Break Away (Away, Book 1) (23 page)

Comus straightened his spine and tilted his
head to the side, as if thinking that over. “Of course,” he said
after two seconds, the faintness in his voice a sign that he was
coming across the realization of something. “I knew it. I knew
something had escaped me!” He strode to the still butler, caught
his face between his hands and smacked a kiss on his shiny, bald
head.

The butler didn't look fazed by any of it. I
wondered how often things like this happened.

Comus turned around, or more like made a
pirouette, and asked us, “Would you care for a drink my dear
fledglings?”

I pulled myself together and answered.
“Um…yes, please.” So the man also lacked social skills. Something
told me he wasn't used to have people around, which explained all
his excitement. A speck of sympathy blossomed inside my chest.

“I would like a beer, if you have any,” Ian
said.

I veered my head toward him and shot him a
look.

What?
He mouthed.

Don't.

Our eyes waged a silent battle for a while,
until Ian let out a small breath and released my stare. “I think a
pop would be better. Thanks,” he added, resigned.

I swallowed back a smug smile.

Comus nodded and turned to look at me. “What
about you, my she-fledgling?”

Though I didn't like the possessive quality
and
weirdness
of his last words, I knew he meant it as an
endearment. So I twisted my mouth into a smile and said, “A pop
will be fine.”

“Two pops on their way, then!” Comus
announced to the air. “No. Make it three pops, Midlo!”

The twelve-year-old-sized butler scurried
away at those words and disappeared into the blackness of a
hallway.

“So,” he said, as he sat down in the middle
of the scarlet sofa. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your
company?” he asked, pulling up his legs to cross them over one
another. He shoved his hand into his pocket and fished out a
lollipop. A strawberry lollipop.

The sight of him, so perky and colorful
against the blood-colored sofa, with its gothic pointed edges, left
me at a loss of words for a moment. The contradiction too big and
deep to not leave someone as dumbstruck as a deer in the
headlights.

At that moment, all I could think of saying
was, “Why do you live in a place like this?”

Comus looked at me with curiosity in his eyes
and slipped out the lollipop from his mouth. “In a place like
this?” he asked, confused. “What do you mean? Is there something
wrong with my dwelling?” He looked around completely oblivious,
trying to spot what might've caused my remark.

“Well,” Ian said in a tactful manner, as if
wary of Comus' reaction. “Your
dwelling
has a lot of pointy
things.” Comus frowned in deeper confusion. “You know, the chairs,
the sofa, the lamp…” Ian looked above us with distrust.

“Oh yes,” he said, after following each
object Ian had mentioned with his eyes. “I have a weakness for
sharp things, especially when they are pointed. They speak of
strength and tenacity, and in some way, they remind me of our
communion between earth and heaven.”

Okay, so the man was mad. “But more often
than not pointy things can be used as weapons,” I said, arching my
eyebrows. “Like…to kill people.”

Silence fell over us. Ian turned to look at
me, now really wary. I could see in his widened eyes and his tense
body, nearly perched on the edge of the chair, that he was ready to
meet head-on any problem my words may have caused. I wasn't
completely sure there was a problem. Comus' face was as vacant as
the face of a poker player during a world-class championship. But I
could picture a psycho having that numb expression before striking,
too.

He picked that moment to crack a booming
laugh. Both Ian and I jumped in our chairs this time, a good inch
above our seats.

“You really have a morbid imagination, don't
you?” Comus told me with a huge, inoffensive grin.

I placed my hand over my chest, as if to calm
down the pounding of my heart. “Do I?” I saw Ian taking a deep,
relieved breath.

“Something tells me you're a fun
she-fledgling to be around,” he said, with happy creases around his
eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” No need to tell him
most people would've run away as soon as they stepped inside this
medieval, spike infested place. Communion between earth and heaven
my ass.

He smiled and carried on with his previous
question. “Before we get distracted again by your delightful sense
of humor, could I please know what the reason behind your visit
is?” He stuffed the strawberry lollipop into his mouth once
more.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, yes.” Better to
start with it before anything weird happened, say like Comus having
a schizophrenic attack where dark, hooded beings told him to slice
us up with one of those sharp things he liked so much. “The article
you wrote…on why you think all these weird coma cases are related
to art…I was wondering how you got that idea.”

“Ah, yes. Smooch is not going to be pleased
with that.”

“Excuse me?” I frowned.

Comus looked at me intently, scanning for
something deep down in my eyes. “Can I trust you, she-fledgling?”
The word “trust” was laced with the weight of thousand pleas. I
could feel it in my chest, pressing it down with insistence. “This
isn't something to be taken lightly,” he added, with the first
flicker of seriousness I'd seen in him since he'd entered this
room.

I thought of Buffy lying on that hospital
bed, her eyes closed. I sighed. “You can trust me,” I said,
emphasizing the third word with the highest level of honesty I
could manage.

He nodded and smiled, that bright glee
sparkling in his eyes again. “Smooch is a friend, a friend from
Chimera,” he said, expecting the name would ring a bell in my head.
When he didn't see any reaction from me, he continued. “Chimera is
the place where human minds travel while dreaming.”

Here we go,
I thought I heard Ian
muttering.

I discounted him and pushed on the subject.
“A place? Like a
real
place you mean? Not a made up spot
inside your head?”

“Yes, as real as this scrumptious lollipop,”
he said, watching the pink, shiny ball with merriment.

“And have you been to this place,
Chimera?”

“We’ve all been to Chimera my dear, only
we’re not aware we're there when we sleep.”

Midlo, the teeny butler, slithered into the
room in that moment, carrying a silver plated tray with ornate
edging and handles. On top of it, were three brown pops and short,
ice-filled glasses. He placed the tray on the coffee table and
said, “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Comus turned to him with a smile and said,
“You're no longer required, Midlo. You can go bounce on your bed,
chase white fluffy bunnies or…do whatever you do when you're not
around. Enjoy the evening as you please.”

Midlo cleared his throat. “That's very kind
of you, sir, but I was wondering if your guests will be joining you
for dinner.”

“We have to get going before that time,” Ian
hurried to say, “We're a long way from home.”

“Pitty,” Comus said, with puckered lips. He
looked like a kid who'd just been told he couldn't eat candy.

I thought, for a second time since I'd seen
him, how lonely he must've felt. How hard life must've been with
him. Sick people, especially the ones who suffered schizophrenia
like him, were usually neglected by the world, ridiculed more often
than not. I knew that behind that Energizer Bunny, cheerful shell,
a sad man was begging for company, for a friend. A friend who would
listen to his every thought without being afraid. A friend who
would cheer him up when in confusing darkness. A friend who, most
importantly, wouldn't be ashamed to be called his friend.

I looked at Comus and said, “We would love to
have dinner with you.” Even if I knew this wasn't the best thing to
do, it
felt
like the best thing to do.

As if the sun had melted into his mouth, a
brilliant smile lit up his face. “Wonderful!” he cheered. “Are you
staying for the night, too?”

I wasn't expecting that. “Um,” I glanced at
Ian. He gave me a
Bravo
look and waited for my response.
“Well…”

“The fog is getting thicker by the minute,”
Comus explained. “By the time you leave, you won't be able to see
much. I couldn't live with my conscious if something happens to
both of you.”

And I couldn't live with myself if I didn't
get any information from him. It was either leave now that the fog
wasn't as dense or stay and find out an answer to Buffy's coma.
“We'll stay,” I said, with a small nod.

“Isn't this fantastic, Midlo?” Comus uttered
excitedly.

“I'll get the rooms ready, sir,” the butler
said, and then, paused to look at both Ian and me. “That is, if you
wish to sleep separately.”

It took me a minute to figure out the meaning
of his words. “Of course we'll sleep separately!” I said, blushing
all the way to my scalp. “We're not…we're not like
that
.
We're nothing.” I glimpsed at Ian and was surprised to find his
deep stare full of frustration and irritation. Surely a trick of
the dim light touching his face.

“I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, miss,”
Midlo said, bending over in a beaten gesture.

“Don't feel bad,” Comus told him. “I admit I
was under that wrong impression as well.”

“No, he…Ian is my sister's boyfriend.” I felt
the intense need to clarify. “Actually, she's the reason why we're
here.”

Midlo took that as his cue to leave. “I'll
ready
both
rooms, sir,” he said and scurried away in that
silent way of his.

Comus gave me his full attention.

I took in a deep breath and let out the
speech I'd been planning for hours. “You see, my sister is one of
those people who fell into a coma,” I said. An expression of pity
crossed his face. “Like everyone, it happened out of nowhere. We
found her with a book splayed open across her chest.”

“She was reading before she plunged into a
state of unconsciousness,” Comus deducted.

I nodded. “I want to know
why
.
Everyone says it's some kind of virus that affects the brain, but I
don't believe that. I think the CDC is more lost than Atlantis with
this. I think they don't really know what they're dealing
with.”

“It wouldn't be their first time,” Comus said
mockingly. “They think they're at the top of their game, but things
like this come and shake their very own existence. It's rather
healthy for them to slip out from their golden throne from time to
time, don't you think?” he said, a bitter pitch spiking his
words.

I paused, mulling over what he'd just
said.

“She-fledgling,” he uttered, pulling me up
from my well of thoughts. “You say you don't believe this is a
virus. May I know why?”

I gave a faint shrug of my shoulder. “A
hunch, I guess. A very deep hunch.” I looked at him. “Some people
in my school…their behavior isn't normal. They're reading
all
the time, and their eyes get this weird glaze over them
whenever they do,” I recalled with the bizarre images in my head.
“I went to the university library to see if someone had noticed
something, and what I found were half empty shelves. The DVD
section was almost clean, as if a stampede of people had gone in
and swept away all the movies they could. And then bookstores,” I
added, remembering the pimpled guy who'd hit on me. “They've been
selling like crazy. I haven't checked with online stores selling
digital books and movies, but I'm sure they're experiencing the
same boost in sales. It's all somehow connected to this same thing
that happened to my sister. I just know it in my gut.”

Comus nodded and leaned toward the coffee
table to pick up his soda can. He opened it with a sharp, loud
crack and poured it into the short glass. To my surprise, he dipped
the pink lollipop into the brown, bubbly liquid and pushed it into
his mouth a second later. “Yes, you are absolutely correct. But
you're forgetting the most important thing,” he dipped the lollipop
into the soda again. “What's pushing people to seek these means of
entertainment?”

“Chaos,” I told him, bringing to mind what
he'd written. “You said it yourself, in the article. Humans are
looking for ways to escape the harshness of the reality surrounding
them. They need to break away from the mayhem. Hence what you say
about art and its involvement in all of this.”

“Correct again,” he said, doing an upward
straight line in the air with his glossy lollipop, as if we'd been
answering a test. “Art, in a general sense, is the expression of
human creative skill and imagination. It's what unearths powerful
emotions in people.” He took a sip of his pop. “Now tell me, what
things can you relate to this?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Visual
forms, like paintings and sculptures. Books, movies, music...”

“
Once upon time there was light in my
life, but now there's only love in the dark
,” Comus started
singing. A Bonny Tyler's song if I wasn't mistaken. “
Nothing I
can say, a total eclipse of the heaaaaart
,” he ended with a
hand over his chest and laughed. “Yes, yes, music stirs intense
feelings in us, the same way movies, books, paintings and
sculptures do. For how long we wish to remain in that cocoon of
emotional freedom, it's up to us.” he said. “The problem is…some
people need to stay more time than others. Some people don't wish
to come back even.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not entirely
sure if I wanted to know.

“Your sister,” he said cautiously, seeming to
know he was touching a sore wound with this. “She used to read a
lot of books.” It didn't sound like a question, but more like an
affirmation.

“
Reads
a lot of books,” I corrected,
not liking the past tense he'd used.