Chapter 6

The curtains moved and three figures dressed in black gowns, similar to what the man in the gray was wearing, appeared. They were all tall and slim and, as they were walking toward the armchairs, their robes were rhythmically moving, making it seem as if they had no feet, as if they were simply floating an inch above the ground. The three figures were wearing hoods on their heads, their faces were barely visible apart from their chins and lips. They walked up to the armchairs, stepped on a not-too-high dais, which made them look even taller, and sat down. As they did, they took off their hoods. The person sitting in the middle, on the biggest, armchair was a woman of wavy fiery red hair, pale, practically white skin, very red lips and focused cold gaze. The other two figures turned out to be men with thick, black as night hair, similarly pale faces and the same cold eyes. Their irises were as pale as the man’s who brought John in front of them.

John was breathing heavily, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth trying to calm down. He observed everything with his eyes squinted, trying to see everything as detailed as possible. It seemed he was taking part in some kind of a trial and he was a prisoner inside a cage situated on the top of a two-story wooden construction, standing before three judges. In his pajamas and slippers. Jesus Christ, what a wicked dream. What a wicked, horribly realistic dream.

“Step back,” the man standing on the left from the cage said. It wasn’t until then that John realized he had his forehead leaning against the bars and his palms were gripping them so tightly, his fingers and knuckles were white. He looked at the man and obediently did as he was told. His legs were shaking now and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to stand still.

“Be seated,” the woman said and the whole arena was filled with a short, but noisy sound of the spectators sitting on their seats. John, thankful, sat on his chair, but the man in the gray robes looked at him and shook his head.

“Not you.”

John got up immediately.

“Prosecutor, what are we dealing with today?” the woman asked, and the man standing next to John’s cage took a few steps ahead.

Prosecutor. He’s my prosecutor, John thought and felt a gulp of panic forming in his throat. He swallowed loudly and not without an effort.

“Your honor, this is John Smith, a man of low standards and a pretty bad moral reputation, who has devoted his life to making it pleasant and comfortable, as he had often declared himself. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with it if he hadn’t systematically left a festival of broken hearts, unfulfilled promises, dashed hopes and failed expectations. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with it, if he hadn’t been focused selfishly on his needs only, if he hadn’t lied to the people who trusted and loved him, if he had kept given word. John Smith is, without doubt, a cold and calculating man who has been solely focused on his own needs, he has hurt everyone around him; his family, his lovers, his boss, his friends. John Smith deserves to be punished and I shall prove it.

“What! What are you talking about? What the hell is going on!” John started shaking the wooden bars. His heart was pounding, and his whole body was covered in sweat.

“Silence!” The woman said firmly and banged a small gavel onto a wooden tray, but John had no intention of being quiet. Who the hell were these people? What were they doing? A prosecutor? A trial? Jesus, what was happening?

“No, I won’t be silent! This is some kind of a mistake! I’m an innocent person, and I have no idea what I’m doing here!”

“If you are innocent, as you’re claiming, then why are you so nervous? Why the panic?” she replied, and one of the men sitting next to her nodded his head agreeing with the question.

“Because I was brought here without my knowledge, without my consent! Because it’s some kind of madness, it’s insane what’s going on!” John exclaimed. Struggling with the cage and the emotions made him physically tired, so he was breathing heavily.

“Do you deny any of the allegations the Prosecutor has just mentioned?” Asked the man who had been nodding his head.

“Of course!”

“I have witnesses that will confirm everything I’ve said,” the Prosecutor said calmly, deferring to the judges and came a bit closer to John. He looked at him with a distance in his eyes and hissed, “Have some dignity, don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“It’s a mistake, it’s some kind of horrible, terrible mistake,” John replied to him. He did his best to sound calmer, to hide the trembling voice and to sound more firm, more confident. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“The defendant claims he’s innocent, Prosecutor,” the woman said.

“Don’t they all, Your Honor?” the man in the gray robes replied looking at her.

“I see no obstacles to commence the trial,” the other man said.

“Fine, let’s begin,” the woman agreed and hit the wooden tray with the gavel.

The sound made John wake up.

Oh my God, he thought, trying to calm his shaking hands. He had to drink some water, immediately. His throat was so dry, it felt as if his tongue was at least two times bigger than normal and he was only seconds away from choking.

John got up, walked to the bathroom, grabbed the mug that held his toothbrush and toothpaste, filled it with cold, tap water and gulped it down immediately, spilling some of it because his shaking hand wasn’t able to keep the glass steady. As soon as he had drunk the entire portion, he instantly felt he needed more, so he put the mug into the sink again and turned the water on. But he was too impatient, and his thirst was too strong, to wait for the mug to fill, so he just put it aside, bent over the faucet and started drinking directly from it.

Sometime later, when he finally felt his thirst was quenched, John looked at himself in the mirror above the sink and for a few seconds he could barely recognize himself. He looked very tired, his hair was a mess, and his face was shining both from sweat and the drops of water glittering around his lips. John grabbed a towel and dried it, but he still looked bad. He sighed, and took a closer look at his hands. They weren’t shaking anymore. He heard Cindy moving in bed, and looked at her from the bathroom and felt angry, envious. She was able to sleep peacefully. He had just had another nightmare that violently woke him up, and she was just lying there, resting; sleeping like a goddamned baby. She didn’t even wake up when he went to the bathroom!

John walked out of the bathroom, looked at her again, and felt the anger growing inside him, like a blister on a foot after a long day of walking. It was burning, it was pulsing, and it was about to burst. John felt he had to do something, manifest his frustration is some kind of a way. He looked at the bathroom door and slammed it so loudly that Cindy immediately woke up and screamed. Seeing her anxiety, made John feel slightly better.

“Jesus, what happened?” she asked, looking at him. Some single locks were sticking to her face, and she had pillow line impressions on her cheek.

“Just a draft, nothing to worry about,” John replied and got back to bed.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry; everything’s fine,” he said and kissed her forehead. She took a deep breath and lay down.

“What time is it?” Cindy asked.

“3:17.”

“Okay, God, I need to sleep, I have this thing at work today,” she said, and turned her back to him and fell asleep within less than a minute. John was observing her, angry and hurt that she didn’t care to ask him what he was doing in the bathroom at three o’clock in the morning. He might have felt bad, he might have had stomach issues, he might have had sleeping problems. She didn’t care, though, she just put her head back on the pillow and she was off to sleep for the next three hours.

Screw you, Cindy.

John was wondering if it was safe to fall asleep again, but he was too tired to give it a second thought. Whatever was to happen, he didn’t care, he was too exhausted to consider staying up, especially since he knew what was ahead of him.

Two weeks earlier, Paul gave John the keys to his new apartment. It was still being renovated and under construction, but the most necessary things like the bathroom, and kitchen were already alive and kicking. From Monday to Friday builders and designers were working there and John was given the spare keys to use the apartment when it was empty. He hadn’t done it yet, but this weekend, Friday, after work, Cindy was going on a short business trip, so John had a plan to invite Katie to Paul’s place. She was a cute twenty-two-year-old brunette he had met in Paul’s club, they chatted a bit, drank a few mojitos together, and it was obvious that they had a nice chemistry together. They had been meeting in the club for some time now, and John knew that it was very possible they would finally get to spend the night together.

He was looking forward to it, as it was about time for Johnny to have some fun. Cindy was constantly busy, she was working hard to get a mid-year bonus, so she was either constantly at work, or when at home, too tired for anything else than going to sleep. Molly was busy, too, plus her rigid day schedule made it difficult for John to come and visit her as often as he wanted. Yes, he needed to feel good, be in the mood for the upcoming night.

Finally, after about an hour of thinking of his upcoming weekend, John finally fell asleep.

***

Two months after they moved to the new apartment, John had had enough. He couldn’t stand living together any longer, and Cindy was the biggest problem. The things between them were different when he was knocking on her door from time to time while escaping Margaret, but the full-time living together was pretty much disappointing. After all, he was the one to introduce her to the high life, to some standards she hadn’t expected of life before, and there she was, making him constantly feel unappreciated. Neglected. She was way too focused on her life and her career, both of which, from John’s perspective were ridiculous. An HR worker in some middle-sized company, that consisted of not more than fifteen people. What possible career could one make in a place like that? What was she counting on? That she would get some on-line shopping coupons or a parking spot closer to the building? Ridiculous. Not to mention she was just so, so…ordinary.

He had to admit, there was literally nothing attractive about her any longer for him and, from time to time, he was wondering what had drawn him to her in the first place. He just wasn’t sure anymore. Perhaps such things as kindness, as the will to take care of him when he needed a shoulder to cry on. They met when the Margaret crisis was in full bloom, and John had to admit, he was looking for a little bit of stability in his life, something lasting longer than a one-night stand. Something to make him feel like he was being taken care of. To be honest, though, being with someone only because the person was cute and cooked nicely, that just wasn’t enough for him for a long haul. She was dull, by his standards, didn’t enjoy life as he did, and it was something that kept on bugging him more and more.

He was regularly meeting ladies and partying in Paul’s club and apartment. From time to time he was also visiting Molly, who still had no idea he had left Margaret.

Margaret.

Margaret and Mick.

That was one of the things that John felt was so irritating about Cindy. She kept on asking him about them, asking if he had contacted his wife, or his son, if he had spoke with him, or if he was thinking of getting a divorce, or if he was getting a lawyer. It was extremely annoying because he had a feeling all of those things were delicate and that they shouldn’t have been Cindy’s concern. The truth was, deep down, John had a feeling it was better not to finalize things with Margaret. He couldn’t explain it in any logical way, but he knew, that it simply wasn’t a good idea to cut the cord between her and him.

Not yet, at least.

He did meet with Mickey twice. Once they went for a beer, and of course, John had to answer all the irritating questions concerning coming back home, the reasons behind leaving; the future and what it would bring. He was ready, it was obvious the kid was going to ask about it, so he gave him some general answers like: It’s complicated, it takes time, your mother and I haven’t been able to communicate for some time now, she needs help and he needs to face it, I can’t help her anymore, she needs to see a specialist, we’ve been through this many times, perhaps now that I’m gone, she might finally start taking care of herself, you’re a man now, an adult, you need to understand things aren’t always easy, aren’t always black and white, and she’s not alone, she’s got you.

It was pretty funny how easily John came up with all those things. And the best thing of all was that Mickey was buying them. It seemed that at that time, he had a vision that his mother and John would get together again, that they both needed to calm down, and that she simply needed to start taking care of herself, get help, and then, who knew.

The second time they met, almost two months later, John took Mickey to a hockey game and as they were walking out of the arena, Mick asked his stepfather where he was living. That was something John had failed to think through and it took him by surprise.

“Here, or there, you know, nothing, um, nothing concrete.”

“Well yeah, but it’s been like three months or something, you have to live somewhere.”

“I do. I mean, a friend of mine is renting me his apartment.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah, Paul. He, um, he bought a new condo, I was helping him finish it up, and now I am living there, like, temporary.”

“Cool where is it?”

“Get in the car, Mick, it’s cold,” John said and opened the central locking. The car’s lights flashed and both men got inside.

“I mean, come on, dad, we see each other only in the city,” he said as he was fastening his seat belt.

“I know, I know; it’s only until I find myself something more stable, something permanent. Paul doesn’t like people coming to his place, hanging out, you know? He wants to sell the apartment, and he’s nuts about people walking around, touching things. He put a lot of money to finish the place, you know? He’s a bit crazy about it.”

“Paul? I’ve always thought he was the coolest guy.” Mick laughed.

“Yeah, me, too!” John exclaimed and laughed, too. “But you should see him! He’s like “John, you can use only the downstairs toilet, please make sure you touch the light switch when you turn it on, do not touch the freshly painted walls with your fingers, you do it once, it’s okay, you keep on doing it regularly and there will be spots all around it”.”

“Seriously? Paul?”

“Yeah! Imagine that!”

“Unbelievable.”

“I know.” John laughed. They were driving along the highway, heading east to where John and Margaret’s house used to be. It occurred to him it was the first time he was heading that direction for almost three months. And that he hadn’t missed it at all.

Mickey was quiet throughout the way. They were just listening to a local rock radio station, and John was tapping his fingers on the driving wheel in the rhythm of some classic AC/DC tune, while his adopted son was just looking right through his window. John saw his face in the corner of his eye and it occurred to him the boy was sad; he had the look on his face that indicated some serious weight on his shoulders.

“Was that a good game, or what?” John asked and turned down the radio a bit. Mick, who had his mind occupied by other things, looked at him, a bit confused having no idea at first what his stepdad was talking about.

“Oh, yeah, that was awesome,” he replied and smiled.

John had hoped the boy would say something more, but Mick just turned his head right and was looking at the passing cars and city lights visible from the distance. He clearly didn’t feel like chatting.

Fifteen minutes later, John parked his car in front of Margaret’s home. The porch light switched on automatically and he was a bit surprised to see two of the lightbulbs working. The last time he left the place, there was only one. He also spotted light appearing in the bedroom upstairs.

“Okay, dad, thanks for, um, the game,” Mick said.

“No problem, we’ll see each other soon,” John replied and shook his son’s hand.

“Yeah, sure we will.” Mick smiled and got out of the car. He turned around almost immediately and knocked on the window. John pushed the button on his door and lowered the glass.

“What is it?”

“I talked to Paul. He said you weren’t living at his place regularly and when you were, he was surprised I never visited you there.”

“W-why would you?” John asked surprised.

“The magazines you are subscribing are still being sent to our house. I wanted to find out where Paul lives so I could inform the press company to redirect them. Goodbye, dad,” Mick smiled sadly, straightened up and walked towards the house.

John watched him walking up three steps to the door and, as he was about to push the knob, it opened and John saw Margaret greeting her son. The door closed, John turned the ignition key, put it in reverse and in a few seconds he was on his way back. In the rear view, he saw the porch light turning off as he left the neighborhood. He had no idea how to behave, if he was supposed to get out of the car and apologize, but for what, really? He didn’t want Mickey coming to his place. He was worried he would tell Margaret in what conditions her unfaithful husband lived and she would share that knowledge with her lawyer and the divorce would cost him much more than what he was imagining. It would be all right. John knew what he was doing.

It was about 10:30 p.m., and John didn’t feel tired at all, didn’t feel like going back home, either, so he thought of calling Molly, of checking if she was home. After he had exited the highway, he parked his car in front of one of the fast food restaurants, took his phone out of his jacket and dialed her number.

“Hey, there, Johnny,” she sighed.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

“I’m not too good, actually.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I think I have a stomach bug, I’ve been feeling terrible all day,” Molly answered. Her voice sounded miserable.

“Oh no, that’s awful.”

“Yeah. Listen, since you’re calling, can I ask you to bring me some herbal stomach drops? I won’t be able to go out anywhere, and I think it might help me.”

“Well, I mean, I would, of course, but, honey, isn’t stomach flu highly contagious?”

“I suppose it is, but I’m not asking you to spend the night with me, you can just leave the drops on my doorstep, if you’re scared.”

John looked at his watch. His plan was to visit Molly and perhaps spend some quality time with her. He could always tell Cindy he was with Mick. Driving forty minutes one way to her place, buying her the stomach drops, seeing her, or even not, for two minutes, and then drive another forty minutes back home. That was pointless. Not to mention it was quite probable he would get the bug, too.

“Molly, it’s too risky, I don’t want to get sick.”

“But, John—”

“I’m sure there are 24/7 internet delivery drugstores, just check on-line.”

“Listen, it’s no big deal, there’s a drugstore just outside my apartment block.”

“Well, there you go, so you can definitely handle it, honey. You’ll see, you’ll be fine real quick.” John smiled and did his best to sound comforting.

“Okay,” Molly answered, her voice seemed resigned.

“Take care, baby, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said and hung up.

***

When he got home, Cindy was already sleeping. John made himself a drink, turned the TV on, and went to the bedroom about an hour later. In the morning when woke up, he spotted a leather belt lying on his side of the bed. He blinked a few times, yawned, and sat on the bed. Cindy was no longer there, she’d left him a note on her pillow with information there was breakfast downstairs waiting for him, and that she had to walk out a bit earlier that day. Of course.

John rubbed his neck and looked at the belt again. It was the brown belt he wore the day before; he must have forgotten to put it into the wardrobe. Odd, since everything else he had on last night was either back in there, or in the hamper in the laundry room. John got up, put the belt on a hanger in the closet, and went downstairs to have coffee and eat breakfast.