trips down the river in the Indian summer, and everything Id written and everything I was going to write. And that dance with Irene when we first kissed, that too will fade away like a dream. Yes, the pain will be gone, but so will those memories. Am I willing to pay that price for a soothing nothingness? No, no matter how epic it would look to disappear into the open sea without a trace on such a beautiful morning. So I turned toward the shore. There I put on my clothes, threw on my backpack, stood for a while, and without looking back, walked to the road where there was no one else but me. Soon I hitched a ride C a work truck: Can you take me to the ferry? The driver nodded at the bodywork: Get in! The truck was moving, and the trees were beginning to flash on the sides; it smelled of grass and dust, damp with the morning dew. I waited anxiously for the rain to begin, but the unfortunate bend had long since passed, and the truck was still speeding down the highway, taking me into the unknown. It slowed down at the ferry terminal. I jumped off, handed the driver my last bill, and sat down on the cool marble bench. Despite the early hour, the sun was already warming up. The embankment was empty, except for the occasional passersby, walking in and out the doors of the Seven-Eleven, causing them to jingle melodiously, and the sleepy loaders smoking in the shade of a hangar, arguing over who should go first to load. A few shabby red mutts lay on the grass under the palm trees. Some of the dogs were sitting thoughtfully, watching the waves that lazily lapping against the concrete pier. From a distance they looked like monks in faded robes. Light footsteps sounded behind me. My heart leapt for joy C really? But it wasnt Irene. The monk sat down beside me. Gee? I stared. What are you doing here? I came to see you off, he winked at me. Last time you ran off so fast that I didnt have time to tell you the most important thing. Yeah! I slapped my hip. I knew there would be some kind of trick. The trip is canceled, isnt it? The Golden Ticket is a fake? If it were, you wouldnt be sitting here right now, the monk said reasonably. As far as I know, all your previous attempts to get to the ferry were unsuccessful. Whats wrong then? What else should I know? You see, the place youre going to is very unusual. You think youre going to rest and admire the beautiful scenery, but its not quite like that, or maybe not at all. I dont know exactly what awaits you, but I must warn you that it is a journey from which it is impossible to return the same person. You scare me, Gee... No, my friend, not at all. Im sure youll be fine. But remember, if you do not write the book, you will remain a miserable, immobile, mindless moron for the rest of your life. Remember that every time you feel like giving up in a moment of weakness. Theres no going back. What if I write it? My throat is tight. Then all doors will open for you, except for one. Youll never be able to return to your homeland, he put his hand on my shoulder. Hey, why are you so gloomy? Cheer up! I didnt know what to tell him. Are you saying that all my friend and family will think Im dead? I finally got the words out. Dont worry about that. Everything will turn out to be such that they will quickly forget you in the hustle and bustle of the day. What a relief, I smiled sourly. What will happen to my body? Dont worry about that either. As they say in Russia: no body C no crime? I tried to catch the irony in his words, but I couldnt C his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses looked absolutely impassive, it was impossible to tell if he was joking or serious. I remembered my father and mother, and it made me feel like a traitor again. If I had a sister or brother, it would have been easier, but I was an only son. What would have to happen to my parents to make them forget me? My heart sank. Am I doing something irreparable? Its your choice, the monk said quietly. Yes, but I didnt think it would be come to this, that I would have to take the final step right here. I knew that if I returned home, even in good health, I would be condemning myself to something worse than death. But to just turn my back on my parents like that They would have wanted their son to remain a child forever, but the thought of that made my blood run cold. The day I closed their eyes, I would already be good for nothing, just waiting for one thing C when my son would do the same to me. And whats that different from the miserable eternity Im leaving on the Island? But its not for me to decide for my parents how to accept their fate, and its not for them to decide for me. My business now is to write the book, and what will happen then Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.Maybe I could help my parents from a distance, wherever I was, or bring them to me C but now I knew that was just one possibility, one of many. Would I have to change my name? I asked. Sure, he nodded. It would be better if you signed the book with a womans name C any of them. The readers should get the impression that the Island and everything youve experienced here is a literary fiction. Do you agree with me? Whatever you say, I sighed. Thats fine, he stood up. Theres your ferry. A white dot appeared in the blue and began to grow, slowly taking a shape of a large ship. What about Irene? I suddenly remembered. You said we could go together. Did I? the monk squinted at me. I thought I only asked who you wanted to invite, but that doesnt mean its a trip for two. So we will never see each other again? Maybe you will, he coughed softly. If you dont both end your lives in a hospital bed; and if she remembers you. The girl has amnesia. But shell be okay? I looked at him hopefully. Is there anything I can do for her? You have to agree on the place of your meeting beforehand. But dont you think youre rushing things a bit? I dont see Irene anywhere. Isnt she coming? Im afraid not, I said in a sad voice. Im sorry, the monk replied sympathetically. Well, Vikenty, its time. Goodbye, Gee. Thanks for everything. Say hello to Austin for me. I will. We shook hands. I threw my backpack on my back and mingled with the crowd as I walked toward the ferry, which was already docked at the pier. Your ticket, please, demanded the ticket inspector at the entrance. I handed him a golden rectangle. The checker ran his eyes over it, tore off one of the ticket stubs and asked, making a note on his list: Where is the second passenger? He is a little late, I lied for some reason. In that case, sir, please come on deck. I hesitated for a moment, then went up, only to run back down again. Excuse me, do I have time to go get him? I cut myself short. I mean go get her We leave in twenty minutes, the ticket inspector replied dryly. If youre late, Ill cancel your ticket. I turned and trudged back to the upper deck, where I leaned against the bulkhead, behind which something was humming and shaking, as if the ferry was a living thing. Strange thoughts came over me C maybe I dont have to go? I had come to like Samchang, or rather, I become accustomed to its rhythm, as a prisoner become accustomed to the daily routine. Now I understood Irenes hesitation better. But this is not a prison, this is a real island, I convinced myself, and if I wanted to, I would find myself here again, but as an ordinary tourist, not as a servile dead. Even though I had the feeling, that this was the last time Id ever see this place. I turned my head and suddenly saw her. Maybe I imagined it? No, she was standing on the pier, looking around in confusion. Irene! I shouted, waving my arms frantically. Over here! Im over here! Irene! Elbowing passengers, jumping over bags and suitcases, I ran down the stairs, crashing into a low doorway so hard I cracked my forehead. Wait, wait! I panted as I ran up to the workers who were removing the gangway from its place. This redheaded girl, shes with me, heres her ticket. Let her in. Khop khun kha. I put my palms together pleadingly. The Thais looked at me disapprovingly, but the ticket inspector heeded the plea of the strange farang with the abrasion on his forehead, and gangway touched the pier for a moment. What happened? Irene gasped when she saw the blood on my face. Oh, its nothing! I jerked her to the deck (the nimble ticket inspector had torn off the second stub by now) and dragged her up, as if afraid she would jump overboard at the last moment. Wait, not so fast, she said, barely keeping up with me. We dont have time, I said hurriedly. Remember what you told me back at your house, that you wanted to make a movie, remember? And you even made your first movie. Yes, she blinked. It was called The Most Expensive Things. Whats wrong with it? What was it about? It was about a blind musician playing the Sky Boat Song on his bagpipes, but passers-by hurried past him without stopping. Soon there was a jangling of coins and even a rustling of papers. But when the tune died down, it turned out to be buttons, glass, and candy wrappers. The blind man cried out bitterly. Who are these rascals? he asked the people, nodding at the fleeing rascals. Children, they replied. And the minstrels wrinkled face brightened. The deck shook beneath our feet as the ferry pulled away from the pier and began to pick up speed. Where are we going? Irene asked. I dont know, I pressed her against the wall and hovered over her like a kite. Irene! Promise me one thing C no matter what happens to you, no matter how hard it is, dont stop what youve started, do you understand? Under no circumstances! Vik, she looked at me fearfully. Whats going on? Can you hear me? I almost screamed. Keep filming. Promise? Okay, okay, she nodded hastily. I promise, just stop, youre hurting me. Here, this is for you, I place a small green stone in the shape of an apple from the souvenir shop into her palm. A talisman. Oh, its so beautiful! She was delighted. Thank you very much. What kind of stone? Jade, I said briefly. You will look at it and remember us. Are we breaking up? Fear flashed in her eyes. Vik, what happened? Vik! Say something! Come on, Vik! Why dont you say something? Im afraid She grabbed my hand and began to shake it desperately, trying to hear my voice. Irene, I dont know, I really dont know. I turned around and saw that we were already quite far from the Island. I dont want to lose you, I need you! Just know that whatever happens now, Ill be waiting for you at Lake Como. Remember C Como! Find me there, do you hear, Irene? Promi Let good things happen I managed to read on the huge billboard between the rocks that welcomed and said goodbye to the ferries on Samchang. Then the rocky shore disappeared as did the blue sky and the deck. A moment later I found myself in the White Room. There was now a desk with pens, pencils, and a stack of writing paper. And an open laptop with a familiar screen saver image, that lone tree from the Mangrove Hotel. So thats how it is Okay. I sat down in the chair and closed my eyes. So be it. The end of the part I.