Razor Ch. 07

"Silent Lily sleeps four streets times two straight west from here, in a safe house that I know, may I take you to her?" I said and looked at him to see if he would give me a silent response.

When the man nodded in answer I started walking, slowly, and when I passed Sean and Rose I told them quickly that I suspected that the man was responsible for pushing Rose into traffic, then I promised I would call them later and tell them more about it.

I walked ahead of the man, carefully checking that he was still following me to where I was going. After learning about the girl that the police struggled to find the identity of I had made sure she had the best of care in a private nursing home that I used from time to time for people who were saved by my angels. As we reached the house I told the man how many stairs we would have to walk up and how many turns we would have to take before we reached his sister, and though he was clearly agitated he still followed me into the house.

After a short talk with the head nurse I lead the man towards his sister's room, hoping that we would find her a little bit more responsive than all of the other times I had been there to see her. My hope was in vain as we found the small shape lying in bed, completely still, her eyes staring unseeingly at the pale, pink wall in front of her.

I moved the chair closer to the bed and walked away to make the brother see that it was okay to sit down, that I wouldn't disturb him or go near him. After a few minutes he finally sat down, his eyes turned away from the bed, his upper body swinging back and forth, even more agitated than before.

I watched him as he calmed down and studied the way his left hand still waved and turned in circles. I could see that he was whispering softly and his eyes went back and forth in his head. He didn't try to reach out to his sister, but I hadn't really expected him to do so. Actually, I was amazed that he had been able to force himself to connect with Rose and the rest of us as much as he had. I had to try to get him to talk to see if his presence could somehow reach the apathetic, almost catatonic woman in the bed.

"Does your special flower, sweet Lily, like any stories or songs that you know?" I asked softly.

I couldn't be too sure about it but it seemed that the man listened and thought about it and a few minutes later he started reciting numbers in groups of four.

"1-4-1-5" he said and then paused for a second "9-2-6-5" pause "3-5-8-9" and on and on for a few minutes.

I realized that he was listing the decimals of pi and that he was able to go way beyond the eight ones that I knew. I had already realized that numbers were sort of his thing, even more so than they were my thing. And patterns, we also had patterns in common. Only his abilities were more highly developed than mine in both cases. I was startled from my thoughts as a raspy, tired voice started talking; the silent woman had finally woken up.

She was still lying completely still in the bed but she kept calling out numbers, all in groups of four, and the man answered. Numbers were met by numbers for a few minutes, until the woman's voice grew distinctly weak.

"You are my 1-4-1-5," the woman said "you are my number one..."

I realized then that what they'd been doing was a game where he had to find the position of different numbers in the decimals of pi and I smiled because it was somehow such a loving thing to do. Nerdy and bizarre but still, very loving.

I saw the woman move, slowly, as she turned around to see her brother and me standing a few feet away, way out of her brother's personal space. She smiled softly as she saw her brother and then she turned her eyes on me again.

"You're the one who's been here, talking to me, reading those silly short stories, giving me whispered promises that you'd both keep me safe and find the... person responsible for... my injuries?" she whispered.

I nodded and looked at her to see if she was in pain, if I should call for help. She looked at her brother and I saw her face turn soft and loving again, then infinitely sad. She looked at me again.

"How did you find my brother, Peter?" she whispered.

"He found me actually..." I answered "Or rather, he found the man responsible for... all this... and then I found him."

"He's not hurt, is he?" she asked with a worried frown.

"No, he's not been hurt as far as I can tell," I answered "he never went near the 'bad men'. He took a slightly different approach..."

"I told him to forget about the flowers, that he didn't have to worry about it," she whispered "but he probably saw that I was in danger didn't he?"

I nodded and thought about it. Peter had tried to get rid of Rose a few weeks before his sister had been taken. How could he possibly have seen the pattern and made the connections, when there was nothing tangible to draw logical conclusions from?

"Why flowers?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"Our dad used to say that women were like flowers and that you had to make sure we were treated right. Since Peter was, is, special... dad used things in his garden to show him the 'rules and principles of life'..."

"Could your dad then possibly have taught him about thinning, culling or whatever it's called?" I asked her softly and looked at her as her facial expression moved from questioning to shocked.

"No, he would never do anything to hurt anyone..." she answered, keeping her voice low but with an angry sting in it "what exactly are you saying?"

"I think he tried to push my friend straight into traffic two times a few weeks ago," I said, keeping my voice low and calm "and today he pulled her into an alley and threatened her with a knife."

"Pete," Lily said as she put her hand right next to her brothers that he must have put on the sheet when I was looking the other way "why did you hurt the flower?"

"If the first flower was gone, the rest would be safe. Four times three now, four more to come..." he answered before he turned away whispering again, and this time I could tell it was numbers he was listing.

"Has he always been able to see patterns like that?" I asked "Numbers are not unusual, but finding the connections between all the girls, that's something very special."

"He's always been special that way," Lily answered softly "it's just... not easy to figure out what he's trying to say, and he gets frustrated when I don't understand him. He doesn't hurt other people though; he would never do that. Usually he just... hurts himself. He... starts hitting his head against things and... I just can't make him stop... and..."

"I understand his frustration and your frustration." I answered "Does he live with you then?"

"No, he lives in a special facility that's supposed to be better for him," she answered, her words sad "but sometimes I wonder if that's really true. They don't seem better able to understand him or keep him calm. But I can't keep him at home either... the little money our parents left me is all but gone, and I need to make a living."

I nodded and thought about her situation; the decision to send him away must have been a hard one, but it was probably the best and most logical step to take. I turned my eyes on her again and saw that she was tired.

"It seems you need to sleep," I said to her "do you want me to bring Peter somewhere or should I let him stay? He seems calmer now when he knows where you are, but you also need your rest."

"Please, let him stay..." she whispered and closed her eyes.

I walked out of the room and talked to the head nurse again explaining the special situation, that the sister was now communicative after her brother had come to see her, that her brother had an autism diagnosis that made him especially nervous around people. I asked them to put another bed in the room so that Peter could sleep in there, if he wanted to, and the nurse promised they would keep their distance.

With a deep sigh I walked out of there, silently trying to put all of the things that had happened that day in order, to see if there were more things that needed to be handled, sorted or organized. My tired brain couldn't find any loose ends, even though that strange niggling "I've missed something" feeling was still hanging there at the back of my mind. Nope, I decided, there was nothing more for me to do. All of my friends were safe from harm, and every single one of them had someone who loved them and cared for them. I had finally almost completed the task I had set for myself, to make sure that the people I loved would be taken care of when I was gone.

I walked in to the nearest bar, ordered a big glass of vodka and sat down to contemplate the life I had lead. There were good parts mixed in with the bad, and I would try to focus on those memories. I would drink to every last one of those good memories, and I would die happy.

I lifted the glass up and almost took a deep drink from it when I suddenly returned to my senses. There was one more thing I had to do before I went. Really, I didn't have to do it, but I felt I needed to, so that people would know where to go if they wanted to know the rest of the secrets that I had kept so close to my heart for so long. I wouldn't tell them, but if they felt they needed to know, they could make their own decision about it.

I sat there staring at the glass in front of me as my thoughts jumped from one interesting fact to another, from one idea to another, from one memory to another. I knew I was balancing on the famous knife's edge, where one nudge either way would push me to drink that first glass of alcohol. And one glass of alcohol would become one more and then one more, and in the end it would have devastating consequences. I would drink until I reached the maximum level of destruction and after that God only knew what would happen. Not that I believed in that magical being, because honestly, there were no such thing as an all-seeing, all-knowing creature in the world.

If I was thinking about God, then obviously I was in an even worse place than I had thought I was, I thought to myself. And I would rather spend my night looking for the bottom of a few glasses than walking the righteous path of my dear departed mother. I wasn't going to be the devil who turned to religion as the end of her days grew near. I reached for my glass, but was stopped by someone speaking close by.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" a familiar warm voice asked and I forced my eyes away from the glass in front of me.

Young, smiling, attractive temptation stood a few feet away. The world seemed to be shrinking lately; I could accept two random meetings with someone in a few weeks, but this was the third time my path was crossed by Simon's. I had thought about him a few times since the last time we had met, but surely that wasn't enough to influence some sort of heavenly intervention. I laughed at the idea of it. Perhaps arranging random meetings with people you'd been thinking of could be added to the list of God's great gifts to humankind.

Huh, I thought, you meet the people you think of in addition to you are what you think? I laughed at the idea of the first notion, but the second one almost made me cry.

* * * * *

She was sitting there staring at the full glass in front of her, her eyes obviously not seeing anything. Her face was mostly completely blank but from time to time she pursed her mouth, scrunched her nose or lifted her eyebrows; she was obviously thinking hard about something. A few men had tried to approach her but she seemed oblivious to their attention. I wondered how long she'd been sitting there before I walked in. She hadn't moved or reached for her glass in the hour I'd been there and the bar keeper was throwing her slightly annoyed or exasperated looks, which of course she wouldn't see, because she wasn't really there, was she?

A few moments later I saw her sit up straight and shake herself out of the strange moody silence she'd been stuck in. Her eyes cleared and I saw her look at the glass in front of her. She was contemplating drinking it, but she didn't really want to, or perhaps it was more like she knew she shouldn't. She slowly reached for the glass and I quickly moved towards her.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" I asked as I approached her, silently cursing myself for my world class pickup line.

She looked up at me, her face blank but her big, green eyes tired and... sad? She lifted one eyebrow and I saw a short glimmer of something shoot through her eyes; surprise, humor or perhaps... lust?

"I'm sitting here contemplating the fragility of man, the weaknesses of the flesh and the mind..." she answered with a bitter smile on her lips "I'm thinking about life's many different types of disappointment, pain and fear. I'm thinking about random and not so random acts of kindness. I'm just... thinking..."

She shook her head and stared once more at the glass in front of her.

"I'm thinking that maybe thinking isn't as good an idea as people think," she said with a soft sigh "and I have a feeling that feelings are highly overrated too..."

"So," I said slowly "what are you drinking?"

"I'm thinking about drinking to stop the thinking," she answered and took a hold of the glass "but I haven't decided how I feel about that decision yet. And it's vodka, because it felt appropriate, in my mind it's what great thinkers drink..."

I had been surprised by the way I had responded to her on a purely physical level on both of the two previous occasions we had met, because she had nothing in common with the lush, brown-haired beauties I usually fell in lust with. And frankly, only a sick man would get a hard-on after seeing her partly undressed, because even though her general shape was beyond nice, her scars were everything but, but then again I was a pretty fucked up human being. And beyond that, there was the strange way my feelings about her were both chaotic and calming, the interesting combination of lust and protectiveness that I had been feeling, those rarely went hand in hand, at least not for me. And now, she had triggered other parts of me, my own inner "great thinker", the heavy, overactive part of me that rarely stopped spinning.

"So you have one of those brains then?" I asked her a bit too bluntly "The ones who won't shut up? Inventor's brains I call them. How do you make yours stop spinning? Is alcohol the only way?"

She looked at me and smiled a small smile. It was bitter with a hint of sadness.

"See," she whispered "I knew you weren't simple, young Simon. Not simple at all. And to answer your question, it's really only the four F's that can, perhaps not stop but at least slow, the spinning; Focusing, Fighting, Fucking, Flying/Fleeing. I just added the first one actually, but it's true isn't it. Completely focusing on a complex problem is just as calming as hard physical activities or drugs. It really explains a lot of this inner drive thing. Always looking for new problems to solve. It's a self-medication thing too, isn't it?"

I nodded, complete focus in problem solving situations, running until your mind grew still, different types of pleasurable activities, but never, ever drugs. I'd seen enough friends fall into that trap.

"Music then?" I asked her and leaned in closer to see her properly despite her attempts to pull away from me.

"Well music does the opposite, doesn't it?" she asked with a frown "It sets things in motion, creates new thought processes, new ideas?"

I thought about my own reactions when I really listened to music; it didn't make my head feel heavier, it didn't make me want to hide myself away in a dark room, it only lifted me up and helped me carry on.

"I think it's more that it organizes and lifts things that are already there..." I said, struggling some to find a way to explain what I meant "It helps you find the important things, perhaps it's the subconscious parts that come floating to the surface somehow?"

"Perhaps..." she answered with a sigh "perhaps not. Right now I'd give almost anything for some peace and quiet, just a few hours of rest, no thoughts, no emotions... silence."

"Have you tried meditation?" I asked softly and saw her shake her head with a short, dry, almost soundless laughter.

"Yes, it doesn't work though..." she answered "it starts a slot machine effect in my mind, usually with a lot of to do lists spinning by... mixed with erotic images that are both exciting and a bit scary."

"Have you tried meditation with movements?" I asked with a smile that grew wide and wider.

I looked at her as she shook her head. She didn't look back at me and I was glad because my thoughts had grown distinctly heated. The pleasures of leisurely lovemaking, with slow and thorough caresses and extensive explorations with constant pushing of boundaries was my favorite type of meditation. I didn't like quickies or impersonal fucks. I wanted to drink in the pleasure of my partners. I wanted to see the goosebumps, the shivers, shakes and shudders. I wanted to hear the sighs, the moans, the groans and the screams. I wanted to..."

"Would you ever hit a woman?" she asked and turned surprisingly dark eyes my way.

"Uhhh..." I answered "If she asked me real nicely?"

"Pretty please with sugar on top?" she said with a laugh "What I mean is, if you fought a woman would you hold back or treat her special just because she was... a poor, weak female?"

"I would probably soften my blows some depending on how small and, as you said, weak, the woman was..." I answered, my mind still whirling with images of naked pleasures.

"If I promise to keep all of my clothes on, is there any chance you might be interested in... helping me with some of my... frustrations... tonight?" she asked slowly but with an intensity to her words that my whole being responded to.

Unstoppable excitement flowed through my veins, my skin heated and the rocket in my pocket was roaring to go. I wanted to scream "yes" and "don't keep your clothes on" and "let's go" and "now" when I realized that I couldn't do it. I had places to go and people to meet. Important meetings, important people; dinner with my strange but loving family.

"I really can't..." I answered with a low groan, regret filling every inch of my being.

"No, I didn't think so..." she answered with a soft sigh "but hey, it was worth a try, right?"

I looked at my watch and realized that I was already running late. I said "bye" and she nodded in response. When I turned back she was looking at the glass in front of her again, her fingers twirling the glass round and around. I hoped she would realize that alcohol wasn't the answer. But fuck me if I knew what was...