Syndicate

A story of an emotion-erasing cult from me and my friend, GuyWhoDies.

Syndicate

By Daniel Hebert

“It’s hard to live in a studio apartment in San Jose with a man who’s learning to play the violin.” That’s what she told the police when she handed them the empty revolver. Anne Raven had never been a good girl. She had a bad rap sheet, and she was a liar, thief, and recently, killer. That was probably why she was stuck in the cramped-up studio apartment in the first place. But this was not her fault. He deserved it. That little cover-up that she told the police was completely incorrect. But as she was escorted by SWAT members, she knew that they would never believe the true story. The cold air whipped through her hair, chilling her bones. She knew that resistance was futile, and she climbed into an armored car, lied down on the cold steel and felt the smooth, cold texture on her back. She curled into a fetal position and let the tragedy of her life flow like a river into her mind, and with it let a river of tears spill onto the floor.

It was a warm summer day, so I stopped by the store and bought a watermelon. I brought it to my place, where Paul and I went down to the park and cut it open. I took a piece of the water melon and stuffed it in my mouth. The sweet juice trickled down my face like a drop of rain rolling off an umbrella. Paul had a hard time with the seeds though. Paul wasn’t the most skillful person, and in all honesty he was  kind of different, but I still liked him. Paul and I were quite good friends, and he was really funny sometimes. I liked to hang out with him because not many people like me. Paul and I would always have watermelons this time of year. I loved the way that the juice trickles down my face and throat. Paul always did have a hard time with the seeds, but he managed. There was something in me though, something that was there from the very beginning. And that was where this all began.

The first time I stole was in the first grade. I stole a watermelon from the store. It came so easily to me, like second nature. Then, I began to steal more. And more. And more. Soon, I was caught. Security cameras installed in the store revealed my thieving acts, and soon, I was sent away to juvenile hall.  That month was supposed to help me, supposed to stop me from stealing. It didn’t. In fact, it helped my thieving skills. In juvie, I survived by stealing from others. I learned to steal completely undetected.  I was never caught. When I came home, I thought that everything would be so much better. It wasn’t. Paul had changed. He was more depressed, not the optimistic self that he used to be. When I came back, it helped him back into joy, but he was never really the same. He was more depressed, more cold, more calculating. And so the cycle repeated. I would be taken away, and Paul would sink deeper and deeper into his stone-cold depression. I wanted to help him, but he became more and more reclusive, and I just didn’t know how.

It was in my Freshman year at high school. Everybody feared me except for Paul. And I have to admit, I was beginning to fear him. It was then that he snapped. The school bully, Mark Lucas, was teasing him, and before I could get there to help, his eyes glowed maliciously. Suddenly, his arm snapped out like a whip, slamming viscously into Mark’s jugular vein. Mark toppled to the floor, writhing in pain, and Paul simply walked away, no trace of emotion on his face, not even a sign of empathy or regret. I realized that this was not the Paul that I used to know. He was more fearsome, more brutal, more cold. And I realized that things would never be the same again.

I noticed something else. Paul had become ruthlessly intelligent. He aced his SATs, and while I continued to struggle both socially and mentally, Paul excelled, moving on to the college of his choice. We were eating watermelon when I saw my first glimpse of the old Paul. He asked me softly, “I have an application for me and one other person for a college in New York. Would you like to come? I mean, we would have to live in a studio apartment but-“ I cut him off there. “I would love to come with you”, I said.

As we were packing up our things at Paul’s, I found something hidden behind a mound of books. “What’s this?” I asked, as I pulled up the smooth, engraved object. As he started to say something, I realized that it was a beautiful black and golden violin, engraved with gold, and with elegant golden strings. Paul replied “Oh, that’s, that’s something that I used to play.” I was joyous! “You never told me about this!” I exclaimed. I pulled up an ebony and golden bowstring, and asked “Could you play this?” He sighed, and then said “Fine, I suppose one more time.” As he brought the violin to his face and pulled the bow across the strings, the most sweet, emotional music I had ever heard poured out. His emotions spilled out through his music, leaving me absolutely star struck, wanting to hear more. He humbly said “I’m a bit rusty”.  I merely stared at him, my mouth gaping, finally spitting out the words “That was the best music I ever heard!” He shook his head, putting down the violin and taking his clothes. That was the first real emotion I had ever had from Paul, and I realized that this violin must be really special to him, so I kept it.

When we moved into our apartment, something changed with Paul. He was happier, more emotional. As we went to our classes, he was much less cold. He was more active in his social life, and I think that it was better for him that way. He was like this until that night. It was a cold, dark night, and at 11:30, he said that he had to go somewhere, and that he had to be there by 12:00. I looked at him drearily, then shrugged and said, “Whatever”. I was a new girl; I was less vicious, less serious. And I had given up stealing and spying on people. But when Paul came back, everything changed.

He had reverted to his stone cold, emotionless machine. “What happened last night?” I said, but to no reply. After 2 days of his emotionless self, I decided to break out the violin that I had kept. When I gave it to him, I saw a spark of emotion in his eyes, and when he picked up the violin and began to play, that spark ignited a fire. His emotions poured out through his music, filling my soul and helping his come out from the dark shell that it had retracted into. He continued playing for hours, filling the small, cramped room with beautiful sounds. I relished his music and watched him play, admiring the beauty that was in his soul, watching him play days after days, emptying his emotions into the world.  And then, I decided that I had to stop whatever was holding his spirit back. I had to follow him to wherever he had been going, and put an end to this.

So, on Friday night, the last day of the month, I followed him, using my old spying techniques. He walked for hours, finally coming to a small alley-corner. There was a barbed wire fence, but he climbed over it, ignoring the pain from the razors cutting into his hands. I cursed, following his example, but trying to avoid the wire, and having to restrain herself from crying out in pain when the razor-sharp barbs cut into my flesh like a hot knife through butter. I pulled myself over the fence as quickly as possible, trying to avoid the pain. I silently ran towards my friend, who had descended into a tunnel underground. I managed to get to the tunnel before the door swung shut. It was a dark, dank place smelling of despair. I could detect the scent of blood in the air. I crept forward, following my friend, not knowing the horror show I was about to uncover.

As we moved into the next room, I nearly fainted. Implements of torture and death were all over. Blood and viscera were everywhere. I looked around, seeing disembodied organs, huge tanks of greenish liquid, and torn apart human bodies. But the worst was the chemical vat. There was a huge tank, with a straightjacket and gasmask attached. They had tubes that pointed downward, like screws. Suddenly, I realized that I had lost track of Paul. As I searched for him, I saw a cluster of emotionless-looking figures, each standing around an experimentation table. Suddenly, I saw a flash of Paul’s face before a hand with a bloody heart pulled up viciously from the group. They were taking apart a human body. I looked away, disgusted and horrified, for several minutes. Then, somebody said the command “To the vats.” I watched in terror as Paul was strapped into the straightjacket and gas mask. Pipes were attached to the screws in the suit. Then, a member of the group, presumably the leader, came around and slowly used the device in his hands to screw the straightjacket and mask into their flesh and skulls. They writhed in pain, screaming out like insane animals. Then, the man turned the valve and everything went silent. The chemicals were pumped through the tubes, into the bodies of the group. Horrible strangled cries rang out, and then, the screws released. As the leader came around, removing those horrible devices, I noticed that Paul’s face was once again emotionless and cold.

They all gathered around their leader, these emotionless… machines, as their leader said “For years, our order has been uniting around the world, waiting for the perfect moment. Our mission to eradicate those who are imperfect and make the others into perfect beings is almost complete. Our plan is coming together. We shall use these chemicals to eradicate weak human emotion completely. We will make all into perfection!” Tears flooded my eyes as I ran. I couldn’t believe what had happened to my dear friend. He had become a monster. A cold, emotionless monster that had no purpose other than to plot and scheme on destroying humanity. And it was a monster that had to be put down.

I got the revolver at the local gun shop. It was my backup plan if the violin did not work. As Paul walked home, I knew that he needed to be stopped. Tears flooded my eyes as he walked in the door, that same, emotionless expression on his face. He didn’t even notice. I knew he was beyond saving. I pulled out the revolver, screaming “You wanted to make me one of them! That was why you took me to be in New York! Not because you cared about me! You used to care, Paul. You used to care!” Paul continued to move toward me as I emptied the revolver into him. And still, he continued. I was scared, very scared and as I backed up to the wall of our tiny apartment, I saw one thing. The violin. I picked it up, smashing the beautiful instrument on his head, ending his movement. With that violin, I destroyed everything that was left of my best and only friend, Paul.

And so there she was. Sitting, weeping on the floor of the car. Then, they came. As they passed through the alleyway, she heard them. This was their uprising. The back of the armored car was ripped open, the emotionless things sitting there, waiting. Then, they grabbed her. They ripped apart the car. They were everywhere, overwhelming police and soldiers. As Anne was pulled into the dark tunnel of their torture, she thought that this was it. Unfortunately for her, she was wrong.

As the things flooded like a tidal wave through the streets, Anne Raven broke away. She ran the only way she could, into their laboratory. She barred the door, catching her breath. She slowly turned around, facing her greatest horror yet. Paul. Sitting there. Smiling. His body was fully intact. But when she tried to reach out to him, her arm passed through the insanity-inspired image and touched the cold glass surface of the chemical tank. He said “Anne, you always were reasonable. A new age is coming. An age of the perfect. An age of us.” Her emotions were tearing her apart, hurting far worse than any torture implement than that order could ever dream up. “Come with us” Paul said. “You know that deep down, you want to. You always wanted to fit in, always wanted to be normal.” Anne knew it was true. And she reverted to her desires. She strapped herself in, clicking the button that tightened the screws that released the chemicals. And with that, she understood everything. With that, she became perfect.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

This may be a little graphic for many audiences. Be advised.

Reviews

[Kristin Lee]

I love the darkness in all your work. This piece is no exception. Still some POV issues to iron out. But over all really nice job with foreshadowing and setting up the the bit about the violin. Definite room to devlop these characters and this story more if you wanted to. There was a little bit of joltinesss to the structure but I think overall it lent itself to your vision. Not everything is supposed to read like a sonnet, espcially not the dark things. Great job!

[char]

This was nice and interesting. It was an easy read and I like the violin bit. The bully part was well presented and it succeeded in foreshadowing the mentality of Paul. The only difficulty I had was the point of view switch. I thought the story shifted to another character rather than the girl's POV. Overall, I liked this.