Unnatural Thirsts

"Why do people usually fuck each other? She loves you, son. She did it because she loves you."

I raised my eyebrow skeptically.

"I do," Jeni insisted, "it's true. It's what I've wanted for years. I know it sounds crazy, but your father, he gave me a picture of you a long time ago, and he told me what you were like. We've been watching for a long time. And...as time went by...I just started to fall in love with you. I've...actually interacted a few times with you. I'm not surprised that you didn't remember. I was dressed differently. Sometimes my hair was a different color. But it helped me to better understand you, to better understand how to...serve you. That's not so bad, is it? I never violated your privacy or anything. It was hard watching you go home with those other women who obviously just wanted to fuck you, but I wasn't like that. Remember, we talked about it? I wanted more than sex and so did you. We...we could still be together."

I narrowly avoided laughing out loud. I didn't really want to hurt her, or endanger myself. My laughter would have been in reaction to the idea that I could stay in love with someone who had stalked me on behalf of a psychopath. Someone who had such little disregard for my will that disguise and lies were acceptable parts of courtship to them.

"Why don't you leave us alone for a few minutes, Jeni. My son and I have some family matters to discuss. He's a little skeptical, but time will change that."

He smiled warmly at her and she left, unsure.

"What do you really want?" I asked.

"Direct. Simple. Just like me. Good. We share abilities son, to an extent. I can sense emotions and some thoughts, like you. I might be a bit more sensitive, because of practice. But I can't influence others."

"Neither can I," I lied, badly. He chuckled.

"Do you really want to lie to me? I don't blame you, but it could have consequences later. No, you can influence people, as I've suspected for years. I was keeping an eye on your mother and you anyway, but when you put that kid in the hospital. The one who attacked your sister. That's when I knew that you were ready."

I kept my emotions calm. I knew that I could be deceived, so I could deceive my father, but it would mean that I'd have to suppress my emotions at times, or blend them with others, or provide plausible explanations for them. Like what you and mom did before you ran out on me.

"He's in the hospital?"

"He was, yes. Don't feel bad. He's got priors for sexual assault, but the charges got dropped. He was at an institution for almost a month. The fear you gave him, son. My god, it was like nothing I've ever seen or even read about. He lived a nightmare for weeks! Weeks! It took powerful anti-psychotics and the best doctors to convince him that he was even awake! Most impressive! Its also why we've drugged you, by the way. I experimented with shutting down my own abilities, so now I know very well what will stop yours as well."

All of my fathers statements were full of a sick sort of admiration. He was envious of my abilities, to be sure, but he was also proud of me. His boy, the nightmare machine.

"What...what do you need me for?"

"Well, if you could teach me how, I wouldn't need you at all, but we both know that isn't possible. And it isn't just need, either son. Your mother kept you away from me, but I'd like to correct that now. Unfortunately just approaching you on the street wasn't possible. I have a great deal of work to do here, and the secular authorities don't approve of most of it."

"The cops, you mean. You have warrants?"

He nodded jovially.

"Yes. And of course, there's The Program to consider."

You could actually hear the capital letters.

"Whats...The Program?"

"It's the future, son. I have no difficulty influencing others to a degree. Recruitment is easy. I know what people need to hear and feel to progress in their lives. But what I need is a platform. Others have celebrities, and they've become untouchable if corrupt institutions. I want politicians and the families of politicians. I want police chiefs and directors of agencies. I want the heads of NGOs and congressmen. And the only way to get them with any sort of efficiency is to change their minds. Literally."

"You want me...to mind control people for you?"

"Yes. And kill them if necessary."

"I...uh...I have no idea how I might accomplish that."

"Sure you do. You're not lying to me right now, I know, but if you think about it it's really not that hard. Make someone so afraid they have a heart attack, or so hopeless that walking in front of a train seems like a good idea, or so angry that they try to stab a cop. There are hundreds of ways that you could kill. And lets face it, the way you'd do it would be very hard to prove as anything other than suicide or independent action."

I was, to put it mildly, horrified. I guess everything he said was possible, but the idea of killing for something like what he really wanted, wealth and power, disgusted me.

He felt that and his expression soured.

"Think carefully before you speak, boy. In the end there's only two ways out of here. The first path is as my greatest servant and my heir. I'm not fooling. I won't live forever and I want what we build here to last. I'm more than happy to hand it over to a worthy successor with my genes and abilities. The other path is through the oven in the basement. Don't chose the oven."

"I won't kill for you," I said, without hesitation, in perhaps the bravest and dumbest moment of my life.

"Well, we'll see. For now, we won't require that. It will be much simpler. Someone will come in here. They will give you a shot. The shot will suppress the drugs in your system for about twenty minutes, give or take. They will then sit and face you. The screen up there on the wall will come on and tell you want to make them feel. They won't be able to see it so they won't accidentally cheat. Then you make them feel that. The shot will wear off and you'll lose your abilities again. In any case, you won't be able to sense anything, only project. You will do this multiple times each day. If you do what we want, we'll be happy, if not..."

"You'll hurt me?"

"You, or your sister."

Wait. Fuck. Maybe...maybe you didn't go to Europe. Oh fuck. Had I made a huge mistake? I calmed myself. Panic would just let them manipulate me further. I needed more information.

"You...you have my sister?"

"Yes. All we had to do was tell her that you were in trouble and she came with us."

A thought occurred to me.

"Are...are you taking good care of her? You're not hurting her are you?"

"No, not yet."

Here was the question I had to ask, but hopefully my fear would conceal my nervousness.

"Have...have you been feeding her enough?"

He smiled, assuming that I was hooked.

"Yes. Oatmeal in the morning, sandwiches at lunch, and a healthy dinner. Same as you, actually, minus the drugs, since we know that she doesn't have your abilities."

Internally, part of me relaxed, but I forced myself to think about bad things happening to you to keep my fear up. I knew that they didn't have you. There was no talk of you getting sick after eating that much food or attempted escapes or bites. They didn't even know what you were. Thank god. I would have done anything for them if it kept you safe.

"Can I see her?" I asked, because it would be what was expected.

"Hmm. You do what we want for three weeks. Three weeks and you can see her. For now, you get to work."

It was largely what he said it would be. He left. A skinny guy came in, maybe a little younger than me. He gave me a shot straight into my neck. He did it pretty badly and it hurt like hell. In fact the drug itself felt like needles in my veins. It was unpleasant. It got worse as I started to feel massive amounts of anxiety. This was some kind of amphetamine or something like it. God it felt awful.

The skinny guy sat down. The screen lit up with one word: 'HAPPINESS'.

I tried to make him feel happy. It was hard. It would have been difficult anyway, because I hadn't done a lot of it, but the drugs didn't help. I'm sure they were right and the shot reduced the other drugs, but I regained none of my senses, so I had no idea if it was working except by my subjects reactions. That, and the drugs were still suppressing my abilities to a degree. I felt like I was trying to walk through feet of mud.

Eventually though, he smiled. Pretty widely. It took fifteen minutes and at the end, I threw up on myself. The skinny guy left. I was barely conscious as Roger came in and hosed me down with cold water. I was shivering, nauseous and terrified.

Then he hit me a few times. I'm not sure exactly why but I guess it was probably part of my father's system of breaking down resistance.

After that I was taken back to my room. I tried to influence Roger on the way back, but true to form, my powers had left me as the shot wore off.

That's how it went. I don't know how many days or weeks passed like that. I was woken up, dragged down the hall, given a shot, a subject, and an emotion. As time went on the emotions became complex and difficult. Instead of sadness, melancholy. Instead of anger, cold rage. Instead of happiness, arousal. I couldn't always do it. I was so drugged that sometimes I wasn't even sure what the words on the screen meant. After the influencing session was over, I typically got sick, but not always.

Then came the torture. If I did well it was just some body punches or surface cuts, maybe with a little salt. If I did poorly or refused to even try, it got ugly. Lots of face punches, pressure points, deep cuts near arteries, electrical shocks to very sensitive places, and even the classic pins under fingernails. I cried a lot, and felt shame at my tears and helplessness.

Jeni was my nurse. Always there to stitch me up or give me something for the pain and even occasionally hugs, which I was far too fucked up to refuse. Always looking guilty or afraid for me, but never doing anything to stop what was going on. I was sickened as I found myself falling in love with her. After all, she was the only kind person here. Was it so wrong to trust her? The answer is yes, of course, but I was really fucked up.

This is how it went. For days or weeks or even a month. I have no fucking idea. The demands got heavier. The torture got worse. I became better at fooling my father with my emotions.

I ended every night by trying to feel your presence, pushing as hard as I could, giving myself headaches in my effort. I never could, and I began to suspect that I'd never see you again, and that's why I cried myself to sleep every night.

* * *

One day, Jeni was the subject. The screen held one word: 'PAIN'.

I'd never done that, but I was pretty sure I could. But for all the things she'd done to me, I believed that she loved me, or at least a warped image of me. And I'd felt affection for her. Still did.

"No," I said.

Jeni frowned at my refusal and I chuckled, aware that she was ignorant of what I was being asked to do.

"It's ok," she said, "even if it hurts me, it's ok. Just do what the screen says. I can take it."

I looked at her, infinitely more sad in that moment then I could explain now.

"But I couldn't," I said.

Something happened then which changed everything. Roger and my father entered the room. They were disappointed, I could tell, but father wasn't surprised.

"I don't blame you son. I don't want to hurt Jeni either, but she knows why she's here. You need to be...obedient. You need to do whatever you want to whoever I tell you. Jeni, your mother, your sister, or Jesus Christ, anyone. And we can't have this disobedience."

I'd had enough.

"Ok. I'll inflict pain. But only on my sister."

Roger and dad looked at each other, alarmed. Jeni was confused.

"Look, I'm not kidding. If I don't cause her pain, you will, right? I'll do what you want, just bring her out here."

I was sure to sound all serious-like and truthful. I watched Roger look to father for direction. Dad's face turned red, then sweat broke out on his head. He nodded in my direction and Roger hit me with a roundhouse punch that caused my nose to just gush blood everywhere. In response, I just laughed. It was the funniest thing that I could think of. Rather than admit that I'd caught them in a lie, or engage me in conversation, Roger punched me. I realized then that my dad ran a really chicken-shit operation, that he might be good at reading people but not at manipulating them.

"God, you're as much of a disappointment as a cult leader as you were a husband," I said, then laughed hysterically. In my defense I was pretty sure I'd been overdosed on something at least once by then and emotional control was failing.

Roger started really letting loose. As my father failed to control him, he got into a nice rhythm. I hoped that he would kill me this time but no such luck.

Regardless of the pain and blood, I was laughing and I couldn't stop. It was hilarious and they'd drugged me to the point where holding back was impossible. Roger kicked me in the gut but it didn't matter. I found that even more funny. What the fuck did they think pain was going to do to me? Now that I understood how weak my father truly was. Hell, I'd probably seen most of his cult right here in this room.

I looked around in my mirth. Jeni looked away from me, her warped humanity and deep romantic feelings for me forcing her to dodge her responsibility. Roger's dim aggression and my father's insecurities paled next to her conflicted nature.

Wait.

I felt them. I wasn't even really trying to either. I was still drugged, there was no doubt about that, and the same groggy haze was over everything, but I could feel them.

What I learned from this, what my father never understood in his many years of drug-fueled experimentation, was that the drugs didn't really suppress my abilities. They resisted them. Much like a heavy weight resists being lifted. So all of the things they had been doing to me, all of my nighttime exertions that had ended in failure had an unintended results. They made me stronger, and I had just burst through the latest barrier.

"You have one more week, son. If you don't cooperate by then, we'll kill you. And it won't be fast."

I couldn't help laughing even louder as Roger dragged me back to my room. It was all too funny.

I might die, but I hoped that they would too.

* * *

Late that night was when it happened. I was dozing, not really sleeping. Roger had hurt me too much for even the amount of drugs they gave me to knock me out. My whole body ached and I thought I had a concussion and a few cracked ribs.

I sat up. It hurt like hell but I did it anyway. I turned my head as if trying to hear a faint noise. And, in a way, I did. It was you.

I was sure it was you. It was your confidence and angst and even the deep hunger that always walked beside you like an old friend. And there was concern and fear about me. You were worried about me! For the first time, I felt hope.

It wasn't even hope that I would be rescued either. It was the hope that I would at least be remembered, and maybe even avenged. I was so afraid that you didn't love me any more, that somehow you'd abandoned me to this fate on purpose. It wasn't logical at all but like I said, I was drugged out of my mind on god-knows-what.

I projected to you. At first I didn't even care what, so I just sent how I felt: addled, terrified, alone, in pain, and sad. And then, because I didn't want that you be your last memory of me, I sent as much love as I could for as long as I could. Then I passed out, too tired for words.

I had good dreams that night.

* * *

The next time I was in the room I got the skinny guy again, but the screen said: 'KILL'. I just shook my head. The time passed and Roger got creative with a cattle prod. I was a wreck by the time I got back to my room. I had one more chance, one more play. I could sense Jeni's love, but I wasn't really strong enough to influence anyone, at least without that special shot. She was treating my electrical burns in my most private places when I asked her the big question.

"Jeni, why don't you stop this? Just let me go and come with me. You don't need my father to be happy. We could have some kind of life together."

I was lying of course, but I was desperate. Whatever feelings she had for me were overwhelmed by fanatical loyalty to my father. It sickened me.

"No. I won't help you," she said firmly, like a nun who just got propositioned by a drunk, "You...you've had plenty of chances to redeem yourself. You're lost now, and I don't want to be with you any more unless you agree to work with him. He's a great man, you know, and you hurt him when you reject him like this."

I laughed.

"He's a broken man who never took responsibility for his failures. You were never going to be with me Jeni, not the way you wanted to. If you aren't going to help me then you should at least leave."

"Why would I do that? Your father still has vision. He...he doesn't need your abilities to meet his goals."

"Because everyone here is going to die screaming."

She drew back, fear filling her in her uncertainty. I laughed again, cold and resigned, as she fled the room, locking me back in.

I was sure that you would find me. I'd made contact and you would be looking for me. I had no illusions, however. You'd look, you'd hire people, you might call the cops. You'd do everything in your power, but it would take time, which I was nearly out of. I had dreams of you finding my body in a field, in a ditch, or even bled-out here in this god-forsaken bed.

I knew that you'd mourn me and avenge me, and that consoled me in what I thought of as my last days.

It was, I reflected, good to die when you knew you had been truly loved. Not everyone had that, and I was grateful. For the first time, I began to write in the damn notebook they left. That was where I started this gift for you, as a matter of fact. I misspelled damn near every word and had to do a ton of editing later, sure, but when I thought that this might be the only way I could still talk to you, the words just flowed out of me.

No one took it the notebook from me, or even seemed to care about it. I wrote every time I was taken back from a session, after Jeni's increasingly silent treatments, tears in her eyes. Mostly of frustration that I wasn't behaving like her unrealistic romantic image of me was supposed to. How dare I have free will!

At last, I knew that the next day would be my last. I could feel my father's intent from far away. I wrote as much as I could, trying to fill my words with meaning, to convey what I felt for you in its depth and complexity.

I failed, but I did my best. I went to bed that last night strangely at peace, as though I had fought a real battle and won somehow, by not becoming like my father. I felt that mom would be proud. I slept well, dreaming of a better world where we could be together.

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Out Of The Dark

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I woke up in state of confusion and pain. If that isn't a metaphor for life I don't know what is. I heard screaming and I was confused enough to think it might be mine. It wasn't.

I thought about going back to sleep but the gunshots sobered me up quickly. Three in quick succession. I don't know anything about guns but I couldn't think of anything else that would make sense. They were loud, but muffled. Farther away then just the hall outside my cell.

I tried to stand up but wobbled a bit and had to sit back down. It occurred to me that the last few times I'd been moved down the hall that I was mostly dragged. It was even worse and I suspect someone gave me something while I was sleeping. I wondered if the amount of pharmaceuticals in my system had caused any permanent damage.