Truth & Dare
Noe's portrait, a stunning masterpiece dogging the footsteps of his youthful innocence, and wistfulness condemned Noe's vibrant spirit. Lorenzo, THE most sought-after employer who had conquered the finest of the corporate world with his razor sharp-intellect, fell into pieces every time the images of Noeripples in his head; he could not erase the image, not now, not ever.
Lorenzo runs his long fingernails prudently against the comedy of colours, he feels the threads of Noe rub against his tattered heart, grudging against sewing it. The torment claws at Lorenzo, his heartbeat quickens, tears twiddling their thumbs to be set free from the depths of the cage of a tortured soul. In the mum of the room, Lorenzo whispers to his lost but never forgotten a beloved, entrusting his deepest secrets and unbearably a strangulating burden,
"Noe," his words rustle with a shiver, "I cannot bear the weight of the charade any longer," a shiver frozen long before it began, maybe just maybe to melt… but why so suddenly? "Emilia may be a kind woman, though I have my doubts about her. But I don't care for the world if the kindest person sells their soul to me, in exchange of my own heart. But the heart cannot belong to Emilia, cannot belong to anyone, anyone but you Noe! It belongs to you, and only you."
In such a way of seeking solace, Lorenzo presses the portrait against his chest, his hold deepening until his knuckles turn white. His breaths come in shallow gasps, as the memories of Noe's illuminating vitality echo through his mind. The years of happiness they had shared were as ephemeral as the passing wind, snuffed out so abruptly, without allowing Lorenzo a chance at saying goodbye… did Universe once again 'have its own reasons' for not letting Lorenzo say his last words to the one person he has devoted his life to?
Lorenzo, ritualistic, makes a silent vow to the Heavens, a fierce determination burning in his crystalline eyes,
"I will find out who did this to you, love," Lorenzo declares in an unyielding determination, with an undertoning hints of desperation too, "No stone will be left unturned, no corner untouched. "Noe, your tragic fate, our tragic fate will not be in vain, I myself am promising you. I will find the truth," his untamed cast descends into nothing but mere whispers, "I will find the truth, expose all those involved in the darkness who consumed your guileless, pure soul, and bring your killers to justice. Your soul shall finally rest in eternal peace. This is my promise to you…"
Driven by an indomitable will, Lorenzo retires the canvas to its original edifice, the scornful nightstand. He then rises from his seat, and paces restlessly across the room, his scurried steps returning in resounding through a hollow silence. His mind, a maelstrom of sorrow, and anger surges with memories of his infertile attempts of aborting the foetus of the past. The facade he maintained, dating Emilia at his father's behest, felt like a betrayal to himself, and to the memory of his lost, but yet to find love.
"Hello? I- don't hang up. I have to talk to you."
***
Every creak of the floorboards amplifies the looming sense of dread. Theo hesitates, hands and feet frostbitten, heart whipped by an inhospitable, hibernal currant, like a ghostly, ghastly presence hovers in the room beyond three steps to be accurate.
Summoning all the slightest ounce of courage he had left it in him, Theo pushes open the door, entering straight into the office without any bother for what is at his left, right, above his head or beneath his feet. The only source of illumination, as one would anticipate at the dead of the night being the soft glow of a desk lamp. Theo's overseer, Louis Gerber, sits hunched over his running desk, a look of intensity groped onto his face, the younger captures through the lens of his well convenient eyes. Theo clears his throat, breaking the silence,
"Sir. . . You asked to see me?" He says cautiously. The older man turns to face his assistant, his cold, almost inhumanly cold eyes piercing right through Theo— it almost looks like Gerber never had been alive.
"Ah. Theo. Finally, you're here," Mr. Gerber says with an unsettling smile, enough to knock the wind off anyone, but not enough for a 'fight or flight' impulse. "I apologise for the late hour, but it really could not be helped. I have a very urgent matter to discuss with you."
Mind is an interesting prospect, the most in fact in the entire being of a human being, Theo's mind did not disappoint with the swivelling possibilities. Did Theo make a mistake on his first day of work? That sounds more of a rhetorical inquiry, 'What mistake did Theo not do?' Should have been the correct presumption. Or had he inadvertently offended someone important? Each one more foreboding than the last.
"Please have a seat," Mr. Gerber motions to a chair opposite his desk. Theo obeys, not wanting to upset his boss a second round, gripping the armrests tightly. Theo's eyes restlessly wander around like a vagrant who had found home, searching for any hint of what awaits him. The shelves are lined with Victorian books and a series of Inductive Detective Novels, the titles now obscured by the shadows. On the wall, a painting similar to Noe's portrait catches his attention. It is a hauntingly beautiful artwork of a work of art, depicting an equally hauntingly beautiful, vivacious man caught in eternal despair.
"You must be wondering why I called you here?"
"No shit, Sherlock!" Was what Theo could only think of; does his boss think a man in his right mind would NOT wonder such, that too at midnight of all the residual times with an option?
Mr. Gerber says, interrupting the brunette's thoughts, "You see, tomorrow I am leaving for Japan, to attend an immediate business conference. There is a file, of whose hardcopy had been posted to your address in place of the appointment letter. If you may remember, you emailed me confused, a message regarding the same issue? I simply haven't had the time to gather it myself, and also not to mention that it didn't come to my notice until now that the paper originally replaced was not just a random one but one of my most important documents. That's where, Theo, you come in."
Relief sure washes over Theo, but something still feels a bit off somewhere, " You… could just have said that over the phone, by the way, Sir. I panicked for nothing."
"Let me tell you, I don't trust any devices, any at all! And this paper is quite a confidential one, possessing the secret formulas of my estate. Even as I am talking with you now, I'm paranoid that someone might be hearing us, but it is at least less plausible than the other evil."
The tension in Theo's body slowly dissipates. He has allowed his imagination to run wild, conjuring up all sorts of sinister scenarios. It seems that truth is far more mundane than one always expects.
"I'm glad it's nothing serious. I'll be happy to help," a relieved sigh tugs at Theo's lips. "I have brought the paper as per your notice. Here it is," he hands the envelope, meticulously unharmed and preserved, to his boss.
"Thank you, Theo," Mr. Gerber says gratefully. "This is of utmost importance, thank you so much!"
Theo really cannot help but feel a sense of accomplishment, it was a small 'victory', is that a correct term? But it meant something on his first 'night at work'.
"The pleasure is all mine. Is there anything else I can help you with?" Theo, eager to make a good impression, asks.
Mr. Gerber shakes his head, a weariness settling into his features. "No, Theo. That will be all for tonight, you have done enough. Please, go home and get some rest. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."
The sound of clock ticking away in the distance become a rhythmic backdrop to Theo collecting his last of the thoughts… of course, it is indeed a law of nature, where an object in motion stays in motion until an external force is acted upon it; Theo's cell phone took upon the role of that 'external force', buzzing in Theo's pocket.
***
"Mrs. Andros?"
"Yes?"
"Who is... Noe?"
"Listen to me, kid. If you love Lorenzo, you really would not want to know the answer to that."