Chapter Thirty -- The Lovely Eye
Keres sat half-turned from him as if looking out the window could help him recollect those memories of a different time. Hudson looked the same way briefly. The sun was going down; soon, it would be evening. What was taking them so long?
"I've always believed myself to be a redoubtable opponent, regardless of the conflict I was engaged in," Keres began. "My accident that I told you about didn't happen like that. I crossed the people I was working for at the time. They decided to teach me a lesson, torture me until I cracked. They were bad people, you might say, but I was worse. I've always been the worst," he went on with delight. "Too bad, there was a good soul among them. See, I was not yet twenty when that happened. He thought that saving me would be a good thing. For his soul or something of the kind. He dropped me off at a hospital. Other good souls took care of me there."
"I searched your accident online and couldn't find anything," Hudson said.
"I'm afraid it happened well before the Internet was a thing. Older archives should have it all on paper. In case you're wondering, yes, it was about forty years ago, and I'm far from being a young man. Back to my story now. Don't think you're buying time for yourself. I'm the one who does that."
Hudson shrugged, his ears perked up for any noises in the hallway. As long as Keres was here with him, he couldn't give orders for the innocent people on the premises to be killed. His statement about buying time, however, was unsettling.
"Once I was back on my feet, I went after my enemies. But the first person I killed was the man who saved me."
"Why?"
"Excellent question, Mr. West. Because kindness is a close sibling to stupidity and that's something I can't tolerate. He should have finished the job. If he had, a lot of other people would have stayed alive. Do you disagree?"
"Go on."
"Holding on to your principles. Of course. It's this sort of inflexibility that draws trouble. I set the hospital where I was treated for my wounds on fire. I couldn't kill everyone, although the death toll was impressive. Should they have known who I was, what I was, do you think they would have chosen to smother me in my sleep? Cut off my air supply? What's the limit of kindness, Mr. West?"
"I would have killed you," Hudson replied calmly.
A short bark of laughter followed, mechanical and otherworldly in the worst kind of way. "You're a man to my liking, as I thought."
"Have you done this often? How many people have you killed for your sick entertainment?"
"Now you're skipping steps. And I thought you liked the idea of keeping me here, hostage to your will, until your guys arrived. You see, there was another -- quite important if I may say -- drawback to my accident. I was left without my sexual organs. Let's say that the suckers who tortured me found it funny to leave me without the possibility of procreation." Keres put one hand up. "Please, don't pity me."
"I have no intention of doing that."
"Very good. I hate pity. Such a muddy, disgusting sentiment. Not a lot to be gotten out of it. Being left without the ability to satisfy myself in the base manner humans and animals share, I had the unique opportunity to refine my pleasures. And I discovered them, little by little. It started off with the thrill of killing, of course. But that had been a pleasure of mine even before my so-called accident. The downside was that it lasted a very short time. Torture was the next logical step. But even that grew stale after a while. And soon enough, I realized what was missing." Keres stopped for a moment as if he was goading Hudson into asking him for details. "I wanted to share my pleasure, the exquisite sophisticated pleasure of watching a man drained of his life at my hands. I love the Internet. So many dark corners, where you can find people like me."
"Did you start a Facebook group?" Hudson asked.
"Such a plebeian sense of humor. No, of course not. But I found my people, so the idea of having some organized places where I could put on display the beautiful exhibits I intended to destroy became very appealing. Imagine, Mr. West," Keres said and swiveled his chair to face Hudson, "how it would feel to walk into -- let's say -- the Louvre, and start destroying those precious artworks. Slash the Mona Lisa, cut the canvas right through with no one to stop you. Smash the Venus de Milo into pieces. You know, she's so beautiful already, without her arms. Why not make her perfect? Have you noticed how many artworks celebrate death?" Keres's face seemed animated by dark glee as the sun was setting down behind him. With no lights whatsoever in the room, even the mundane furniture ended up draped in new shadows, lending the atmosphere an eerie, disquieting quality. "Beauty is unnatural. It fades, never lasts. Why not destroy it at its peak? Young people, in particular, appeal to me. Why let them become wrinkled and gray? Why let them suffer?"
Hudson shifted his weight from one foot to another. By now, he should have seen some action.
"Enough talk," he said abruptly. "It looks to me like no one's coming to save you. Or wonder what's keeping you. That means that it's over, Keres."
"Now it is quite rude, interrupting me like this. But I suppose I don't mind it that much. You'll give me so much pleasure later."
Hudson frowned as he felt the prick in his neck. He brought a hand up and touched the area, surprised with some latency of feeling the needle embedded already in his skin and deeper.
"What--" he mumbled, as his body became heavy and the room tilted.
He was still conscious as Keres walked over to him.
"I could take you down at any moment. Now you will serve my pleasure."
***
He gasped as he realized he couldn't breathe through his nose, but even that didn't help. The water entered every way it could find, making him sputter and heave.
"Finally, awake," someone commented.
Hudson grunted as the punch to the stomach took him unaware. He bent over and lost some bile; he hadn't eaten for the last twenty-four hours or so.
"Not such a fucking big man now, eh?" the same man asked and hit him again.
"Don't break anything. The boss wouldn't like it."
"That doesn't mean that I can't hit him where it's not so visible, right?"
Hudson curled on the floor to protect his head. That was the one thing he couldn't afford to lose. The asshole hitting him chose to kick him in one of his shins instead. The pain was searing, overwhelming. He had the feeling that he was already battered and bruised; had they kicked him at leisure while he'd been unconscious?
Keres must have used an automated trigger to take him down like that. A detail that he must have overlooked when walking into the room. But he'd had eyes only for Keres, and no one else had been there. It wasn't an excuse, just a fact.
"This fucker killed like twenty of us," one complained. "What can't we just gut him like a fish? And then, we'll tell the big boss that he tried to run."
"No, we can't do that," the first one spoke again. "Be happy with beating the crap out of him. If you don't deliver him still breathing, there's going to be hell to pay. These assholes here dabble in torture if you didn't get it. I don't intend to become a replacement for this fucker."
Hudson grunted but didn't give the scumbag the pleasure of hearing him scream. The mind had to remain in one piece. And hold on to the hope that the good guys in blue were on their way.
***
"Tie him up." A short barked order from Watkins.
