Soulful Spark

8. Meal Deal

✹ Mєal Dєal ✹

A feeling of uneasiness settled at the bottom of my stomach. This was a chance to either make it or break it. It all depended on what the offer was. I had nothing to lose, so perhaps I should listen for once.

“Shoot,” I said.

“Be my right-hand man. Work and do what I say. It’ll give you a longer leash.”

My mind couldn’t comprehend what he just said. It had been nine years. Nine unbearable years, stuck in some twisted reality of a typical teenager’s life. Why on earth would he ask me that? Did he think I was going to say “yes”? Guess again, Mister. The boss’ labored breathing interrupted my silent rant.

“When you decide to join me, there’s an important task I need you to complete. There’s a young boy I’ve been keeping tabs on. He has the certain skills I need. I’ll be sure to show you the file later and—”

“I’ll never work for you after all I’ve gone through.”

“I deeply apologize. My men sadly fail to understand orders.” His heard turned slightly to stare daggers at the leader, who bowed his head.

“It will not happen again.”

“I agree. It will not.” The boss snapped his fingers and out of the blue, an old-fashioned spear came flying, heading towards only one target. The leader’s orbs grew as wide as saucers when he realized that right now was his last moment alive. The spear impaled the leader’s chest. His eyes now stared, but saw no more.

Mixed emotions spurted from me like an active volcano. Half was relief, a bit was disgust, and a pinch was pity. Actually the leader hadn’t been that bad. He only helped take me captive; that should count for something. It wouldn’t be a good deed and certainly not a Nobel Peace prize, but I decided I didn’t hate him anymore. All my pessimism was directed towards the boss. I would list him as number five on my enemy list, but I can cross him off. One less former-sadistic person to deal with.

The lava cooled and my emotions simmered down. I dared not to show any weakness or change in my expression, though. Surely the boss would pick up on that. There was only one thing about him that’s set in concrete: he was a master at his unofficial profession, which was breaking people. He was a self-proclaimed expert, but if I asked anyone, they would probably say he was the best out of everyone. I had heard enough stories to know.

The boss chortled and he began applauding. “I always love a good show. Front row seats and free seating, too! How about that, Valon?”

It didn’t take me long to figure out that he was referring to watching a person die. I don’t like to admit it, but I felt like puking up my nonexistent breakfast and lunch. There was a single revelation: Everyone who worked for him was replaceable. Without a doubt, the guards were hired guns and mercenaries. I was in a different situation, however. He was trying—not very hard—to please me, so I could take up his side and be his pet.

“My answer is still a no and nothing can ever change that,” I shot at him.

Another waiter entered, doing a balancing act with a stack of plates. My eyes zeroed in on all the delicacies and meat. I was ravenous beyond belief. There was a void right where my stomach should be. The leg of lamb looked scrumptious, yet I knew I couldn’t eat. The food was a bribe and I vowed not to fall for it. The aromas infiltrated my nostrils, yet I remained strong.

I tuned the waiter out as he explained what each course consisted of. To get my attention, he held out a frothy drink, which was gurgling like a creek with bubbles. Shaking my head, I refused the offer. To be honest, I wouldn’t dare to eat or drink anything that came out of that kitchen. It didn’t matter if he had graduated from the top-rated culinary school in the world.

With that thought in mind, I untangled the fork from the fancy monogrammed napkin it had been carried in. I pretended to show some interest in eating, but I pushed the food around, playing with it. He made a disgruntled sound.

“Eat up, boy or you’ll be malnourished and of no use. I get rid of things that serve no purpose.”

Surprisingly, I cracked a smile at those words. The way he talked reminded me of old-time classic books about life on the farm. I thought about mud and the pigs that wallowed in it. The runts were often ignored, but the more promising ones were fed more until they were plump and ready—ready to be slaughtered.

“Anyway, what should I call you? Masked man?” I said, trying to divert his attention.

I knocked the plate to the ground. The contents splattered all over the place and the plate broke into millions of shards. Trying to be discreet, I pulled the tablecloth, reaching for the napkin that still had a spoon and—more importantly—a stainless steel knife. The boss wouldn’t be so careless, would he? I had just acquired a weapon; it was a utensil used for eating, but a weapon nonetheless. I slid it into my sleeve, far up enough that it wouldn’t be noticed.

“Crane, my last name. Call me that and nothing else for now. Wait. What did you just do?”

“Tell a clean-up crew to get into here. It was an accident. I dropped the plate.”

“You little—”

Crane stopped himself and I laughed in spite of everything bad that had happened to me. I was playing a dangerous game, but it was worth it. To hear Crane’s dissatisfaction brought great joy and a sense of accomplishment. Testing his patience was a way of showing him that I had some powers—even the slightest bit. Making people show their negative emotions. Manipulation. I was only getting started.

“Leave me alone!” I yelled, seething with anger.

I stood up so fast that the chair thudded against the floor and I lunged towards the screen.