The Revival

Forward - Part II

A youthful man in spectacles sat at a table across from Troy. His short, groomed black hair noticeably demarcated itself from his light brown skin. He stared directly at Troy, whose head sagged down and eyes beamed in deep concentration towards his feet. His shoulders were folded forward with poor posture.

“Mr. Duckworth,” began Mr. Carson in his low, throating voice. “I know this is difficult for you to do, but it is the best thing for you and everyone else.”

Troy remained staring at his own feet, focused on an invisible distraction and slouching in his seat across the table from the youthful man.

“Listen,” said Mr. Carson sympathetically. “There is nothing, nothing you can do now. Not even you. We must move on and continue to progress. You must show yourself as you are. You can’t hide like this!”

“Then don’t show me,” mumbled Troy.

Troy lifted his hands onto the table. His right fist was wrapped in white tape, stained red from the splintered, bloody punches. He leaned back in his seat. “I’m the president of The Movement, the people don’t need to see or hear me talking to them every day. They can go to work without me speaking for a few days.” He began to raise his voice, “It’s distracting and unnecessary!”

“You must move on,” insisted Mr. Carson again in his stern voice. “You need to go out and speak to people, especially your family. You can talk to them now. You can’t keep living like this.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled again. “I’ve been fooled. They’ve been fooled. You’ve been fooled, you coward!”

Troy slammed both his fists against the tabletop. He refocused his eyes, gleaming with intense passion toward Mr. Carson. He snapped his posture back into a forward leaning position, as if he were about to pounce across the table.

“Now, Mr. Duckworth,” calmed Mr. Carson, gesticulating a wish of reduced tension by sinking his extended arms until his open palms and fingertips touched the tabletop. “Please, I’m not here to anger you.”

“Then leave!” roared Troy, tightening his eyebrows toward the bridge of his nose in a furious glare.

Mr. Carson bit his lip and nodded. He stood up from his seat and flattened his tie with his hands, one after the other. He pushed his chair back under the table, nodded once more, sunk his head, and walked towards the door with a dissatisfied grin before he exited with a final double-take glance at a hard-breathing Troy.

“He’s in bad shape,” said Mr. Carson. “I don’t know how we can trust him out on his own at this time.”

“We’ll take it day by day,” said a tall woman, standing by and peering at Troy through the one-way glass. Her hair was curly and dark brown, almost black. She gazed at Troy, still sitting in the chair staring ahead in fury despite the absence of Mr. Carson.

“Yes, ma’am,” concurred Mr. Carson.

He picked up his black jacket from the back of a chair and flung it over his left shoulder.

“I’ll see you in the morning. It’s getting late. We can’t waste all day tomorrow doing this. Let him recover the next few days. Bring him hot meals and treat him well. Maybe suggest a few good books to get his mind off the situation. I know how he enjoys reading, or he used to, at least.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied in her flowing, feminine voice. “I’ll pick up his bed now, hopefully he’ll sleep in it tonight.”

She leaned over and pressed several switches on a small device wrapped around her wrist. Troy sat up from his chair and backed away from the table as it disappeared into the floor. A curtain and bed descended from the ceiling, finally settling down in the middle of the room. Troy seemed to stare through the one-way glass at Mr. Carson.

“I don’t know how he manages to make eye contact with me when he can’t see me,” shrugged Mr. Carson. “It’s fascinating to me, it’s like he can see right through that thing.”

“If he doesn’t come around by the end of the week, we’ll need to get his nanolense.” suggested the woman.

“That’ll be what we need to do, but that’s our last resort,” he replied. “I’ll see you in the morning, Vanessa.”

Mr. Carson nodded his head and ducked out of the room.

Vanessa waved with her two fingers and turned back around to see Troy climbing into his bed. She pressed another switch on her wrist device. The glass sliding door opened in silence.

“Is he gone?” asked Troy.

“He just left,” replied Vanessa. “He’ll be back early in the morning.”

“Good,” said Troy.

“You need to open up to him. He’s the interim president right now, and the people don’t know it. He doesn’t want them to know it. As far as everyone knows outside of this room, you’re still doing your job,” explained Vanessa.

Troy let go a long sigh. Vanessa reached behind her back with both hands, removing her bra. She unbuttoned her blouse and pants, walked out of her clothes, then climbed into bed with Troy, who scooted over to avoid any contact.

“You need to talk to him,” she insisted, moving herself over toward Troy. “If you don’t, he’s going to take your nanolense and use it to talk to the people for you. If they find out about you, it could result in The Movement’s demise. You-”

“I want it to result in The Movement’s demise!” roared Troy, leaping out of bed. “Get out! Get out of here you disgusting creature! I have a wife and kids you shrew!”

“Troy, your wife and kids are asleep. They won’t wake up until you open up to Mr. Carson, it’s that simple,” she retorted. “Just talk to him.”

“I can’t talk to anybody,” said Troy. “I can’t talk to Mr. Carson because I want The Movement to die. And I can’t rescue my family because I won’t talk to Mr. Carson. I don’t know what to do, and I wish I’d never been so foolish to believe that fool, Daniel Barber. I just want everything to go away!”

Troy collapsed onto the floor and began to whimper like a child. “Why? Why? Why?” he repeated again and again just as he did ever time he realized his polarizing situation.

“Baby, come back to bed,” insisted Vanessa, reaching her toned, pencil-thin arms out to Troy. “We’ll sleep it off.”

Troy, frowning and groaning, crawled towards the bed on his hands and knees and climbed up its side. He turned his back to Vanessa and forced his eyes shut. Vanessa snuggled up behind him, wrapping her long arm across Troy’s chest.

“Why?” he repeated again and again, each cry quieter than the last until it morphed into a mumble, then a drooling snore.