Starting at T minus 21 (part 1)
New technology allows people to see through the eyes of their soulmate for an hour at a time. It is, unfortunately, expensive. However, it's becoming all the rage with celebrities.
"It's the newest headline."
He retracted his hand, away from the small blinking screen. Trying to ignore the infinite blooming of digital ice crystal was a fine thread to the impossible. "Anything with our name, sells.”
The studio manager laughed, unpleasant to his ear. Avoiding bad publicity, he poured all agitation to his finger tips and rapped against the leather seat. Perhaps, the manager scurried out or just had some errands, he was left alone in the room. The door clicked close and the blinking screen found an instant way to his hand. Relief flooded him, if anyone would see, he might as well had a withdrawal. Addicted to the rage. Every single soul he knew jumped on the bandwagon too. The dating site? He’s well known. Blind date? Not desperate. Just, curious.
“I’m not afraid,” he laughed and swiped. On the screen was plain landing page. Not even a subscribe button. Such confidence. He passed it through with the warning list, predictable side effect, and two sentences of short requirements. Read them all before. Fee was outrageous, he thought, still within his range of wealth. Not a one time deal though, everyone said and this time every one said it.
He could turn it into for profit. Approach the owner, wag the contract they unable to refuse, ka-ching. Welcome to another reality show. Some pitiful wannabe would jump the cliff for a taste of the infamy. But nobody he knew ever see them behind the app and the website and the rage. Genius. Information in exchange for opportunity of a lifetime. Heard that one before. He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m here again, same question, different situation.” Life was just auditions after auditions. They guaranteed secrecy. So far proven, nobody knew anything unless the subject spilled. So how did they lure them back? Always, same bait, same people.
“It took a while for us to recognize our soulmate,” his costar, Raini confided.
“An hour is a long time.” He didn’t mean to ridicule, but sometimes his reality was different than his acting.
“I don’t know how. The experience made me feel as if I connect deeply with my soulmate without knowing them.” Raini’s eyes stared away again. She’s here but also not. One of the side effects, he read.
“It’s their programming. Someone there managed to figure it all out.”
“Regardless, they can’t see what I see.” Raini’s so confident it pained him.
He fiddled his fingers and returned to the screen. “And here I am.” The last time he saw Raini, she was happy but intense. Either aloof or impassioned, never in between anymore. Not Raini anymore. He wouldn’t admit it, to admit was to be defeated, but fear began to sniff him. Yet again curiosity won. He clicked submit, couldn’t take it back anymore, wouldn’t anyway.
He sat on a padded room, maroon like the theater, maroon like old blood, maroon like a beating heart. Nobody’s there and no camera was around, only a speaker, small and almost invisible. How did he know? Explanation found in the instruction, a plain white A4 paper, as plain as everything else with this business. As if they tried to convince him, his friends, his acquaintances, his industry, that they had nothing, not even a single string to hide. Suspicious.
Freedom to sit anywhere, they assured. Pick any room, they said. Heck, leave anytime, period. 100 percent money back guaranteed, though decreased with each successful session, satisfaction never implied. For such industry which full of desperation, that decision should be like blinking. Fame didn’t come cheap. Neither did the effort to find true happiness. The disposable eye lenses in front of him for example. That’s not costless. Otherwise how would the rich and famous able to see through their supposed soulmate. Something gotta give, and individuals like him have lots of money to spend.
Soul mate. Somewhere on the other end of the rainbow called world wide web, sources claimed there’s little to no evidence that an individual had a single soulmate over the course of their lifetime. If they do, they should try the lottery. “Sole mate more likely.” He smirked. No longer wanted to waste time, he put the lenses on his eyes. Not the most comfortable but he had worse. As worse as blind, as worse as putting ember on his eyes, as worse as, “this job better be paying my doctor, co-pay, meds, hospital stay, and insurance.”
Doubt, with its overdue visitation, tickled his abdominal area. Seeing from another eye came with his profession. Been there, metaphorically. Method, exhausting but seal the deal a couple of times. Meisner might be better, then he would still alive as himself. Not funny if he ended up being his own soulmate. Waste of money.
He expected a little delay on the program. He expected a little motion sickness. He expected some unnerving aspect. He did not expect feeling so lost in the freedom of it. Within a couple second, he was in love. Sickly, in love. “Shit!” He fumbled to get a hold of himself, of anything, of anyone. Vulnerable, he hated it to the very bone. Yet, one thing he did expect, addiction. A disability to let go.
Wouldn’t turn back, he watched everything with uttermost intent, HE MUST FIND OUT. He must finished this fast. He must broke the record. Intent become need, need become life bound. He forced open his eyes and memorize every little detail. The sky at dawn. The noise of crashing waves. The smell of burning woods. The taste of rusty substance. The fluttered in the wind. The movement of those legs. The shape of those fingers. The breathing. The beating heart. A blooming ice flower. Too familiar. Which one was his, which one was his soulmate.
He stood in the middle of the maroon room. The container that held those lenses broke in pieces at different corners. Taking the lenses out was a labor. It melted into evaporated water and disappeared. His breathing slowly coming to normal. Walking back to the car was a dream, driving back to the train was a dream, riding home was a dream, diving into his pool was a dream. Suffocated, he resurfaced and gained his mind. In his skin, he climbed up into his tree house and wrote. On the wall, on the board, on the paper, on the floor. He pulled strings, green, calmed him down just enough to think. His legs gave up, he landed on the floor with a thump.
“It is familiar.” He knew his soulmate. He’s been with his soulmate. He stalked his soulmate. He killed his soulmate.
Running breathless, he found the spot. Digging with his bare hand from desperation. The same desperation he ridiculed. He felt it. It felt cold, it felt forgotten, and it was paler than he remembered. He traced the blue tinge, the chilled curve, the soft layer. He stood up, smiling, and brought down a red ax. He pulled out the grey bone and broke it too. He laughed, delirious with excitement as a piece of ripped leather rolled out of the grey metallic relic. It was those numbers that would be his answer. He cleaned every single spot, wrapped every single gap, and buried every single pieces. Back to how it was. Time to remedy his addiction.
“Espionage.” He remembered the first time he heard that word. Small, barely tall enough to reach the sink, barely understood, but confident in the two peoples in front of him. Those saviors took him out of the orphanage. A dilapidated place, scraping by with fund injected or thrown by the government. They taught him survival, life, happiness, fake happiness, sorrow, fake sorrow, and love. Every segment of his bone loved them. They helped him defeated doubt, battled fear, and masked incompetence. Honesty was their currency, even as they turned him into a lethal weapon, as they gave him a choice to kill, or be killed by them. Time to wise up fell on the day she came to his life. Smart, sharp, petite, and very important. Made her fell for him by falling for her. Made her his tool by giving her a dream. So, he chose the third option, which murder was not. Bring the pair he came to call parent pride. It was beyond success, but came with a price. A life for a life, as for two lives? It must be paid.
He left with her. A long winding time to follow. A long exhausting time to endure. It was the knowledge of the imminent ending that burdened him and corroded their relationship. Her time was running out. The time he borrowed with two lives he didn’t even own. He was barred to watch. They sent him out, expecting to die, but again he was spared. A life for a life.
“Hello, I was there for a session last night. I only want to know, the vision, is it current? That’s all, please let me know. You have my contact.” Sleeping was out of the question. Nightmare would chase him even in the middle of a sunny afternoon. All he could do was wait. A habit he had accustomed to. He had practice for more than a decade, waiting without hope. Because hope was toxic, as he found out last night. The screen blinked. He rushed and read the only word he needed.
Reluctant, he read the next one. “Or within forty five hours.”
The screen blinked again. “Apologize, we cannot give you anymore information, even if we want to.”
He flung it away. Of course he knew. They couldn’t have known his soulmate. It was up to him, likewise everyone else. But he had ways, sources, and aids in the dark alley of a gangbangers neighborhood, in the tall wall of the riches, in the jungle of drug fueled country, or in the turquoise coast of small islands. He took off with an old watch to count down and a map in the back of his head. The set of numbers permanently seared on him.
“It has been so long, my friend!” Monggy, with his perpetual stupefied eyes, jumped for joy to see him. The lady next to Monggy stripped him down with her eyes.
The two of them sat in the middle of damp room, full of sweet scent that used to be his daily companion. “Why are you looking?” Monggy never was the one that waited for the red light to turn green.
“I saw with my own eyes. Have you heard about the new resource?”
“Ah ye, the soul mate engine. A really expensive piece of machinery. Extremely unpredictable.” Monggy stripped the crust of a caramelized meat while pouring a milky nectar for him. “Drink up. It was your favorite recipe.”
The fermented starch brought back a well of misery. The tinge of euphoria was no longer there. He only held on to Monggy’s mutual trust. That remarkable mind had spun the fiber of an empire, maybe one of its longest strand could help him dealt with his new addiction. He exposed his skin and faced it against the light. Monggy’s fogged eyes turned brilliant. That mind was storming a finish line for him. At last.
“You know, that numbers are dead end.”
His eyes betrayed nothing. Still and steady with confidence.
Monggy breathed a long sigh, full of burnt sugar. “But, you already know. That’s why you’re here. Init?” Monggy stood and gestured him to follow. “How long can you wait?”
He pulled out the watch to countdown. “Thirty three hours.”
“Ah ye.” Moggy combed his untamable frizz and poured him another serving of his favorite. “Get a rest, pronto.”
The milky nectar calmed him. Half of his body was begging for the cozy bed, but Moggy’s peeled up couch would be sufficient. Behind a pair of ironed lids, he saw Monggy danced and tapped behind the drape. In a blink, he was back to his addiction. Although unconvinced, there were new details he missed, a growing ice vine luscious with flower. It served to train his memory.
“Here, old friend.” Monggy’s voice propelled him up. “Not impossible to find her, but it’s up there. She’ll be here at that spot in about three hours.” Monggy shoved a piece of paper to him.
“Thanks, bud.” He clamped Monggy’s with his arms.
“No.” Honesty was his currency.
“Never change, my friend.” Monggy’s cackle made a hungry hyena retreated and served him a reminder to take that departure ticket.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
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