Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

14. Against Your Faith

I ended up spending a lot of time with Caine. After a fashion, I came to move in with him. A kid I knew from back in the city lived next door. We’d both come to escape. He’d been here for a while. Seems he was a friend of Caine’s. We all just called him Hyde - he kept pretty much himself to himself, but he had a schizophrenic tendency to him. It’s hard to explain, but it was there. In terms of living together, he didn’t bother me much and I didn’t bother him. If I remembered correctly, he had lived in the same building as I had and was a regular at the bar. Then again, I could have been confusing him with someone else. My memories are kind of shady anymore. Just like everything else in my mind.

I’m not going to go into detail about the months between my arrival and now because nothing of import happened. I settled, got a job at the local bar here, and made my new life. I played guitar with Caine whenever he could book us a gig. I was a chain smoker, but for the most part clean. I’d take a drink here and there, but nothing out of control. For the most part, things were stable. When I moved in with Caine, I was formally introduced to Hyde, whose real name was Edward. Isn’t that ironic? And we all got along fine, a big happy family. I slept with Caine over the course of my stay, and once I moved in we were officially going out. Hyde didn’t comment. It was a good start. A fresh point from which to start over. It all seemed perfect. So on that note, let’s fast-forward a good bit.

            Caine would have his moments of mystery, nights where he would disappear for hours on end. I didn’t push the issue. He didn’t poke and prod me about my past, so I opted out of poking and prodding him about the present. Whatever made him happy made me happy. I don’t know why he felt the need for the cloak and dagger, but I wouldn’t go pushing him at the moment. One of the most important elements in a relationship is trust, and I wouldn’t be quick to forfeit his.

            His father approached me cautious and unsure, which I expected. I was a stranger in a strange land, and he was quick to remind me of it. There was a sort of wisdom deep in Gus’ soul that I couldn’t entirely explain, some sort of inner turmoil buried in his eyes. I decided early on that we’re all waging some sort of internal war one way or another, and we’re best left to our battlements. I hoped he’d find peace with time, but he never did. Caine was his only child, and he seemed to have tireless faith in his goodness. Caine was moral and kind, warm and patient, the kind of child that less fortunate parents would kill over.

            All in all, it was a pretty surprisingly stable lifestyle. I had traded in my endless taxicabs for the quiet hum of cars cruising by, transplanted the stifling atmosphere with the pure shine of sunlight unhindered by buildings. And I was glad for it. The peace brought a sense of calm to my otherwise unbridled mind, constantly flitting from idea to idea. I was able to breath without pressure, walk without fear and survive without necessity. It was all I ever wanted without realizing it.

            I missed some of my memories though. On long, lonely nights, I’d find myself longing for Jekt’s warm embrace, or missing my sister’s naivety on certain issues. On a very rare occasion, I could find myself remembering the cold, calculating smile of Dacien Ransom, thankful for her mercy. She had allowed me to run, and I wouldn’t take it for granted for a moment. I lived right now because she made it so, and I would not easily forget it.

            Almost seemed like a soothing sort of peace, the kind you read about in children’s stories, the sort of calm that accompanies “happily ever after”. I was content, or as close to content as a person like myself could get. Fractured and broken, I could feel the inner scars begin to slowly close as life began anew. A fresh start that most are forever deprived of.

            A start that I had to lose almost everything to receive. Was the price worth it? Did the end truly justify the means? I wondered constantly if the lives ended were worth my clarity, finding myself coming up empty every time. Three good people had died so that I could live, so that I could continue to suffer and burn. Their families were emptier, their dreams dashed, so that I could carry on. And for what purpose? What greater deed would I accomplish in my years? Would I cure cancer? Would I create something beautiful?