The G Game

by bluemicrocosm

-- Chapter 3 --

October 2, 1:20 a.m.

The blinds are shut, the bedroom door closed. Lediv leans forward in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. He grimaces at the dirt streaking his pants, longing for clean clothes and a hot shower. The uncomfortable feeling of dried sweat and heavy fatigue conspire to wear at his patience. Patience is not a virtue that he likes to practice, and the woman’s (if that’s even the correct term) unresponsiveness fans his growing agitation.

Why she refuses to talk outside baffles him. The desolate early morning is a haven for secrets, words smothered by the mantle of silence, outlines blurred to mere specters by shadows. Yet she insists on the precarious setting of his home, where sound can break the brittle silence, resonate off the walls and into the room of his sleeping parents.

Lediv eyes her intently, biting his tongue when she sprawls indecently on his bed. The audacity.

As if sensing his indignation, she smiles that odd little smile again. Lediv realizes, suddenly, why he finds it so disturbing. Her smile instills a feeling of transparency, of vulnerability and inferiority, the faint curves of smugness and amusement that taunts, “I know what you’re thinking. I know something you don’t.”

His brows furrow as he says softly, “Now that we’re here, I would appreciate some answers. First, who are you?”

“D,” she responds simply.

“Is that your name?”

“Between you and me, yes.”

A pseudonym, then. Lediv doesn’t particularly care, especially since she probably isn’t even –

“What are you?”

“What do you think I am?”

He might deal with her evasiveness better if not for his agitation. Willing himself into a state of composure, he replies equably, “I want to say a product of my imagination, but the telepathic experience feels truly authentic. Also, considering your ability to make the type of contract that you did, I am ninety percent sure that you’re not human.”

“What’s the other ten percent?”

“I’m trapped in a nightmare, have been captured for drug-experimentation, or you’re a psycho,” he says dryly.

“Perhaps those would have been more preferable options.” The woman – D – dismisses Lediv’s perplexed frown with a wave of her hand. “Human language cannot describe me, but I understand your needs to identify and categorize. I suppose you can think of me as the manifestation of chance.”

“Chance,” repeats Lediv. “Chance for what?”

“Oh, for anything. Every human desires something different. In your case, it is a chance to evade death.”

“There are other ways to avoid death than the provision in the contract,” argues Lediv.

“But you see, saving a human whose time has run out is a grave matter. It destabilizes the balance of life and death. The contract is a form of compensation. For you to continue living, someone else has to pay the price.”

D’s explanation is almost cruel in its dispassion, certainly not meant to judge. Still, the human in Lediv cringes.

“Wouldn’t one –” he begins to say “sacrifice,” yet the crude sound sickens him. “ – person satisfy the exchange? Why is that person only worth a month?”

D looks at him lazily. “I think you know why.”

Lediv has his suspicion, a reason as callous as it is obvious. “Enlighten me.”

“It is easier to destroy a life than to create or sustain one.”

Silence, pregnant and heavy, carries to full term. The electric hum of the refrigerator percolates through the floor. The clock ticks in measured anticipation. The creases on Lediv’s forehead deepen, gathering like the shadows in his eyes, knotting tighter and tighter until his muscles ache. Then, as he raises his head, the creases vanish. He doesn’t smile, not like he does in public, but the mask resurfaces. Perfect. Distant. Closed off.

Calmly, quietly, he asks, “Why did you choose me? Everyone desires something. Why give me this chance?”

“It is simply a matter of probability. There are about 6.7 billion humans on this planet, each with an equal chance of being selected. One of them will receive me. That probability happens to fall on you.”

“I’ve never heard of your existence before. Surely someone who came in contact with you left a record.”

D smiles again, and this time, Lediv keeps his expression blank.

“Where do you think the phrase ‘pact with the devil’ or ‘divine intervention’ originated? The telling of my appearances become distorted over time, but those supernatural tales that you humans are so fond of are not without an element of truth.”

“Then I’m not the only one who entered into a contract with you?”

“Contracts are a rare occurrence. Like I said, you’re a special case.” D pauses. “There have been other instances, but the terms are unique for each contractee. It will be a waste of your time to investigate them.”

“I wasn’t going to,” says Lediv flatly. “In regards to our contract, what exactly are the details?”

“For every life that you –”

“Besides that,” Lediv interrupts. “How do I fulfill the requirements to gain another month? Is it really as easy as throwing out death sentences?”

His ears strain for the answer, a clarification to Ferand’s bewildering obedience – and hear a knocking instead.

“Hide!” Lediv hisses, jolting up from his chair as the door knob turns. He knew it was a bad idea to talk in his room!

A shaft of orange light struggles through the narrowly open door, where a thin woman stands in a bathrobe and slippers. Geneva Lex-lux yawns and stares blearily at her son.

“Lediv, why are you still up? It’s…” Geneva tries to peer around her son to see the clock, but he stands his ground. “…late.”

“I was about to go to bed. Good night, Mom,” says Lediv.

He starts to close the door. However, perhaps because he acted too hastily, Geneva intervenes and peeks past his shoulder into the room. “Is everything all right, Lediv?”

“Yes.” His pulse races beneath his reassuring smile. He has situated himself between his mother and the bed, yet it is nearly impossible not to spot D’s conspicuous white form.

“That’s strange. I thought I heard you talking,” says Geneva.

“I was rehearsing a speech for class. Need to memorize it.” He waits for the inquiry about D, another lie ready on his tongue, but Geneva seems sufficiently satisfied by his response.

“Oh. I know you’re a hard worker, but even you have to rest, dear.”

“I will, Mom. Good night.”

As Geneva prepares to leave, her expression scrunches into one of disapproval. To Lediv’s horror, she squints and leans forward, as if to enter his room.

“What’s that on your neck, Lediv?”

Unable to see his neck, he glides his finger tips over the grimy skin, feeling the swell of his Adam’s apple and protruding collarbones.

“What do you mean? I don’t feel anything,” says Lediv.

A sudden dullness commands Geneva’s face, loosening her frown and shaking out the inflections in her speech. “There is a mark, about the size of a quarter, between your collarbones. It resembles a horseshoe and has a diamond in the center.”

Lediv’s smile falters as he touches his neck again, more unnerved by her behavior than the intangibility of whatever is on him. “Are you okay, Mom?”

“I am fine.”

She stands before him like a mannequin, eyes dim with distance.

Unconvinced, Lediv observes her for a while, then murmurs hesitantly, “Maybe you should go back to bed. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

After watching her disappear into the master bedroom, Lediv treads into the bathroom. Begins to flick on the light. A hand covers his, cold and limp like a corpse.

Inhaling sharply, he snatches his hand away and stumbles into the darkness of the bathroom.

D’s silhouette stands in the doorway, shades of amusement in her smirk.

Catching his breath, Lediv simmers, “What are you doing?”

“Saving you.”

“From what?”

“Yourself.”

Exasperated by her cryptic speech, Lediv says, “Can you speak in words that I understand?”

“Piece of advice: Don’t look in the mirror. Think you can understand that?”

Alarmed, confused, but unwilling to ignore the warning, Lediv turns fully away from the mirror. Touching the hollow of his throat, the pads of his fingers sliding over smooth skin, he asks, “What exactly is on me?”

“The mark of our contract.”

“What?” Then he remembers D declaring their contract to be sealed by the Alef, but is quite certain that no needles were involved.

Well, if telepathic entities that randomly grant wishes are real, then why not a self-appearing tattoo?

Assuming that the Alef is the horseshoe-like symbol described by his mother, coupled by D’s caution against looking at his reflection…

A lot of things suddenly make sense.

Somehow, the sight of the Alef predisposes the viewer to manipulation, including Lediv himself. His mother saw the Alef, and he was able to influence her. During the fight, Ferand must have also glimpsed it. Because Ferand was affected by the contract, his death qualified as one that can be exchanged for an increase in Lediv’s own lifespan.

If he is correct in deducing the Alef’s power, then Ferand really did kill himself.

Clenching the door frame of the bathroom, Lediv breathes deeply. Tension presses into the wood, not from the horror or guilt associated with Ferand’s death, but from Lediv’s struggle to feel something beneath his amazement at the Alef’s power. He really shouldn’t be so calm, so indifferent. For heaven’s sake, he killed someone.

No, that’s not quite right. He killed a criminal, a murderer who stole innocent lives in the most savage ways. The man deserved to die. His life was a small price to pay for the safety of a nation. In fact, he should have suffered more before his death to get a taste of the pain that he inflicted upon his victims.

In the name of justice.

That conclusion twinkles like a glorious star in the depths of his mind, the shine of its brilliance filling him with epiphany. Possibilities sprawl before him, a mesh of silvery thoughts that layer the foundation of a lofty ambition. Bleak boredom recedes in the light of the Alef’s potential, the power over life and death heady and intoxicating.

If he has to kill to live, then he knows exactly who to target.

A dark smile cuts crudely across Lediv’s face as he strides back to his room.

At the entrance, he spies D on his bed again and realizes that there is no way his mother could have missed her.

“Hey, are you only visible to me?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Then how come my mom didn’t see you?”

D smiles oddly. “Perhaps because I did this.”

Light flares around her like tendrils of white fire, quickly consuming her whole. When the light fades, a dove nests on his bed, its small body concealed behind the folds of his comforter. The dove’s blood-red eyes follow him as he walks to the bed.

“So that’s how,” he states, and watches coolly as D morphs back.

“Are you not surprised?”

“Considering everything that has happened tonight, shape-shifting hardly takes a great leap of faith.” As an after-thought, he says, “What’s your original form?”

He can’t tell if D is joking or not when she says, “Human language cannot describe.”

Not that he cares, his mild curiosity overshadowed by greater concerns. Gesturing to the purported mark on his neck, he says, “Is this the Alef?”

The gleam in her red eyes is enough to confirm. “My, my. You certainly deduced that one fast. Although, I was wondering when you would find out.”

Ignoring her jab, Lediv continues to seek verification. “I can control anyone who looks at the Alef. If that person is made to die, then my life lengthens by one month.”

“Yes and yes.”

“I’m not exempt from the Alef’s power, even though I’m the owner.”

“Yes again.”

The glint of amusement spreads like pools of blood, prompting Lediv to say, “I sense a ‘but’ here. What else is there?”

D actually laughs, a hollow knell of human’s inevitable mortality that raises goose bumps on Lediv’s arms. It is a terrible sound, ghastly and dismal, a reminder of her otherworldliness.

“There is no such thing as absolute power, little boy. Even I have restrictions and must compromise. Knowing this, what can you say for yourself?”

“There are rules to using the Alef,” Lediv reasons. “But what are they? Do you know?”

“Each contract is unique, so the appearance of the Alef is exclusive to you. I certainly do not have intimate knowledge of its powers. That is your job, as the user, to discover.” D peers at him through half-lidded eyes. “Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. Where would the fun be?”

Distracted by the cogs turning furiously in his head, Lediv does not rise to her insinuations of deceit and self-interest. Besides, he never believes D to be on his side. She made clear that her arrival is merely a luck of the draw; Lediv isn’t chosen because he is special.

But the point is that Lediv is chosen, and he plans to maximize his “chance.”

“How long does the contract last?”

“Until you die.”

“Theoretically speaking, I can be immortal.”

“Yes, if you don’t die from other causes first. The contract does not guarantee that you will live through your accumulated time. An accident, an illness, a natural disaster – anything can kill you prematurely.”

“Will you be around until the contract ends?”

“It will be very irresponsible of me to draw a contract and flee,” says D, which is as good as a “yes” for Lediv.

“What if I really do become immortal? Will you hang around forever?”

“If that happens, I will stay out of surprise alone.” Wickedly, D says, “Power calls to danger, boy. None of my past contractees died naturally. Some fell into mortal despair for what their desires brought; others rose to unprecedented greatness and died at the hands of envy. Even if you have the potential for immortality, immortality is not easy to achieve.”

Undaunted by D’s warning, Lediv says, “I never said I want to live forever. Now, is there anything else I should know about the Alef or the contract?”

“No more than what has already been said.” D eyes him with disconcerting keenness. “Eager for a shower?”

“Yes,” says Lediv, upset at himself for being rattled. Transparency is a foreign concept to him, an antithesis to the many masks that he wears each day. It makes him feel painfully exposed, as if his thoughts and actions are not his own. Still, if he is to be around D for the duration of the contract, he cannot have his nerves frayed every time D gets into an omniscient mood. Anxiety will kill him first.

Concealing his self-reprimand behind a firm look that he throws D, Lediv says, “If you’re going to spend the night, I suggest that you turn into something less conspicuous.”

D merely tilts her head, secrets on her lips as she reverts into a dove.

Lediv watches as she flaps to the window sill and tucks her head into her wings before collecting his long-awaited shower.

Under the hot spray, someone’s life suddenly begins to swirl down the drain.

Author's Note: Feedback is welcomed! Thanks!