Chapter Sixteen: First Night

Chapter Sixteen

Gavin still sat next to the wall, though now I was stretched out on the seat with my head on his lap. He’d pulled a blanket and pillow from the luggage compartment and I used them gratefully; the train was cooled to optimize the efficiency of the train’s magnets and the effect carried on to the interior. As I relaxed, I entertained myself by watching Jade snore on the boy’s shoulder, despite her relationship to the wall. She still sat close to the wall, as she had earlier, but instead of reclining on the cushioned surface, she leaned on the boy, without his consent nonetheless. I only hoped this boy didn’t have a girlfriend, or if he did, that he’d tell Jade in due time.

It turned out, this boy’s name was Leon Gonzago. He lived on his own in an apartment almost as destitute as the one Jade and I had lived in with our grandparents. His job at the sporting goods store barely paid his rent and the little he had left funded a night course at a community college. About four years more experience in solving the riddle of life was something he had over Jade and I, which made him eighteen years old. Perhaps my impressions of him were inaccurate because of the unprecedented atrocities he (and the rest of us too) had just witnessed, but he struck me as a charming young adult with an air of innocence about him. I could imagine the luminescent glow of his white teeth when he was in his normal state, that idea, of course, depended on the validity of my first impressions of him.

I wondered, if he was as free as I could tell Jade hoped he was, what would evolve between them. Surely any non-platonic relationship that could emerge wouldn’t last. If such a relationship were to form, it would be based off an extreme circumstance, and seemed impossible of surviving the trials and tribulations of time.

I couldn’t have been certain, but I thought we were crossing the Atlantic Ocean in the Trans-Atlantic Magnetic Vacuum Propelled Mass Transit Tunnel, or TAMVPMTT (nicknamed “Tam Vip Matt”). I considered asking Gavin what he thought, since he’d been in the tunnel in the past week, but I didn’t. I was basking under the illusion he perceived that I was asleep and for me to ask his thoughts on our ever-changing position on the Earth would spoil the illusion.

I didn’t understand why, but I enjoyed the serenity I had feigning sleep in his lap with all silent except the imperceptible humming of the magnetic propulsion system, and the soft contented rising and falling of Jade’s weary chest. My only theory as to why I liked it was that it gave me a peace that contrasted the morbidity of the chaos that had ensued only hours ago.

This calmness might also have originated from Gavin himself. His left arm was draped across my body with his hand snaking under my arm onto my stomach. He gently drew small circles on the taut fabric of my dress, sending ecstatic shivers down my spine. My arm, the one I’d been laying on, reached up and played with the skin on Gavin’s arm. Just next to it, Gavin’s other arm, the one I toyed with, wasn’t inactive on an armrest as the nerves beneath its skin went numb. No, it was petting my head and gliding its hand’s fingers through my black hair, soothing me.

That was how we were positioned for the rest of the trip; Jade was asleep on Leon Gonzago and I feigned sleep under Gavin’s magical spell.

Just before the train stopped at its scheduled destination, Sir Harold, returned to speak with us about his house; he was still cradling his cherished fishing boot. I wouldn’t have imagined there could’ve been much to say, unless he thought we’d run through it like toddlers on a sugar-high and bust everything in the antique china cabinet in the formal dining room. Needless to say, I was wrong.

“I live in a large castle in northern Europe, between several mountains. No, it isn’t as old a castle as I’d like, though the builders have done well to mask this fact. Regardless of how well the castle is disguised, there’s no hiding the personal monorail I have going to McLeod Manor from the train station.”

“You sound somewhat wealthy,” Gavin mumbled; I felt the movement of his diaphragm in the back of my head.

“Somewhat?” He laughed loudly. “That’s a tad off.” Gavin didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement, at least not any that I felt from his lap. “Feel free to order the servants to do whatever you wish, short of being inappropriate. I pay them enough to do whatever they’re told whenever they’re told.”

“What do you mean?” Gavin accused. “It almost sounds like you’re paying them to do whatever the—” The word rhymed with bell. “—you tell them, no matter how degrading.”

“Yeah,” Sir Harold admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “That’s pretty much it, although there is some job specialization but for the most part, they do as their told.”

“I hope you pay them enough to compensate.” Leon, like Gavin, was almost scolding Sir Harold.

“Monetarily speaking, they get enough annually, to retire after only three years of work. On the other hand, there are also perks to working for me that couldn’t be found otherwise.” Sir Harold explained, oblivious to the stabs at his methodology.

“Such as?” Gavin prodded.

“I don’t need to defend myself any further,” Sir Harold finally picked up on the criticisms. “All you need to know is that you have access to every resource available at McLeod Manor, including the Servants.” Sir Harold ended the conversation.

Coincidentally, as the conversation ended, so did the train ride. The train slowed to a halt, and Gavin began shaking me awake. “Come on, it’s time to leave.”

I sat up, trying to jar the disturbing images of death from my head. Sadly, they still haunted my thoughts, and threatened to engrave themselves into the inside of my skull, at least the ones that hadn’t already.

Gavin had to have sensed my distress, because he wouldn’t take his arm away from my stomach; we walked together as one body off the train.

We were, in fact, in Europe. What was strange though was what part of Europe we seemed to be in; normally the Trans-Atlantic train ride stopped in Britain, or occasionally France. From what I could tell, we weren’t in any of the big metropolitan train stations. Instead, it appeared we were in a more northern rural station. As far as an exact location however, I didn’t have much of a chance to find out.

Sir Harold led the four of us into a corner of the train station few others were going to, where a single train car sat ready for us. What I saw out of the six-inch pane of glass, the only apparent window in this part of the station, the track for our car traveled in a straight path away from civilization. It seemed to travel through dense vegetation and around a nearby mountain before weaving out of sight at the border between the starry sky and the lush greenery below.

“Come along now,” Sir Harold moved his hands in a sweeping motion. “Just step into my magic box.”

Jade scowled in protest. “You make it sound so wrong.”

“How ever do you mean?” Sir Harold had the same tone of a child pretending not to be guilty of the accused naughtiness.

“Don’t lie to me; I’m not the sort of girl who would use socks and cardboard boxes like that.” Jade snapped her head around and marched into the train car.

“Erma didn’t mean anything by it!” Sir Harold did a poor job hiding the look of defeat on his pasty composure. “Erma was speaking metaphorically, I swear!”

Jade didn’t respond, or if she did, it was with my favorite response; silence.

This train ride was far shorter than its predecessor; the train itself also traveled at a slower velocity. During the trip to McLeod Manor from the train station, Leon asked what the adjacent pathway on the train tracks was for, and the conversation was all that seemed to perk up Jade’s mood; the candle of happiness she’d found was quickly extinguished between her smothering finger and thumb. Her motive behind concealing her joy confused me, although I speculated I might have been the reason.

It turned out the pathway just next to the train tracks was a bike trail for the rare times when the train car was unavailable. Why this excited Jade, and how it connected to the argument we’d had, I wrote off as a coincidence.

Just around another bend, the castle appeared in the windows of our train car. It brought new meaning to the phrase “A man’s home is his castle.” Sir Harold’s home really was his castle.

The front of the house was a three story mansion with the walls made of stone from recycled buildings and a nearby quarry. It had everything one might expect in a castle, including a tower with slits for archers. The roof appeared flat though I knew it had to be slanted slightly for the snow to roll off of. Indeed, it was a castle but parts of it looked more like a palace than a castle. Luxury oozed from the walls and decadence was the mortar holding the stones together.

Sir Harold’s personal train slowed to a cushioned stop in a parking garage of sorts where three other train cars sat.

Descending the ramp off the train, I was reminded of my father’s boathouse on a lake near his house. My father’s boathouse held three boats with each docked in a parking slot. To get to the boats, one only had to tread on the piers made of red cedar, and step into one of the gently rocking crafts. Above the boat garage, rafters supported a triangle roof; tiny birds often nested in the crevices between the roof and ceiling, yet their droppings never spoiled the soft fragrant wood.

Sir Harold’s train garage was similar to the boathouse of my youth in many ways. Firstly, the floor was covered by planks of a rich dark wood, maple I thought, and made a similar creaking sound to the cedar I remembered. The surface underneath the wood wasn’t a lake but smooth white river rocks, between which blades of grass poked through, yet the feeling of five and a half feet wide piers was the same. In the hollows formed by the thick beams supporting the roof, a straw nest sat; on the floor, six or so meters below, were muddy white stains of circular splatter. Sir Harold’s train garage was reminiscent of the time I’d spent fishing with my father; it wasn’t the same.

Sir Harold led the way into the main part of the building; as I walked into the room, I saw a gold plaque on the wall, but was unable to read what it said.

Sir Harold navigated the maze of corridors well, especially without a map. A few times, I thought he lost his sense of direction, but he still carried on; he never let his followers glimpse his lost expression. He walked up three flights of stairs, down four, and back up two before skirting down a corridor so fast I barely caught where he went. Gavin’s long legs moved in long strides that let him keep pace with the frantic senior citizen, but he was the only one who wasn’t having difficulty keeping up; the other three of us had to jog some distance back. Tempting, it was, to let Sir Harold run off, but we resisted for fear of getting lost in the relentless series of intersections and ninety-degree turns.

We must’ve walked two and a half miles before Sir Harold finally clapped his heels together in front of a broad oak door with shimmering brass fixtures. He took his wader off and held it above his head with his elbows straight. “Sruun Borealis, Erma has decreed you will stay in this room.” He moved the boot to under his left arm before turning the handle and pushing the door open so it swung freely away from him.

Gavin’s hand was in mine when I stepped forward. He tried to pull away but I tightened my grip and pressed my long fingernails into the back of his hand. My clenched digits weren’t intended to send currents of nerve impulses to his brain, where they would then be interpreted as pain, but rather to tell him he wasn’t leaving me. I planned to finagle him into my room, one way or another.

Sir Harold shrugged as I entered, pulling Gavin behind me. I could tell he wasn’t sure of what to think or say before we entered. Words were congealing into a sentence-like putty on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained from reprimanding the two of us. Instead, he spoke other words; “I’m certain you will find everything to be perfectly accommodating. Feel free to ring the Servants at any time.”

“Okay, thank-you.” Being polite was becoming difficult; witnessing the deaths of thousands and then learning I was under the custody of a strange stranger was emotionally and mentally taxing.

“Oh, and breakfast will be delivered between nine and ten a.m.” Sir Harold ignored Gavin’s towering presence next to me.

I nodded and proceeded into the room. The door clicked shut behind me while Gavin and I surveyed the room before us.

Everything was bathed in grandeur. The focal point of the lavish decorum was a monstrous four poster bed with scarlet curtains draped from its roof. When one saw the columns supporting the bed’s roof, one’s attention climbed to the twelve-foot ceiling which even Gavin couldn’t touch. Across the edge of the roof, ornamental molding danced at the intersection of two geometric planes.

On the wall to our left, were two doors with a beautiful upright piano between them. To our right, a large desk with a slide-down cover sat in the corner, and in the corner opposite it, was a long four cushion couch at an angle. The room really was massive.

Before Gavin and I began exploring the room further, I turned the deadbolt on the door. The lever contoured to my grip and was cool to the touch. At the end of the bolt’s locking mechanism, the metal made me, in light of my current situation, want to spend all my days locking deadbolts.

The door closest to us turned out to be a walk-in closet with many things inside. On expensive suit hangars, soft cotton bath robes hung above a dark wooden dresser containing tank tops and boxers that truly were “one size fits all.”

I knew they were universally fitting because they were made with nano-elastics. Nano-elastics stretched like normal elastic bands, but like in normal elastic, nano-elastic could shrink or expand to fit the wearer. Nanotechnology let the user attach a control wire to the fabric, and thanks to an electrical current, the particles could expand or contract.

Stacked in a perfect pile, with the borders on them aligned precisely, were towels made of a crème colored fabric. They were placed with such exactness that even the fibers of the towels seemed combed in the same direction.

Next we voyaged to the other room. It was a lavish bathroom that I could’ve easily fallen in love with, had I not been distressed by the recent events. Just inside the door was a shower stall that was like a hallway to get into the enormous tub next to the shower. A glass wall divided the shower and tub from the rest of the bathroom. From one side of the glass, one could barely perceive anything except blurred shadows behind it, yet from the shower’s side, everything was visible. Further into the bathroom, behind a tile wall built on the end of the bath tub, was the toilet and nest to it, one of those hygienic fire hydrants. Opposite the shower, tub, and toilet couple, was a stainless steel counter with a single sink hanging below the steel counter. Across the wall, above the sink’s counter was a polished mirror with track lights highlighting equidistant ovals on the mirror.

“Why don’t you take your shower first?” I suggested to my dear boyfriend.

It was amazing how after what we’d witnessed, the simplest of interactions were strenuous; Gavin had to work to produce his question. “Are you sure?” He whispered. I answered his inquiry with a nod.

I had a deep rooted feat that was impossible to explain to him, or anyone for that matter. I feared what would happen if Gavin showered after me. I knew the Catrions wouldn’t attack us attain, at least, not in the next few hours but the grueling images the past day had produced had scarred my thinking. Somehow, I could find peace if I showered after him. My thoughts told me that I’d still be able to see him, and that would calm my worries. It made no sense how the thought erupted, but I worried that if I showered first, I’d be unable to keep myself awake afterwards, and would fall asleep never to wake up, or worse; I’d fall asleep and Gavin wouldn’t wake up. My senseless, saddened angst told me that if Gavin showered first, I could watch over him. Shocking myself, I silently admitted that if it let me protect him, I would even discard my inhibitions and shower with him.

Of course, neither did I shower with him, or convince myself throwing away my dignity was acceptable under normal circumstances. The tragedy wasn’t an invitation for me to reveal myself to him but rather the cause of the tragedy as the predicate in a “what if” question involving Gavin was. My thoughts weren’t so much a fantasy as they were recognition of what I’d do to prevent harm from befalling him.

I didn’t want to stand naked with him beneath a down pour of man-made rain; it was just the extent I’d take for him—for me. As I pondered the abstraction, of he and I together in the shower I realized that even if I were crazy enough to want to shower with him, he was too much of a gentleman to comply with it. He’d understand my desires didn’t involve slow dancing to the tune of water dripping off our backs and trickling down the drain, and if I persisted, he would continue to decline. That was why I loved him; he and I were so much alike, we could predict the other’s behavior, most of the time, successfully.

Once, Gavin had expressed a viewpoint so asper it could’ve come out of my mouth. We’d been talking about teenage relationships when, as usually happens in a fervent conversation, the subject changed. Our new subject was about teenage girls who overtly displayed too much. Gavin had said that every girl who prances through their daily routine boasting of the talent she has for shaving her legs, is pleading for a mindless insertion, and those who map the Grand Canyon with a low cut top were either cunning masters of their universe or encouraging further exploration of many local hills, valleys, and crevices. At the time, I’d been stunned by the rabid remark but it had been a blunt opinion on the wardrobe of most females between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four. Gavin’s statement had been fraught with vituperative comments, only I was under the impression that he had been merely saying he found that style of dress unattractive; the continuous wearing of such things by almost every girl in his surroundings bothered him. He explained that the short skirts, v-necked shirts, and form-fitting tops each had a time to be worn and that any time in which the wearer would be out in public, was the wrong time for them. He felt that they were best suited for use at home, or when with a boyfriend or spouse who enjoyed seeing his girl in such things. I think he thought he might have offended me by suggesting I wear them around him because he quickly explained that if ever he had a girlfriend who would wear clothing like that, that he’d only let her wear them if she seemed willing and confident in herself; that was the crux of the panicked rambling Gavin did when he thought he was dropping hints.

With a sly smile, I imagined that Gavin would indubitably find pleasure in me wearing clothing like that. I knew my mischievous plots would never be enacted, unless in the far off future Gavin and I were married and he yearned for a glimpse of my flesh but time afforded nothing more than a peak.

Coming back to reality, I followed Gavin back to the closet but when he gathered a sample of all of the available clothes, he left me standing on the soft azure carpet. After a few minutes of standing around, I began toying with the control wire for the undergarments.

I could either put either put the clothing on and resize it to fit, or I could answer a few questions on the hand-held controller with an LCD screen and a computer just smart enough to do the job inside it. Since I had some time to spare before Gavin finished his clash with the soap, I chose to resize the clothing using the device’s computer; I’d probably have to wear more than one set of clothing before my stay in Sir Harold’s mansion concluded, and having numerous sets that fit seemed wise.

Among the questions the device asked were expected things like your height, weight, age, and sex, but the invasive survey went deeper. It assumed I knew what size of clothing I wore but upon receiving the information, the computer admitted as politely as its programmers could that whatever size I thought I wore was probably inaccurate due to the superiority of the computer’s programming. It was reassuring to be told that if I didn’t know what size underwear I wore, an omnipotent computer program would deign to tell me.

In the wall behind me, the sound of flowing water ceased, so I met Gavin by the gargantuan bed. Looking somewhat refreshed, Gavin dried his hair; behind his eyes was the painful scar of mass human destruction.

“Watch your step when you get in; there’s a lip that’s easy to trip over.” He advised, searching for a dry corner of his towel to finish collecting the moisture from his hair with.

Laying a towel across the floor, I stepped into the bathroom. I’d started to lay all my things on the steel counter but as an after thought I hung the towel I intended to dry off with on a bar inside the shower and draped the robe over the shower door; I left the shirt and boxers on the counter.

Again my fears took hold of me and I left the bathroom door open; I knew Gavin couldn’t see me through the shower’s frosted glass wall and that even if he could he wouldn’t enter the bathroom regardless.

Disrobing just inside the shower door and tossing my clothes over the glass, I promised myself I was going to burn the dress Gavin found for me to wear amidst the appalling spectacle at the Arlington Mall.

The shower was magnificent; water cascaded around me from all directions, and even sprang from the floor to reach places normal shower heads couldn’t, like the bottoms of my feet for example.

My presumptions about the shower being like a hallway had been correct. Just behind the shower door and closest to the corner, was a tiled bench and hanging rod. In the center, was the shower, with its digital control panel and surrounding jets. At the end of the so-called hallway, where the floor slanted to, was the bathtub.

The bathtub alone was beautiful; it was set into the floor so water drained into it. I wondered if one would feel like a corn flake when sitting in it because it was roughly the shape of a giant cereal bowl. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like it was large enough that Gavin and I could sit in it with our legs forming one connected line.

I turned off the water after a relaxing shower; I’d not had one that long since Hubert was chilling frothy alcoholic beverages in the refrigerator.

Once towel-dried, I slipped my arms into the robe, crept out, retrieved the rest of my clothes from the sink, and dressed behind the safety of the shower’s walls.

Gavin was happy to see me come out of the bathroom but when I hugged him, he changed. “Sruun, are you okay?”

“What? Of course I am, why do you ask?” I brushed my sopping hair out of my eyes with three fingers.

“You’re crying,”

I lifted my head off his chest and stared into his eyes. “N-no I’m not. It’s my hair—it’s dripping.”

Gavin squeezed me tightly and a tear trickled down his cheek as well.

Considering it was nearly four in the morning, Gavin and I agreed to get some sleep, and before I could say anything, Gavin declared he was sleeping on the couch. This was a relief to me, yet also in a way, it saddened me.

I climbed between the curtains of the bed, pulled them shut, and before drifting out, was amazed by the number of pillows on the bed. Before long, Gavin’s hushed snoring was all I heard until I too journeyed to the land of Nod.

I woke up moments later, or so it seemed and was not expecting what greeted me. The bathrobe I’d slept in was pushed to my feet though I only vaguely remembered taking it off during the night because it restricted my movement; the more I thought about it, the less I remembered. With the exception of one other detail, my clothes felt as they had when I went to bed.

That one other detail, the one that was shocking to discover, was a hand snaking above my side, up my shirt, and resting flat on my back.

The body it belonged to was asleep next to me. Without my glasses or time to recover from the sleep I’d had, I couldn’t focus bit it looked like the face of the male was so close to mine that I should’ve felt the carbon-dioxide from his soft breathing. As I blinked awake, I realized how close I was to the tall figure and for a moment, I was enraged at the prospect of someone sneaking into bed with me. My anger subsided when I realized it was Gavin, my beau, on the bed next to me. I nudged him awake for an answer.

“Psst,” I whispered. “Hey, wake up.” Gavin stirred slightly. “Why’d you move here?”

He yawned, stretched, and sat up. “It was all I knew to do to help you.”

“Help me?” I sat up, cross-legged.

“All night you screamed my name and cried out. I tried to wake you but the only way you’d calm down was to feel my touch.” Gavin explained. “Sorry if I upset you.”

“No, it’s okay.” I bluffed. “I-I kind of liked it.” I grabbed my robe and pulled it around my shoulders.

Gavin crawled just beside me off the bed, and held his hand out for me to take. Thankful for the gesture, I accepted the firm helping hand and stretched my stiff legs as I stood up.

“Let’s go explore the castle, or see if we can find Jade.” Gavin suggested, to which I agreed. To our dismay, such a task was made difficult by our missing daytime-wear; the Servants had picked them up during the night.

Nonetheless, we decided to venture out, despite only having boxers, wife-beaters, and bathrobes to wear but when we opened the door we found beams of concentrated energy preventing us from passing through the doorway. If we tried to pass, our flesh would sear to a charred crisp. It seemed Sir Harold wasn’t all that noble after all; we were his captives.