People need to understand- our minds race. When we write and they 

read: calling out to them from 

Our own truths, we define worlds this way-

Souls hide in words. Can you see me clearly? It's not 

easy, this task, pen weighed down. But. Silence is worse than indifference.  

His head shifts only in small movements under the weight of a crown. His robes rub against the throne with gentle whispers. There is a deep sense of power here, and the couriers only whisper when they pass by from respect and fear. Velvet calm lines the King's smile, an assured grace that matches the velvet he is wrapped in from head to toe. And no one has ever seen anything like it before, and they wouldn't know how to replicate it now. Peasants come and go, and they leave with wide eyes and a primeval assurance of their place in his world

They teach me: 

take things seriously,

or you'll never succeed.

But one look at the rich,

the powerful,

those in charge,

the reasons we fight,

and I laugh.  

†††

Again, and again Victor baffles Rodya. It is unclear what this newcomer wants. He refuses to go, yet asks for nothing. Everyone has something they want, and men of money do not just step down to the level of the street for no reason. Perhaps he would believe it was some altruistic drive but... no, Victor is far too driven. Far too focused on... him. Why him? He has nothing to offer...

This strange obsession became sharply evident when Rodya's mother and sister visited. Three days into Victor's visits with his patient. Rodya had anticipated this. He was waiting for this man of wealth, just like his sister's ex-fiancé Luzhin, to take a liking to Dounia, his sister. That will kill two birds with one stone, as Razumihin, who is fond of Dounia, would be jealous and drive him away while Victor's hidden motives would be revealed.

Nothing like that happened.

Victor gave none but polite glances to Dounia, who possessed much the same dark prettiness as Rodya. His intense... searching? gaze kept tight to Rodya, following his thin form, the curve of his neck as he refused to make eye contact. The stranger was charming, sweet, and came out all the more amicable with Razumihin, Dounia, and mother, than before. Only Rodya still remained as suspicious as he was, but then again Rodya was the only one being carefully watched. Like some sort of prey.

The feeling is very unnerving. Perhaps he is not an... extraordinary man- though he has not quite given up on that idea- but he is still in charge of his own mind. He won't let some stranger take that control, despite... his current weakness, his current confusion. No, there isn't any room to worry about Victor, not with the murder, not when he must contemplate the daring... No...

Even now, after... Rodya looks up and finds Victor's dark eyes on him. They are alight with curiously. Damn him! What does he seek to find?!

Again Rodya looks sharply away. He has thus far been dealing with the threat posed by this rich stranger with silence. A silence that been very hard to maintain with the infuriating comments that Victor tends to make. These thoughts, these emotions have been bottling up... Petrevich demands so much, with his constant interrogations, the girl he met... Sonia, she makes him question his own soul...

And now a rich man who gazes at Rodya as if he knows, as if he understands...

But he couldn't know. He couldn't understand. Rodya himself hardly understands... What then, what could this man of privilege possibly know of anything Rodya has experienced?!

Rodya gloomily looks down at his hands. Near every action he commits to these days can be described as gloomy. Or brooding. He is much too deep in his own mind, and has lost reality... And without such, how to determine the importance of anything? Dear God, he feels so detached... yet in such terrible suffering- and for what? To be someone extraordinary? For the sake of knowing? He was not any better for either... What suffering was greater? To be alone and ignorant or to be with those who do not know while he alone is ignorant?

"We are rarely alone." Victor comments. Rodya startles, eyes briefly drawn to Victor's again.

No response.

"You rest so often. When you are not resting there is someone else in the room." Victor continues, moving to sit on the small couth beside Rodya. "When both of those are untrue- you've been summoned to the police station, or are off attending to your friend Sonia, or are off just wandering pointlessly, or you've just been pretending to rest and... do I need to continue? I think that covers the general idea well enough. I've placed my claim."

Rodya sighs. Victor is very much a man of science. He goes about life through hypothesis, research, and conclusions. Rodya has never been one for nature seen through science, but instead human nature. He scoffs.

"What of it? You're my doctor not my Mother."

Victor laughs, "I didn't see that sort of control when she visited. I bet you do listen to me more."

A deep sigh from Rodya, "You listen to me, now, I won't have-"

Victor lays a hand on his shoulder, "Hush. I just made the point about us being alone because I want to talk to you about something alone."

A dark (gloomy) look from Rodya, bordering on hateful glare. "What is that?"

"The murder." Such a smug grin.

Rodya's heart stops. He knows. You fool... flashes trough his troubled mind. He has been so pleased with his acting, had he let something slip? No... he'd been so silent. Victor had nothing.

"What of it? I've been ill. You know that better than anyone!" He replies after a moment of his heart pounding.

Victor raises his eyebrows. "It's really truly amazing how calm you can become. Trust me. I understand deceit."

"Deceit?" Rodya stands abruptly, getting away from Victor. "What are you accusing me of? You're a doctor- did you not tell me to avoid stress?! Why do you-"

Victor stands as well, grabbing hold of Victor's arm.

"It isn't an accusation. I am sure it is a fact." Victor's gaze burns into Rodya's black stare.

"Nonsense!" Rodya jerks away as Victor lets go, sending the Russian man sprawling against the wall. He falls onto the floor, looking up at Victor with wide eyes, breathing heavily.

"What are you so afraid of Rodya?" Victor asks, crossing his arms, looking down at Rodya with some degree of satisfaction.

What proof could he have? He can't know! How is he so sure?! What game is he playing?!

"What is the matter with you?" Rodya cries. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

In response Victor crouches down to Victor's level. "I don't have any proof, if you're concerned about that. I don't want to tell Petrevich a thing. I don't want to see you sent off to Siberia."

This is all so... abrupt, confusing... had the end come so soon? Did Petrevich already know?!

It's a rather good thing that Rodya is on the floor, as he's beginning to feel faint... Perhaps this would be better if Victor really thought he was a madman... it feels as if the swissman can see into his consciousness. That can't be possible though...

"Who are you really? Why have you come here?! What is it you want from me?" Rodya's voice is weak. "You come at me with baseless accusations, claiming to be a doctor!"

Victor seizes both of Rodya's arms, to pull him closer. "And you are not ill by any doing but your own. That we both know."

"What do we both know? How can you know?!" Sonia's words rush though Rodya's thoughts, "Is... is it possible- are you divine, somehow?"

The words seem utterly ridiculous once they escape, but also fitting. Sonia has filled his mind with ideas of God, and angels, and forgiveness... He is not sure anyone- what is real. All that he'd assumed had not been quite right...

"Divine?" Victor sighs. He has considered this point very deeply. "I do not think so. Some have called me God, creator but... no- I do not think in the way you mean."

"I... I don't underta-"

"Understand! Yes, understanding- that is what I want. You asked that of me, did you not? What it was I wanted? There are so many people in my life, so many that I love, and who love me. Yet... yet none of them can know..."

Victor searches Rodya's face desperately. He receives no response.

"Where do I even begin?" Victor squeezes Rodya's arms. Another deep sigh. "You're a murderer-"

"I am no such-"

"-and as a murderer, you don't really matter do you? You're of little consequence in society. A criminal. Who would even believe you once I told you my secret?"

Rodya is staring at Victor, whose intensity is borderline feverish, incredulously. "What right do you have to speak down to me?! You are-" Rodya tries to cut in.

Victor stops him with a harsh squeeze, pulling him closer yet. His voice is a harsh whisper. "But that is only half of it! There is more to you- I know this to be true. Understanding is not just a body that listens, because I have known murderers. You are uncommon among them. The guilt you feel is my guilt! This beautiful sensitivity you posses is... is something that I went through! Can't you see? Fate has drawn us together! Has delivered to me a brother who will share my burden! Fate has gifted me-"

Thought this monologue Victor's voice has been steadily rising, and Rodya expected to smell vodka carried on his hot breath, but Victor was not even remotely drunk. This is something he truly believes! And Rodya has run out of what little, sporadic, patience he had been trying to cling to.

"Fate?!" Rodya demands attention with his voice, the intensity of his stare. He feels far too weak to do it physically. "You have come here because of some idea of fate?! Are you not a man, who makes your own decisions?!"

Victor blinks. He is not used to being torn from monologueing in such a way.

"Whatever do you mean? I make decisions, yes, but once I have done so fate guides the consequences."

Rodya is greatly annoyed. Victor can see that in the look he gives him. "the consequences of your actions stem from your decisions. That is not fate! That is facing what you have done and deciding whether or not you will accept the cost of that action or if you cannot."

"But this was fate! My actions have sent me to you. Why else would two people as different as us have come together?"

"I had no desire to met you! It was not fate that drove you to chase e down! I do not know what did! But it was not fate; it was entirely your own madness!"

"I'm no more mad than you! You know that- you know a great deal. As fate has commanded it, now let me finish my confession!"

"Ach... Victor." It seemed as if Rodya was going to make some form of retort, but instead he fell silent. This rich Swiss man was immensely frustrating.

"Thank you..." Victor takes a deep breath, he has been clutching Rodya, knuckles white, and he now relaxes that grip. "Oh... I don't know how to confess this... it has all been like a dream... no, a nightmare. Where could I even start?"

"After all of that you won't even get to the point?!" Rodya cries.

"Don't you rush me! Not in confession to this depth! Don't you understand what this means to me?!"

"No! Damn you no! How can I when you refuse to explain a damn thing?! I never asked you to even come here let alone force your secrets upon me!"

Victor is stunned. Anyone back at his home would have hung off his every word. Yet this Russian man doesn't seem to care... but, no, it can't be! Victor is just overwhelming him, that's all. So he must calm down- Rodya is just scared, not cold.

He takes a deep breath and released the air as a sigh, rubbing Rodya's arms.

"Hush now. Don't be distressed."

Rodya just stares at him. It must be working.

"I'll continue, then, now that we are both calm. What I must confess is the darkest of my desires fulfilled. My greatest guilt, secret, and regret. I am loathe to say the words aloud, as I have never confessed them to a single other soul."

"Don't let me change that for you." Rodya mutters, trying to bat away Victor's hands.

"Rodya! Rodya, you are beyond cruel to me! I cannot bear this alone any longer!"

"I do not want to know your secret!"

"Are you not the least bit curious even, Rodya?! I have defiled nature!"

"As have I? I have no room to shoulder the burdens of others! Perhaps, before, I may have asked, but I do not like you to begin with!"

"Before the murders?!" Victor snaps finally, as though he's striking a blow.

Rodya's eyes just flash. "Yes." Victor has driven him to this point, and now Victor cannot bear to by the only privy to a secret. Understanding must go both ways.

"I shall not know your confession and keep mine to myself!" Victor's heart beats, he feels a single drop of perspiration. It is time! Finally time!

"Victor, you forced me to-"

"I HAVE CREATED A MAN!"

Silence.

†††

Victor is mad. He is mostly certainly insane. Everything is very clear now.

"He... he is a creature... hideous and deformed... I made this thing..." Slowly Victor trials off, staring into Rodya's eyes.

"No you haven't." Rodya says firmly.

"What?"

"No." Rodya looks away, crossing his arms.

"I have!" Victor rocks back on his heels, looking as though he's been punched. "I have played God! I-"

"Cannot believe you wasted my time for this. And you call yourself a doctor?"

"I am a doctor! Of sorts. Look, I have studied the sciences for years! Down to discovering the secret of life! What more could a doctor provide than giving life?!"

Rodya sighs. For a moment, the way Victor was talking about regret, desires, and playing God, he thought this rich man might truly be extraordinary, or at least understand as he claimed to. However, he sees the follies of these hopes now. Creating life is a matter of fiction. Rodya knows now that Victor has targeted him to share his madness. Well, he is not mad, so Victor is out of luck. They may share some ideas, the same base perhaps... but, no. No, there are no further similarities.

"You have proof of this 'life'?" Rodya asks after his momentary pause. He is feeling really lightheaded after all this excitement.

"I do! The creature stalks me... a bitter daemon that searches to destroy all that I love! He is a monster, hideous, with taunt, dead, yellow skin, sunken eyes, and although I've given him the nicest teeth and hair... oh, it only makes it all worse!"

Rodya shakes his head, "As such an incredible doctor you should be able to diagnose your own hallucinations."

This is not how Victor imagined that his grand confession would go, and he grows weary of Rodya's tone with him. He will not stand to be mocked! No man will dominate him, not even another who may be... equal in wit. Rodya's last comment sparks his passion beyond any other.

"I have told no lies! I am not mad!" Victor cries out, seizing Rodya's collar, "And you shall not mock me for the horrors I have been witness to!"

Victor yanks Rodya to his feet, for a full groan man the Russian is far too thing and light, before slamming him into the wall of the tiny room. The plaster cracks. Rodya winces, taking the attack well, as Victor cannot see the waves of dizziness that sweep over him, darkening his vision.

"My little brother was murdered! My sister, my best friend- they are under constant threat! And you will not dare to-... Rodya?"

The other man's eyes have closed, and he isn't resisting at all... Victor releases Rodya, and then barely catches the Russian against his chest as he goes limp.

"Hmmm. You've fainted." Victor observes, anger fading. He pulls Rodya into his arms, lifting the limp figure completely from the ground. For a moment he just cradles the man, feeling how insubstantial he is.

"Rodya you need to eat more... You should really listen to me." Victor carries the other man to the door, careful not to hit him against anything, a difficult task in the tiny room. "This place is poisoning you, such a nasty little hovel."

Victor has decided his medical treatment needs to become more forceful. Also, he very much desires to control their environment. He carries Rodya from his room, holding him close, and down the stairs.

It is the only guarantee that we have.

Time will always, inevitably, pass.

No matter what we go through or what happens in this world.

Seconds will stretch into minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries, and on into eternity.

So what if it didn't?

Could everything... stop?

What guarantee would we have then?

Time passes. Of that we are sure. But we've been wrong before.  

Warm kisses,

singeing touches,

crackling passion.

Our relationship: practiced perfection.

He was too smart  

to fight their wars,

to put himself in danger for others,

to get himself hurt, 

or to do things that scared him. 

He was too smart to need strength in hard times because he was too smart to allow such times to happen.

He was too smart to be the one to step up because he was smart enough to hide himself from pain. 

He was too smart, he told himself, to have courage,

or spirit,

or daring,

or bravery,

or life. 

Not him. 

He'd be safe.

He was too smart for them.    

Whoosh. Click.

Maria would have stayed in bed this morning if she knew what was good for her. She wouldn’t have woken up before he did. She wouldn’t need a flashlight to navigate the early morning. She wouldn’t be suspicious of his promises, even if she were right.

Whoosh. Click.

There is a loose board somewhere in the back of this barn. The wood must be very old to bend like paper in the wind though it snaps back just as quickly. I think it’s behind my head, but I can’t be sure. It’s always dark in here; I can’t see even with my eyes flung open. I didn’t have time to check when I was first brought out here, but now the sound doesn’t bother me. Settlers built this barn a long time ago; he told me that, they used to hang tobacco from the rafters. I know this can’t be what they had in mind for it...

Whoosh. Click.

He was easy to believe when there were two of us. I never felt any reason to doubt him. I wonder where he told Maria I had gone. Loneliness is powerful... That must have cracked her faith; once you question a fragment of the truth the entire picture is corrupted. She wasn’t afraid of him, I hadn’t been either, but she knew well enough to hide what she was doing.

Whoosh. Click.

The past seems silly to me when I think back: we ran away; we trusted a stranger; we lived in a broken down house without a signal and called ourselves saved. We must have been fools. I wonder why we were so eager to flee. It’s getting harder to remember; things as recent as last week are hazy, like another life. I’m forgetting how to feel. I used to wish I could tell Maria the truth, but today I only wait to see if she will uncover it.

Whoosh. Click.

Maria is leaving the house because he told her not to. She’ll be searching in places she is forbidden to search because you don’t find the truth behind unlocked doors or sitting on parlor shelves; you only find more questions. The barn is the biggest thing on this property besides the house. People are drawn to the most obvious locations; I’m sure she’ll be here first. I wonder why she hasn’t already looked for me. She must not want to believe what she’s begun to think. Maybe she won’t be as shocked as I was.

Whoosh. Click.

This morning is another cold morning, but I don’t feel it. Will Maria be cold for much longer? Will she ever feel warmth again? She is underestimating him. I did.

Whoosh. Click.

Creak. Step.

Light dances around the interior of the barn: a shaky beam that tries its best to avoid actually hitting anything that could shatter what trust she retains. Maybe she’ll leave without finding me. Maybe she’ll be back in bed before he’s out of his and she can live just a bit longer. Maybe...

Whoosh. Click.

The sound startles her. She moves towards where I lay. The sound must be behind my head the way she moves: I was right. The light illuminates behind the stairs. She’s searching for the noise: she finds something more.

“No.”

Whoosh. Click.

“Oh God...”

She sees me now. She must be scared. Does she feel the cold...? She shouldn’t make too much noise. You know now Maria. You should go. You should run again.

Whoosh. Cli-

A hand catches the wood, from the outside, before it snaps back. Maria’s head snaps up. She plunges us into darkness together.

“Maria...?”