The Theatrical Tragedy

I See You

CHAPTER 2
I SEE YOU

It was a long silence—the kind that kills a man.
Cold sweat dripped down his face. It took strength to speak. "Who?" the doctor asked through an unoiled jaw.
The shadow sat quietly, watching. It had to be seven feet tall, at least. Its silhouette hung over the doctor's bed, black and bulky.
The doctor could feel his skin rise and crawl.
"A friend who wishes for a word," the silhouette said. It had a smooth, tenor voice that rolled off the tongue and made you want to listen. It stood in front of the doorway, stalking and watching him from his bed. It took a step forward, and the wooden boards creaked.
The doctor spoke, but only two words came out. "See you."
The shadow was silent.
"Very well."
Out from the shelter of darkness, the creature stepped, walking
steadily into the ill-defined light of the moon.
Oh, my goodness. The doctor was left in shock.
The monster stood with long lanky arms keeping it upright. It
had a lion's mane around its long neck that looked like a bird's nest. It had a short stubby tail with a fur talon at the end. The thing's body was humanoid but covered in a red inky fur where flesh should be.
The beast's most foul, profane feature, however, was its pale white face. It was hideous, not in the sense of being twisted or contorted, but it was the smile. A broken, fallen smile drooped down its face. Frozen in place, almost as if a carpenter had carved it. And its pale white lips were offensive to look at.
The doctor tried to jump up from the bed, but his arms and legs
were still frozen to the mattress.
"Get out! Get out!" It sounded more like a squeal than words. "I just want to talk, Akel. Is that right?"
Its tenor voice was rich and full, and the low end curved into a bizarre mixture of accents that slurred between words: a hint of Japanese, English, Dutch, American, and French. Those were the only ones he recognized. Each word was spoken with a changed timbre, creating a unique, unholy tone.
The creature stepped forward, and a cold gust of wind blew onto him. He could feel the hard air stick to his spine and creep onto him like a parasite.
"Get out!"
The creature was silent but impatient.
Then, it said, "No," boldly.
The windows in his room rocked and shattered. The doctor
closed his eyes to dodge fragments of glass. When he opened his eyes, he saw a shard of glass poking out from within the window, inches away from his face.
"You'd like this," the creature said. It spoke with charm and charisma, and the beast talked with power. "I'm sure you will."
The doctor waited for a moment, thinking.
"Speak," he said. The room was less cold and became bearable, but there was a pressure on his chest that wouldn't leave. The beast's smile stretched so far that it looked like it would rip its mouth in half. Its black pupils stared into him, and it was as if he were staring into the night.
The creature's grin curved higher. "I'd like to introduce myself," it said, slowly walking closer to the doctor. "I'm Buer."
The autumn wind interrupted the silence, blowing timidly through the shattered window.
"I'm my king's messenger," the creature said.
"A message? At this hour?" the doctor asked. "Yes," Buer answered, "I don't ask questions." While talking, the thing's grin grew wider. "Who is your king?"
The beast was silent, as it seemed that it needed a moment to ponder the question. "I'd rather keep it a surprise," it said.
"You came to my house in the middle of the night, wrecked it, broke my windows, and you want to keep it a surprise?" The doctor tried to jump up, but he was still pinned to the mattress. "Tell me why you're here."
"I can't, but I can give you his message."
The doctor looked at the thing. Its fur was fox-red, and the slick, glossy coat substituted for flesh. He nodded. "What's the message?" The beast's grin grew wider, looking like its cheeks would tear from the stress. The creature spoke slowly, "The one I serve knows
you seek knowledge and offers to ease your boredom."
Its voice was smooth and mellow. The creature stood above the doctor's bed frame. It stared at him, and its eyes were cold and callous. It felt as though the creature were aware of its weakness and tried to hide its gaze, but the coldness within its eyes couldn't be
thawed through its will.
The doctor grew curious. "Is that so?" He was drawn by the
creature's words.
Buer's cheeks stretched. "I wish to open your eyes to the world
of sorcery."
The doctor looked at the fallen clock on the floor, its gears and
bolts scattered. It would take time to rebuild, but it was nothing that he couldn't fix.
"Goodbye," the doctor said, staring into the eyes of the beast. "You can leave."
The creature stood silently.
"Do you think I'm stupid? Magic isn't real, and even if it was, I'm not going to pull flowers out of hats for kids." The doctor tried to sit up from the mattress but was still firmly pinned. "I'm too gifted to perform party tricks."
Buer stood quietly, looking over the doctor from above his bed frame.
Then the creature took a step forward, the doctor couldn't see, but the beast's feet sounded like they were hooved, making a soft clank as it stepped forward. The creature leaned over so it was inches from the doctor's face, its breath was hot and muggy, but it had no scent.
"But you're wrong," Buer said, grinning.
"You think so," the doctor said. "It's a study so pointless that its practice is of illusion."
Buer slowly drifted up from his face and walked to the end of the bed frame; the wooden floorboards creaked as it sat at the foot of the bed.
"But you're wrong, Doctor," Buer said softly. "If you'd like, I can open your eyes."
"Oh?" the doctor said, frozen to his mattress. "Then show me."
"I will." Buer jumped up from the foot of the bed and walked toward the door. The creature took smooth, even steps as if it were gliding until arriving at the doorframe. "But, we can't go without a deal? Can we, now?" Buer said, turning back to the bed. His eyes were wide open, and his black pupils pulsed out of his head; intense was an understatement. "How about this?" Buer said. "If you can't explain my party trick, you must meet my lord."
"But what do I get?" the doctor asked.
Buer pulled the open door and put his fingers on the handle. He looked at the door and then at the doctor. "If you can tell me how I did it, then I'll leave and erase your memory of me."
The doctor laughed, and cold air rushed into his lungs.
"If you could do that, wouldn't it ruin the fun?" the doctor asked. "Just vanish and leave; I'd rather have you do that now, so I know you're not a sham."
Buer turned to the doctor, his grin spread so wide that it looked like his face couldn't contain the smile.
"I've got something better, Doctor."
Buer walked outside the room and closed the door softly behind him.
What in the world is that thing . . . and why's it here? the doctor thought.
The doctor tried to move, but his body was still frozen to the bed frame. Right when he thought of escape, it returned. And the creature had performed a wonderful trick. Buer had turned human. Standing in front of the doctor was himself.
It was like the doctor was looking in a mirror. His short gray hair brushed neatly to the right, and his pale, withered face was sunken, his droopy brown eyes hanging low, the years of age reflecting off the doppelgänger. Even his clothes matched the doctor's, the faded gray pajamas, and the small mole near his eye poked out of his cheek; it was a carbon copy.
Buer grinned, the smile curving up his face.
"But how . . ," the doctor said, his mouth hanging open and falling onto the bedsheets. "How?"
"Sorcery is real, doctor," Buer said, "and this is just a shade of the colors it has to offer."
"This isn't real. It can't be."
"I'm real, doctor, and my lord is, too."
The doctor took a deep breath and stared into the clone's brown
eyes. "Don't lie to me; this isn't real."
Buer's grin stretched further. "Welcome to the world, doctor." The doctor took another deep breath and darted his eyes across
his room.
"Who's your king?" the doctor asked. "Where does he rule?"
"I can't tell you until you meet him," Buer said. "But I guess I'm
able to tell you something."
Buer closed the door and walked to the doctor's bedside. He looked over the doctor, his charcoal eyes gazing over his stiff body. "My lord rules over the world, with limitations. He wants to help you, enlighten you, and give you what you want to keep your life interesting." Buer looked at the fallen clock and quickly shot his gaze back to the doctor. "But, of course, nothing's free, and he usually
asked for a bargain." "A bargain?"
"Yes," Buer answered, his eyes widening, "A bargain."
"What is the bargain?"
"I can't say," Buer snapped. "I won't upset him."
"How interesting," the doctor answered. "Sorcery, huh?"
"It's a power kings would kill for," Buer said. "Well, this has been
a lovely evening."
Buer jumped off the bed and paced around the room.
"My lord wishes to speak with you in six earth days at this hour."
Buer looked out the doctor's window, squinting through human eyes. He looked like he's searching for something within the murk, looking for what only God knows. "I'm even surprised. He's only asked to see somebody once; that makes you the second. Usually, people try to contact him, not the other way around."
"What would happen if I didn't want to?" the doctor asked. "What would he do?"
"Nothing, really."
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"Nothing would happen," Buer answered, turning to the doctor.
"Of course, your memory would be erased of me, and I'd bet you'd be bored forever, but my king wouldn't hurt you." Buer's grin stretched further up his face and looked like the flesh would tear if he were to smile any wider. "I'm not the boogeyman, Doctor. I'm just offering you something to stop the gray and break the repetition. I bet you have been studying the same things for years. Why not give it a try?"
"So, if I didn't, nothing would happen?"
"Right," Buer answered, "But I'll tell you this: he only gave offers
once. If you don't take it, you'd never hear from him again."
"So, you'd never return?"
"That's right."
The doctor stared at the ceiling. "Can I think it over?" he asked. "I wish you could," Buer said. "But I don't have the time. I have
to be back before sunrise."
The doctor looked at Buer and then at the window. He still couldn't
move his head and had to roll his eyes back to see out the glass.
The doctor stared into the shadows. He saw in the distance an orange hue that sprouted from the foot of the horizon. The yellow star had begun its climb and hung humbly behind the decaying night sky. "Can I at least ask what he expects in return? I doubt it's a petty
wage."
"It's nothing, really," Buer answered. "It's different for everybody,
but it's just to prove your devotion."
The doctor stared out the window, taking in the last colors of
the night. "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to find out. Tell your king I accept his offer."
Buer grinned. "I will."
The doctor rolled his eyes back to the ceiling. He heard Buer whisper something under his breath, but he couldn't make it out exactly; it sounded like French, Latin, or another alien language. He was familiar with French and Latin, but Buer spoke too softly, and he couldn't make out the sentence.
A thick, hazy fog swept over the room, making the doctor cough, and he tried not to breathe it in, but he couldn't stop himself. The gas was odorless and floated around the walls for a moment before vanishing.
Buer vanished with the mist.
The doctor shot his head up and scoured the room. He couldn't find Buer anywhere in the house. He checked his study, kitchen, and living room but couldn't find proof of how the creature got in. The door was locked, as it had been the entire night.
The monster was gone.
The doctor returned to his bed; the sun had risen, but he paid it no mind. He spun the tilt wand to shut his blinds and closed his eyes.
"Wake up! Wake up, sir! I'm here."
The doctor scrambled awake. He cleared his eyes from the sandman's dust and sat up on his mattress.
He saw a boy standing by the door.
"Prentis?" the doctor asked, "Is today the lesson?"
The boy smiled and, waving his hand, said. "It's Sunday? Right?" "Sunday?"
"That's what my calendar said. sir. But I could be wrong."
The doctor stood up from his bed and walked around the room.
The clock that had fallen on the floor had been restored and ticked on his dresser.
"Did you touch that?" the doctor asked, pointing at the clock. "Touch what?"
"The clock."
"I just got here, sir," Prentis answered. "Why?"
"Well, that's strange," the doctor said. "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. Was I supposed to?"
The doctor looked away from the clock and at his windowsill;
the blinds were shut as he had remembered leaving them.
"No, you weren't," the doctor answered softly. "We can start,
though. Wait in the study while I change. Give me a minute."
The doctor scraped together an outfit from his wardrobe: a black T-shirt, black, loose-hanging slacks, a pair of black leather loafers, and a pair of rich violet-colored socks. He looked around his room again, and his eyes set on the clock. The hands rolled smoothly
across its wooden frame and lightly circled the numbers. It was a dream? the doctor thought.
He opened the door and went down the hallway to the study's stairs. Prentis sat in a chair he pulled up from the corner of the room. The doctor should have kept the chair there for him, but he usually just put it back in the corner to save space.
The doctor sat down on his chair and put the desk between them. He placed his elbows on the desk, and Prentis sat back in his chair.
"Is everything all right?" Prentis asked, fiddling with a pencil in his hand. "I apologize, sir, but you're acting kind of weird."
"Yes, everything's fine," the doctor said. "I just had a bad dream." He took a pencil out from the drawer beneath his desk and spun it around his fingers like a fidget. "Where were we last week? Physics?"
"Philosophy, sir."
The doctor put his pencil back in the drawer. "We won't be needing that then," he said with a smile. "Philosophy, the nature of knowledge. Tell me where we left off."
"We left off on the purpose of logic, sir."
"Did I finish talking about it, or did the two hours end?"
"Our two hours ended, sir."
Prentis's blue eyes bubbled with warmth. His own student, he
was only sixteen; the child reminded him so much of him in his younger years.
"The purpose of logic is to argue well. If you can argue well, you'll be a step ahead of everyone else," the doctor said. "So, let's talk about some questions for practice."
Prentis put his pencil on the desk; it sat between them and slowly began to roll off, stiffening on the edge of the wood before falling.
"What's the first question?" Prentis asked.
The doctor looked at the library behind Prentis, the titles diverse in subject, but the words in them were bland and dull.
"We can start with why we're here."
"Why we're here?" Prentis asked. "Like why we study?" "No," the doctor answered. "Like why we are here."
"Like what the point is? Why we're alive?"
The doctor nodded.
"Well, that's a difficult question." The child looked around the
dust-covered room. "Well, I think we're only here to learn, grow, love, and eventually die. And I want to say it's the same for everybody. But I think that technology will evolve where the only point to life is to live, and there won't be anything else."
"Why do you think that?" the doctor asked.
"I just do," Prentis said with a smile.
"So, you don't think there's a reason for us being here?"
"I don't think so. I mean, of course, what you do in your life
matters, but in the end, it really doesn't, you know? That's what I think, at least."
"But you don't think there's more of a reason to be here? You don't think we have a purpose? Wouldn't that make life boring?"
"I think you find your purpose."
"How?"
"Whatever interests you. I think purpose is subjective, sir."
"I can't argue with that. I have a second question, though." The
doctor twirled his wooden pencil around his fingers. "What do you think makes something good and something evil?"
"Good and evil?" Prentis said, staring out the window. "I think evil's like stealing or murder. You know, the laws. And good is a little harder to pin down." Prentis looked up to the ceiling, gazing into the cracked plaster as if it were a painting. "I think some people say good is just something that goes in their favor. But I guess good could also be for the things around us. Like maybe planting a tree or something like that. That's a simple example, but you know what I mean."
The doctor nodded. "But who decides what's good or evil?" "Why is something good or evil?" Prentis asked.
"Yes," the doctor answered. "Who gets to decide something's
evil? And why do we decide if something is?"
"Well. I think people put laws in place to maintain good."
"But you don't understand the question." The doctor interjected, "What is good?"
"I don't get what you're asking."
The doctor sighed, massaging the creases on his forehead. "I need you to go more in-depth; this is philosophy, not botany. I don't care about planting trees. What is good?"
Prentis looked at the desk, thinking. He raised his gaze back to the doctor and said. "I think good is the opposite of evil. Whatever isn't evil is good."
"That's a simple way to put it, but who decides if something is good or evil?"
"I don't know," Prentis answered.
The doctor grinned. "You can't argue with my question," he said. "This round goes to me."
Prentis's brow furrowed. "Give me another one."
The doctor smiled. "Well, I guess we can do one more." The doctor sat back in his chair, thinking and looking at his library. "Why do you think people do evil things when it'd be easier for us all to do good?"
"I think we all make mistakes, sir, and that makes us all flawed." "But are mistakes evil?"
"Depending on how you look at it, I suppose they can be."
"Is that right?" the doctor said. "Prentis, I'm asking you this
because I skimmed through a religious book, and I've never thought of these questions so deeply until now; it's really fascinating. I only read a little, but it's had me thinking."
"Religion?" Prentis asked, scrunching his face like a child given bad food. "You mean fables?"
"I thought so, too. But some of the stories are compelling," the doctor said. "Let me tell you one. We'll put the debate on the back burner."
"Okay," Prentis said questioningly, reaching for his pencil on the desk.
"You won't need that," the doctor said. "Just sit and listen
Prentis nodded and sat back in his seat.
"I read a little bit of the Bible; it was written a while ago—I'm not sure how long ago, but it doesn't matter. I read a few passages from a chapter called Genesis. It took place in Eden, and the story centers around the first man and woman, Adam and Eve." The doctor put his elbows on the desk and leaned closer to Prentis from behind his side of the table. "Now, this is where it gets interesting," he said. "Eden was a utopia; it had no disease, suffering, or pain. Adam and Eve didn't even know what it was. They were without care, and it was perfect. But there was a problem," the doctor said. "There was a God, and this God created Adam and Eve, giving them free will. Which was a mistake."
"Why do you think that, sir?"
"Let me finish the story." The doctor smiled lightheartedly. "This God gives them free will so Adam and Eve could make their own decisions. But I won't get sidebarred. One day in Eden, a snake with legs crawled up to the woman and talked of fruit their Lord wouldn't let them eat. God wouldn't let them eat the fruit because they'd lose their key to Eden if they did. The woman didn't know this, the key being innocence and the lock being trust; the snake deceived Eve into peeking behind the door, eating the fruit so she'd see she was naked. Eve told her husband to eat the fruit so he'd see, too. He knew he shouldn't, but he took a bite. Their God warned them not to, but they did, and God kicked both out of Eden, leaving them to die from behind its walls, and their God decided to punish the woman by having her feel pain through childbirth and cursed the ground men worked on so they'd be forced to work in pain."
"Well, that's interesting," Prentis said.
"It is. But I just don't understand it," the doctor said. "You see, this God is supposed to be all-knowing. So, it makes no sense. Why would he create something that he knew would die?"
The doctor looked at Prentis, expecting a response, but the child sat quietly.

22 THE THEATRICAL TRAGEDY
"Is that love?" the doctor asked. "Because if it is, that makes my father look like a saint. I told you about him, haven't I?"
Prentis nodded. "I remember you talking about him a while ago."
"I just don't get it. Why would someone make a world bound to be baptized in hate?"
"I mean . . . it's just a story, sir," Prentis said. "Why don't you read more? Maybe the answer is in the book."
"This is what I was thinking." He played with the pencil, frantically spinning it from its smoothened curves. "What if . . . and hear me out; I know it might sound stupid but . . . what if Eden was real?" The doctor sat back in his chair. "What if it was real? A world where nobody felt pain again, and a land that was so perfect nobody would have time to shed tears."
"I don't know. It's a fairytale for a reason, sir."
"You think so?" the doctor asked. "But what if it could be true?" "Maybe," Prentis said. "But that day's far from now."
"But it's not impossible," the doctor said. "All you have to do is
get rid of the evil, and it wouldn't take long." "Huh?"
"You'd just have to get rid of the evil people," the doctor said. "And that's all."
"But nobody's crazy enough to do that," Prentis said. "That's murder."
The doctor sat quietly, looking at the bookshelves behind Prentis.
"I think that's enough talk for today. I'm sorry for cutting it short, but I need to think. Can you come back next week?"
Prentis stared at the doctor with a funny look, squinting, like he expected the dismissal to be a joke; after a few seconds, he realized that the doctor was serious and stood up from his chair. "Okay," he said, squinting firmly at the doctor. "Next week?"
"Sounds good, next week."
Prentis pushed his chair in and left through the study door, closing it gingerly behind him. The doctor heard him leave out the

JOSIAH POSEY 23
front door and sighed.
Was I too hard on him? he thought. He's a smart kid. He should
be asking himself these questions.
He stood from his chair and grabbed Prentis's chair to put back in the corner. He walked out the study door to his bedroom.
I need some fresh air, he thought.
The doctor looked around his room and grabbed a bottle of water left on his nightstand that had grown stale. He opened the nightstand drawer to grab a few dollars and a tattered sweat rag for his face, put them into a faded black satchel, and closed his door. He planned to return by sundown and locked the house doors behind him, walking down the road to the woods, serving as a shortcut to the village's gates.