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(AN: Out of nowhere, this story is becoming my novel for nanowrimo 2004. I know it's insane to change stories after six days and several thousand words… But it's happening. We'll see how it goes.)
-TRANSCENDENCE THEORY -
------- by: lira-chan -------
"You know, we were warned about this when we were twelve, but I never could really wrap my brain around the concept," Steven said. He was lying on his back on a perfectly average-looking double bed, in a perfectly normal, bland, grey-white suburban bedroom. One arm was thrown across his eyes, blocking out the sight of the painfully ordinary room.
"You sound as if you're still in high school, complaining to me about a test you failed because you didn't study, despite being warned in advance," Michelle pointed out, half-teasingly. She was sitting cross-legged beside Steven's head, on the bed. She was leaning back on both arms, allowing her to study her best friend in complete comfort. After all, while Steven's tone of voice might have been bland, she knew that he was really worried sick. She could only hope that her light, joking tone would help alleviate Steven's worries.
"You know this is more important than any old high school test," Steven countered, finally pulling his arm away from his eyes in order to shoot an annoyed look in Michelle's direction. His eyes were a curious almond shape, and appeared even blacker than usual when Steven was angry or annoyed- just as Michelle had caused him to become. Usually, they merely looked like liquid ink.
"Don't glare, Steven, it isn't polite," Michelle scoffed, failing to be unnerved by Steven's perplexing glares.
"Michelle…" Steven grumbled, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on one elbow. He was way too antsy, and couldn't seem to get comfortable even though it was his own bed he was shifting around on. "I don't want to marry you, all right?"
"I already know that," Michelle muttered, tone of voice still scoffing. "Still, arranged marriages are a tradition, and I guess our fathers felt like reviving the old ways. As far as I've been able to find out, there's only one way to break off an arranged marriage of this sort. One of the parties has to die."
"All right, where'd you put your shaving razor- do you think you could break off one of the blades for me?"
"Steven! I wasn't giving you permission to kill yourself!" Michelle exclaimed in response, slanted hazel-green eyes narrowing further, as soon as her horror had faded into mere annoyance. "It can't possibly be as bad as you're making it out to be. We're best friends. Being forced to live under the same roof won't kill us. Right?"
"Michelle. Your father wants us to produce lots of cute little grandkids to inherit his position in the gun manufacturing industry. Do you know what that means? That means that our parents want us to have sex. Repeatedly. Until you give birth to multiple crying, screaming brats."
As one, both Michelle and Steven grimaced. They might be best friends, but the mere thought of engaging in "sexual intercourse" made both cringe in disgust.
"Maybe I don't actually have to die…" Steven mused, when Michelle failed to resume speaking. Perhaps the thought of having sex with her closest friend had actually shocked her into silence.
"Please say you aren't still considering suicide by shaving razorblade," Michelle pleaded. She was fairly certain that Steven wasn't quite desperate enough to kill himself for real, so she felt free to joke about his desire to implement her puny little razor as a weapon.
"Why not?" Steven countered, the wide grin on his face revealing that he, too, was joking. "We could have a marvelous double suicide. Perhaps they'd actually think it was love."
"That's insane," Michelle giggled, idly twisting a strand of her long, wavy black hair between two fingers. Michelle's hair was grown past mid-back, and was almost never worn up, instead being allowed to cascade down her back in waves. Michelle flashed Steven a smile in response to his grin, white teeth flashing against skin almost as pale, yet strangely off-colored. It was as if Michelle's green-brown eyes gave her skin a similar cast… Or something. Steven had always thought Michelle to be exceptionally pretty, in a purely aesthetic, non-sexual way. No matter how beautiful his friend was, he wasn't interested.
Not that Steven himself was any sort of ugly duckling. Michelle often told him how pretty his eyes were, and while his skin was coffee-colored, contrasting greatly with Michelle's ivory skin, his dark skin and tightly curled dark brown hair were easily explained. While most people in the sprawling, failing metropolis looked much like Michelle, people from countries all over had migrated to the area back when the metropolis was prosperous, and Steven's father had been one of those immigrants. Back when Steven's father was only a little boy, he had journeyed to the city of Steven's birth with his father. Many of the immigrants had different appearances from the locals, but such simple dissimilarities were easily ignored.
"Look… Michelle…" Steven began again, determined to have his friend hear him out. "I know that you don't want to go through with this any more than I do. The wedding is only a week away, and there's no way either of us could possibly go through with this. You said that the only way to break off a wedding arrangement set up from birth is through the death of one of the engaged. However… If I were to run away, perhaps you'd be able to convince our parents that I had died, without me having to actually kill myself?"
"Wouldn't that be leaving me to do all the work, hmm?" Michelle asked, skeptically. Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms across her chest.
"Does that mean you'd actually do it?" Steven asked, eyes widening. He couldn't believe Michelle was actually agreeing- and that easily, too.
"Of course not!" Michelle snapped, effectively dashing Steven's hopes. "Steven… You can't just run away from your problems. I'm sure you could get away, and I'm sure I could convince our parents to call off the wedding as a result… But I still think it's a bad idea. Not only that, but I'd miss you. We're best friends, you know?"
"I'll miss you too, but I don't think leaving is as simple as just running away. I think defying our fathers is more like fighting for the right to make our own choices. If we just meekly go along with the plans our fathers have laid out for us, I think that would be giving in. I refuse to give in to them… So leaving is the only choice. I just can't put it any other way."
"So what are you really suggesting?" Michelle asked, beginning to sound slightly desperate. "Once you get away from the marriage and our parents and me, where are you going to go?"
"Well… I figured I'd focus on getting out of this city first, and as soon as I find somewhere to live in another nearby city, I'll just get a job and support myself. I would have to get a job soon anyway, so it isn't that big of a deal."
"Are you sure that you're prepared to go off on your own?" was Michelle's next question. Looking at her, Steven had a feeling that the fight was slowly draining from her- he could see it in her eyes. "I… I won't stop you from leaving, if you're sure, but… Tell me that you're sure?"
"I'm absolutely positive that this is what I want to do," Steven assured her firmly.
"In that case… Good luck, okay?" Michelle smiled sadly, throwing her arms around Steven's neck and hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, before slowly pushing her away. Returning the slightly mournful smile, he rose from the bed and moved over to the window.
"I'll see you. I… Don't think I'm able to use the door."
With that, Steven lifted the window sash, opening the window until he was certain he could fit through. His bedroom was on the second floor of a two-story house, but there was a tree close to the window, and he'd snuck out that way many times before. Scrambling out the window and onto the nearest branch, Steven waved goodbye to Michelle one last time, before turning to climb down the tree. Michelle waved back, closed the window, and then Steven was already disappearing off into the darkness.
That was when the doorknob to Steven's room rattled, before the door slowly swung open.
Michelle froze where she sat, remaining motionless in the center of Steven's bed. She and Steven had been friends practically from birth, so it wasn't at all unusual for her to be in Steven's bedroom. It was almost uncanny how much their two fathers trusted them, although it might merely have been because of the arranged marriage. After all, if the two were to be wed regardless, it wouldn't matter if Michelle got knocked up before the wedding.
Michelle smiled weakly upon seeing who the trespasser entering Steven's room was. The large man standing in the doorway was her father, and while the look of mistrust in his hazel eyes might prove troublesome, Michelle was more than adept at dealing with her own father.
"D-daddy…" she managed, by way of greeting, meanwhile working to calm the slight shaking of her voice. "Is something wrong?"
"Where is he?" Michelle's father, Marcus, asked, not bothering with subtlety. Slowly, much like a hunter stalking his prey, Marcus strode into the room. Michelle couldn't be certain, but she almost thought something was wrong with the way Marcus was moving.
"He?" she asked. She wasn't trying to sound dumb; she really wasn't positive about what her father might be asking. "Do you mean Steven?"
"Of course I mean Steven." Marcus managed not to snap, but the deep rumble of his voice clearly spoke of annoyance.
"He's not here," Michelle said simply. "I don't know where he's gotten off to."
"You aren't lying to me, are you girl?"
Michelle shook her head "no." For some reason, she had a feeling that she really didn't want to make her father mad. For one thing, even beneath the usual olive color of his skin, Michelle was certain she could see a hint of color rising. Either Marcus was getting angry, or he was flushed for some other, unknown reason.
"Good." Marcus' unnerving grin indicated that he was satisfied; inwardly, Michelle heaved a sigh of relief.
"But daddy…" Michelle asked tentatively. "Why are you looking for Steven?"
"The wedding is only a week off," Marcus stated, expression going dark. "I've heard news from one of my overseers."
Michelle's father was the head of one of the largest gun manufacturing companies in their country, so she knew that when he said "overseer," he meant one of the men he'd appointed to supervise production in any of his dozen or so factories. However, the importance of the fact that the bearer of Marcus' news was a man Marcus would trust paled in Michelle's mind when she heard the tone with which Marcus spoke. Marcus almost sounded smug, but the venom lacing his voice indicated that perhaps the news wasn't as pleasant as standard smugness might imply. Keeping this in mind, Michelle chose not to ask about the "news."
Of course, just because she didn't ask didn't mean Marcus wouldn't choose to share.
"Did you know that your precious fiancé is a fag?" Marcus hissed, the half-hidden venom from before rising up closer to the surface. As Marcus' lips twisted up into a sneer, a possibility Michelle had only half entertained solidified into reality. Marcus was drunk- she was sure of it. After all, a man as prosperous as the head of a gun company as large as Marcus' could afford the steep prices of liquor. As the economy slowly failed, coveted luxuries such as alcohol steadily rose in price.
"I never would have guessed." As Michelle spoke, her voice remained empty of feeling; she was flat-out lying, and she knew it.
"I can't have my precious baby marrying someone like that," Marcus continued, apparently warming to his subject. "Steven and I, we need to have a little talk. We might even have to call off this wedding, hmm?"
Marcus continued to sneer, fists clenching and unclenching. He was completely unaware of the way his daughter's heart had stuttered upon hearing the words "call off this wedding." It was almost too terribly ironic. Steven fleeing just minutes before Marcus began threatening to call off the wedding? The only problem being that if Marcus called off the wedding, Michelle still might never see Steven again.
After all, Marcus was dreadfully religious.
Marcus was a firm believer in the truth of the "rites." The "rites" were a strict religious code- the basis of the one religion that had managed to persevere through the ages. All of Michelle and Marcus' ancestors had followed the same religious code, just as all of their ancestors had lived in the very city Michelle and Marcus now inhabited. Even if the city's failing economy began to affect Marcus' gun sales, Marcus would never leave his ancestral home.
Michelle supposed that such dedication to any one thing might be seen as noble… If she didn't also believe that the religious code her father followed was extremely biased and outdated. She thought that more than half of its strictures were outrageously unreasonable, but the single stricture that bothered her the most was the one against homosexuality. Half of the city had long since accepted their differences as a mere matter of course, while the other half remained brainwashed by a religion Michelle saw as little more than a cult.
"Where is Steven?" Marcus asked again, when Michelle continued to remain silent. He staggered forward a few steps, attempting to close the distance between Michelle and himself. Michelle scooted backwards on the bed. She didn't want to be too close to her father while he was drunk, even if he'd never actually raised a hand to her. There was a first time for everything.
"I don't know," Michelle said firmly, albeit without feeling. She wasn't lying- she really didn't know where Steven was. She only knew that he was gone, and she refused to even say that much.
"You know, it really doesn't matter," Marcus managed, finally. His sneer had faded, but the smile slowly replacing it wasn't any more comforting. Haughtily, Marcus continued, "I'll find your precious Steven. Regardless of what you may or may not know, I'll find him."
The government really had been a failure, but Steven often wondered if any sort of order might be preferable to the present state of anarchy.
All things considered, Steven had been more than a bit rash in fleeing his home. He now only had the clothes he was wearing and the small amount of money in the wallet in his pocket. He wanted to get out of the city before someone came looking for him, and yet he was uncertain how easily he could be traced. He would need more money at some point, and if he waited until he'd reached some other city, would his father and Marcus be able to track him using his bank account? In decades past, the answer would have been "yes," but Steven was no longer certain.
Supposing Steven made a withdrawal before he left the city- how much money should he take? Should he withdraw everything in his account, and carry the cash on-hand? Should he transfer some of the money to a new account, in an attempt to keep himself from being traced, and carry a smaller amount with him? What would happen if he was mugged? Furthermore, depending on how much money he took with him, would it be better to walk to the next city, or to take public transportation? Could people be tracked via the bus records- were there any bus records? Steven knew there had been records in the past, but so much had changed in the past two decades.
All in all, there were just too many questions. There were too many things Steven didn't know, and could hardly guess at. He figured it would be best not to carry too much money with him, and opening a new account would probably be a wise precaution to take, but even then… How much money should he carry? He didn't know how much city-to-city bus fares were, nor had he even made up his mind for certain about taking the bus.
Shaking his head angrily, Steven took a right turn and veered off of the road he'd been following. He was certain by then that he needed to visit the bank, and he'd want to make the stop as swiftly as possible, before his father or Marcus learned of his disappearance. He knew he'd asked Michelle to insist that he had died, but convincing their two fathers of the fact would be difficult- perhaps too difficult even for Michelle. Steven privately thought that she'd fail, regardless of how much he cared for her, and he therefore wished to escape as swiftly and successfully as possible.
Ten minutes passed, and Steven was nearing the bank. It was nighttime, and Steven belatedly realized that the bank would probably be closed. He'd be able to get some cash from the ATM machines outside, but he wouldn't be able to open up a new account for himself until the morning. As much as he would have liked to do so, Steven was not about to remain in the city until daybreak.
Standing in front of one of the ATM machines, Steven carefully began pressing buttons. However, he was beginning to feel generally uneasy, and couldn't help glancing around as he attempted to make a withdrawal. He'd worried about being mugged, but when the machine spat out a handful of bills and no one jumped him, Steven sighed in relief. Not wanting to put all of his cash in one place, Steven put a third of the bills in his wallet, before setting to hiding the rest of the money on various parts of his person.
Tucking the last bill into his shoe, Steven stood, straightening out his clothes as he did. He turned away from the ATM machine, took two steps, and promptly fell to his knees as darkness rapidly encroached upon his field of vision.
The first thing Steven remembered, as soon as he was fully conscious, was that there had been no reason for his descent into oblivion. He thought that perhaps he'd been mugged after all, and the mugger had decided prey that couldn't fight back would be a surer bet. However, when he moved to rise and found that he couldn't, Steven reconsidered that train of thought. No matter how timid the thief, a criminal who only wanted his money wouldn't have bothered to tie him up.
That was when someone decided to shine a particularly bright light in Steven's eyes.
Steven fell backwards in shock, landing rather painfully on bound hands- even worse, seeing as his bound feet made shifting positions after falling all the more difficult. The light moved even closer to Steven's face, and he squinted his eyes, unable to throw up an arm to shield himself from the glare. He did want to see who was approaching, however, so he did his best to endure. From a bit too far to the right of the light for it to be the same person, a pair of hands snaked out, grabbing Steven by his shirtfront.
Steven wasn't exactly tiny, not at a height of six feet and a weight to match, but whoever was hauling him upwards didn't seem to be having much difficulty doing so. The light receded marginally, allowing Steven's eyes to readjust enough that he was able to get a look at the man with his fists bunched in the fabric of Steven's shirt. Steven couldn't put a name to the face, and hadn't expected to be able to. However, he was surprised that he could identify the man based solely on the clothing he was wearing- the man grabbing at him was one of Marcus' employees. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, the man had to work for Marcus.
"What the hell is going on?" Steven yelled, as soon as it occurred to him to use his voice. Perhaps the men who had tied him up were just cocky, but apparently they didn't expect him to scream; they'd made no attempt at gagging him.
"We're just doing boss Marcus a little favor," Steven heard in response, coming from the direction of the light. As a result of the glare, Steven couldn't see the man holding it, but the voice revealed that there was someone there. Despite the choosing of words usually meant to soothe, the sadistic tone meeting Steven's ears failed to reassure.
"And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Steven exclaimed, despite the dim whisperings in the back of his mind advising him not to piss off his apparent captors.
"It means boss Marcus doesn't want a dirty little cocksucker like you to marry his precious Michelle," a third man supplied viciously.
"Fine with me," Steven rallied, almost tauntingly. "I was getting the fuck out of this city before you assholes came up and konked me on the head anyway."
"Testy, testy," the first man, the one with the light, said mildly. Steven had a feeling he was being teased. "Doesn't matter what you were gonna do anyway- sounds like we're gonna have to teach the little queer a lesson. Boss Marcus wouldn't like for the fag to be getting uppity, after all."
Steven was given the impression that the man speaking, the one with the light, was the leader of their little circus sideshow act. He almost asked why the man didn't give the lug grabbing his shirt collar a chance to speak, but in that one instance, his common sense shone through and Steven remained silent. Instead, he chose to shoot the light-bearing man an angry glare.
"Lesson?" Steven asked, mock-innocently. He was continuing his attempt to keep up his confident act, but such a routine was growing more and more difficult to keep afloat. Steven was sure that he would have been fine if the three had just attacked him, and then he would have been able to keep his pride… But they'd gone the underhanded route, choosing instead to knock him on the head first, tie him up second, and ask questions later. Naturally, Steven's self-assurance was beginning to falter.
"Yeah," the third and final man managed to rumble out. Steven really was beginning to suspect that he was as dumb as he looked. "Since you like cocks so fucking much…"
"…We figured we'd go ahead and make your day," the leader finished, smiling maliciously.
Now Steven was shocked. He knew these were Marcus' men, and he knew that Marcus didn't like him much, but he was sure that these three were taking blind loyalty just a little too far. Steven didn't exactly consider himself to be any sort of genius, but he did know how to put two and two together. If he was processing things correctly, these men wanted to rape him. They wanted to fucking rape him! Marcus said "jump," and they said "how high"- while already on the way up.
Steven surely would have denied it later if pressed, seeing as it wasn't exactly the most manly thing he could have done… But he'd only been back in the realm of consciousness for a short period of time, and he'd been greeted by one shock too many. Once again, Steven rapidly plummeted into oblivion.
